In Life, What Truly Matters the Most? This Does.

This past year, one of my son’s friends gave him a telescope for his birthday.  And when I saw it, do you know what was my first thought?  Why?  You don’t see stars in Florida.  It’s not that the stars aren’t there.   It’s just all the other lights; the streetlights, the store lights, the parking lot lights, they all get in the way.  Here we generate too much light.  And all that light (the experts call it light pollution), it blocks out most of the stars.   So, if you look up here, you only see a few stars shining out of the billions that are actually there.   I miss those stars. 

It wouldn’t bother me so much if I hadn’t seen what I’m missing.  But I have.   Twenty-five years have passed, but I still remember.  I was staying at a Presbyterian Retreat Center called Ghost Ranch situated high up in the New Mexico desert.  And one night, walking back to my cabin, I looked up.  And there I saw it.  I saw the Milky Way, this breathtakingly beautiful band of stars that covered half the sky.   Those billions of stars, they stopped me in my tracks.  For the first time in my life, I got why they called it the Milky Way.   And, for the next few moments, I just stood and gazed at the glory above me.   Have you ever seen a night sky like that?   It’ll take your breath away.

But I don’t only miss the stars, I miss what they represent.  That night at Ghost Ranch,
I had slowed down.   I had finally slowed down enough to even notice what was above me.  But too often, your life can become like the night sky above south Florida.  Life gets polluted, so to speak, by all sorts of distractions.  And those distractions they obscure, they block out what is actually there.  And in all those distractions, you can begin to forget what really matters.   And can have way more impact than an obscured night sky. 

Years ago, I came across a prayer-poem by the poet Ann Weems.  Its first lines still haunt me.   Weems writes.  “O God, we confess that we forget who we are.  We don’t listen for a still small voice.  We walk with our heads down and miss all the stars that could be ours.”  We miss all the starts that could be ours.   How do you not live a life that that, a life where you miss all the stars that could be yours.  In this famous story, God shows you the way.  Let’s listen and hear what God has to say.    

Matthew 2:1-12

How do you stay focused on what really matters in the midst of life’s distractions?  How do you make sure that you don’t miss all the stars that could be yours?  In this story, God tells you.   You live your life with the right end in mind.  And whatever that right end will be, it will always have as its center one crucial thing.   And in this story God tells you what that is.   

Looking back, I am always amazed by these Magi, these astrologers from the East.  Do you realize how far they came?   It could have been what we know today as Iraq or Iran or even the Southern part of Saudi Arabia.   Wherever it was, they traveled almost a year just to get to Bethlehem.  We’re talking over a thousand miles, a lot of that through harsh, even dangerous desert conditions.    They had to prepare for weeks just to leave. 

Yet once these folks saw the star, they didn’t hesitate.  They made all those preparations, and they went.  What could have motivated them to do all that?  A star?  No, they didn’t do that for a star.   They did it because that star symbolized the birth of a new person into the world, a person destined to be a King.     

But still come on now.  It wasn’t even their King.  Why go all that way for a baby, who will, for all they know, just rule a country literally a year away from yours.  They go because they know.  People matter.   People change things.   In fact, one person, just one person, can change everything.    And somehow, they sense that this person being born will do that.   And so, they go. 

And they keep going, even when the star disappears.  They keep going, trusting that somehow, some way, they’ll find this one child born a thousand miles away.  It gets so bad that they even have to ask for directions.  It takes a whole lot for just one man to ask for directions.  And here you have three men.  Can you imagine how desperate they must have been? 

But they get there.   God even shows them the star once again to lead them to the exact house where Jesus is staying.   When God does, I love the words that describe their reaction.  They were overwhelmed with joy.  Imagine it.  You’ve traveled thousands of miles. You’ve faced who knows how many obstacles and dangers on the way.  But in that moment, they knew.  They had made it.  They were about to see the King.   And today, thousands of years later, across the globe, hundreds of millions of people still celebrate their journey.

But do you see how strange it all is?   These astrologers, the scientists of their day, travel all that way just to see a baby?   Come on now.  That’s a little much.  Or is it?  

About a month ago, a well-known art critic and poet named Peter Schjeldahl announced that the doctors had given him about six months or so to live.  Schjeldal made the announcement in a surprising way.   He wrote a powerful essay for the New Yorker, the magazine for which he has written for decades.  And in this article, he simply reflected on his life, his regrets, his joys, how he feels as he sees it all coming to an end.   One sentence he wrote hit me like no other.   He wrote. “Meeting Brooke, having Ada, and getting sober are my life’s top three red-letter days.”    Brooke is Schjeldahl’s wife, and Ada, his daughter.  

And reading that, I thought.  Here is a man who been friends with some of the greatest artists in the world.   He has written for prestigious publications, published books, even taught at Harvard.  Yet here he sits at the end of his life and what ultimately matters are two people, and the one thing that enabled him to keep them. 

You see, Schjeldahl only got sober because his wife kicked him out.  When he realized that he was about to lose the love of his life, he finally went to rehab and left alcohol and drugs behind.   But he still carried losses.   He writes.  “My daughter, Ada, has told me that in her childhood she spent years trying to interest me. I hadn’t noticed. She was sixteen when I got sober. She said, “Let’s see if I get this straight. Now you want to be my dad?”’  He almost lost that relationship, one of the most central in his life, and even as his life ends, he is still working to heal it.   

But do you see what happened?  For years, Schjeldahl lived his life for the fame, the achievement, the recognition, ambition fueled by alcohol.   And living for that end almost destroyed him.   But finally, he woke up and realized none of that mattered.   What mattered were ultimately just two people, his wife and his daughter.   And now as he his life ends, he sees just three red-letter days, the day those two people came into his life, and the day that one thing, alcohol, that stood in the way of those people, left his life. 

Scheldahl, the great art critic and poet, knows the truth.  What truly, ultimately matters is not success or fame or wealth.  What truly, ultimately matters is people.  And yet, we live in a world that often values people the least.  

The preacher Bill Coffin put it well.  To paraphrase his thoughts.  You have people and things in this world.  And you love people and use things.  And it’s more important than ever that we remember that, to love people and use things.  Why?  So much in our gadget-minded, consumer-oriented society encourages the opposite, to love things and use people.

And success is a thing.  Fame is a thing.  Money is a thing.  And none of those things, like all things, will ever last. But people, if you believe the Bible, they go on forever.  The Magi got that.

If those Magi had traveled to Bethlehem for money or success, we likely would never have heard of them.  But because they did all of that for a child, a child who not only did change the world, but is still doing it, their story lives on forever.   But more than that, that child changed them.  As Matthew puts it, when they saw Jesus, they were overwhelmed with joy. 

When you live your life focused on people, not things, not only do you focus on what ultimately matters.   You also focus on what truly fulfills.   But we live in a world that will pull you again and again from just that focus.  Watch this show.  Buy this product.   Get this status symbol.  Achieve this goal.   And all those things aren’t bad.  But together like the lights of South Florida, they’ll pollute your life.  They’ll lead you to miss the stars, the stars that could be yours. 

After all, why did Jesus come.  He came for people.  He came for you.   And he didn’t just come as a little child.  He grew into a man, who healed others, who invited and welcomed everyone into his love, who even died for them.   And why?  In the book in the Bible, Hebrews, it saws this.   Jesus, for the joy set before him, endured the cross and disregarded its shame.  And what was Jesus’ joy.     You were.  Because people matter.   Every person matters.   They matter so much that the creator of the universe gave up everything to bring them home, to bring you home. 

As this New Year begins, remember what truly matters.  It’s never things.  It’s always people.   And living life so that you never get those two things confused.   That is the right end in mind, always and forever.