Wishing Upon A Star

Introduction – Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are…”

From the time we were children, those words have carried us into the night sky. A nursery rhyme, yes, but also a universal question: What is out there? What does it mean? Why does my heart ache for more?

That’s the same question the magi asked. They saw a star, not just twinkling but blazing with unusual brilliance, and they wondered. And their wonder didn’t stop at wishing. It led them to worship.

At Christmas, the world often stops at sentiment. We hang lights, hum carols, and smile at nativity scenes. But the story Matthew tells us is far more gritty and glorious. It’s about strangers drawn by a star, a tyrant trembling with fear, mothers weeping in Bethlehem, and God’s Son lying in a humble home.

This morning, I want us to journey with those magi—to see how their wonder led them to the King. And maybe, just maybe, to rediscover that Christmas isn’t about wishing on a star—it’s about finding the One who hung the stars.

(Prayer: “Lord, awaken our wonder again. Take our questions and longings and lead us to Jesus, the Light of the world. Amen.”)

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Part 1 – The Journey of the Magi

Matthew begins: “After Jesus was born in Bethlehem in Judea, during the time of King Herod, Magi from the east came to Jerusalem and asked, ‘Where is the one who has been born king of the Jews? We saw his star when it rose and have come to worship him.’”

The magi weren’t kings with crowns, but scholars, seekers, star-gazers. They watched the heavens, believing the stars held mysteries. And then—something unusual. A light they couldn’t ignore. A sign they couldn’t dismiss.

So they packed treasures, mounted camels, and journeyed west. Days into weeks, weeks into months. Every night, the star whispered: Keep going. There’s more.

That’s what longing does. It pulls you forward. The magi’s wish wasn’t for wealth or comfort—it was for truth. For a King. For meaning.

Reflection pause: What has God used as a star in your life? A crisis, a question, a conversation that stirred you to seek Him? The wise are not those who have all the answers, but those who follow the light they’ve been given.

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Part 2 – The Darkness of Herod

But not everyone welcomes light.

Matthew says: “When King Herod heard this he was disturbed, and all Jerusalem with him.”

Herod the Great was talented but terrifying. He built palaces and aqueducts, but he also murdered anyone who threatened his power—even his own sons. Caesar Augustus said, “It’s better to be Herod’s pig than his son.”

So when strangers from the East asked about a newborn King, Herod wasn’t intrigued—he was enraged. Their wish was his nightmare.

Here lies the contrast: the magi traveled miles to worship; Herod sat near but hardened his heart. Proximity to truth doesn’t guarantee response to truth. You can live in Bethlehem’s shadow and miss the Savior at your doorstep.

Reflection pause: Herod forces the question: How do I respond to Jesus? Do I welcome Him as King or resist Him as rival?

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Part 3 – God’s Sovereign Hand

Even while Herod schemed, God directed.

A Roman census uprooted Joseph and Mary, landing them in Bethlehem at just the right time.

A star lit up the heavens, guiding distant seekers.

Scripture—Micah 5:2—pinpointed Bethlehem as the place.

Dreams rerouted the magi and protected the child.

It’s almost as if heaven itself was leaning down, arranging every detail. Stars, empires, prophecies, dreams—all orchestrated by the hand of God.

Illustration: To a child, an orchestra warming up sounds like chaos—violins screeching, horns blaring, percussion banging. But then the conductor raises his baton, and suddenly the noise becomes music. That’s history under God’s sovereignty.

Reflection pause: Where does your life feel like chaos right now? Remember: the Conductor has not dropped the baton. Your story is in His hands.

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Part 4 – Rachel’s Tears

And then—the shadow.

Herod, furious at being deceived, ordered the massacre of Bethlehem’s baby boys two years and under. Mothers screamed, fathers wept, hope seemed crushed. Matthew quotes Jeremiah: “A voice is heard in Ramah, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be comforted.”

Christmas joy doesn’t erase sorrow; sometimes it intensifies it. Around our tables, empty chairs remind us of who’s missing. For some, Christmas highlights not what we have, but what we’ve lost.

But Jeremiah’s prophecy didn’t end with tears. It promised hope. “Your children will return… there is hope for your future.”

And hope has a name. Jesus. One Child escaped Herod’s cruelty, so that one day He might defeat death itself. On a cross, He bore our griefs. At an empty tomb, He shattered our despair.