So, how many times have we heard the story of the Magi, the wise men, the THREE wise men?
Legend give them names: Melchior, from Persia; Caspar, from India; and Balthazar, from Babylon. All from the east; all bringing valuable gifts: gold, frankincense, myrrh. Gifts for the Christ child, gifts for a god, symbols of kingship, of deity, of death.
Having seen a new star, what we now speculate might have the alignment of Jupiter and Saturn. They went in search of a new Jewish king. How one thing led to another is still unclear to me, but, then, hey, I have never counted myself among the wise men.
And frankly, I'm not too sure that they should be counted as wise, either. Smart, sure! Kings, ok. Magi, magicians, or guys schooled in the sciences of the day, why not. But wise? Their first act when getting to Judea was to look up the current king, Herod, and tell him the news that they were here to look up his replacement, who had just come onto the scene. How is it wise to tell a king that his days are numbered?
But nowadays, centuries have passed, and we usually relegate this story to church naves, with kids marching down the aisle, singing verses of “We Three Kings,” memorized hastily between Christmas and the new year. And we pause and wonder how even men in such powerful positions knelt at the feet of a little toddler, brand new in this world, eyes bright with wonder. We wonder at the enlightenment of these magi, at the prescience of their gifts. We even have named an entire season of the church calendar for this event: Epiphany, the first manifestation of the Christ to the gentiles, a time of enlightenment. And we spend this time in our church life studying those stories of people garnering little glimpses of who Jesus really is, God incarnate.
But something always rang hollow with me during this time. Or rather with this story. And this last year, a year so chock full of unintended consequences, it finally became clear. And epiphany of sorts. And that's why I added the rest of this chapter of the Gospel of Matthew. As Paul Harvey once said, “the rest of the story.”
Yes, the magi go to Herod to inquire as to the whereabouts of this new king. But they don't know what we do – Herod knows the prophecy: “for out of you (Bethlehem) will come a ruler who will shepherd my people Israel.” And Herod is NOT from Bethlehem. In fact, while he was raised as a Jew, he was not one. He was an Edomite, traditional rivals of the Jews. This prophecy is NOT about him. And if it's not about him, then whoever it's about will surely replace him...and we know how rulers in the mideast in Roman times get replaced. This will not be pretty. And Herod plots and schemes and hatches a plan: have the magi find this usurper, report back, and he'll take it from there. A life for a kingdom is a pretty good trade. Lives in exchange for power always seem cheap.
And the wise men go find Jesus, give him gifts, and worship him. Then doubts creep in, invading their dreams, and they decide that the best thing to do for all concerned is to leave town and return to their homes. Just don't interfere with internal Judean politics.
And this is where we leave things usually. This is where the lectionary stops. But the story doesn't stop. Because when they left, the way they left, they left behind chaos and murder. Not knowing which is the predicted new baby-king, Herod kills them all, all the babies of Bethlehem. And the target of this evil? An angel appears just in time, and the Holy Family can escape, fugitives fleeing to Egypt in the dark of night, maybe never to see home again.
The wise men left all this behind in their wake.
More and more I wonder if news of what their actions wrought caught up with them as they made their way back east. The poet, T. S. Eliot wrote “The Journey of the Magi,” a sort of first person account of the trip these men took to see Jesus and then back. More and more I begin to understand the lines:
...this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
Surely they knew their role in what happened. Surely they had to live with that the rest of their lives.
And y'all, surely Jesus knew, too. Growing up in Egypt, asking why they were there and not back home. Surely, his parents had to sit him down and tell him what happened, all the sacrifices made so that he could live. This has to weigh heavy on a young child, divine or not.
And I think this is the origin, right here, of Jesus' particular brand of ministry. These dark events, right here, that we so often overlook with our pageants, our Christmas stars, our manger scenes. Because those magi, with all their power and riches and, yes, their dedication to finding a Savior – those magi, like so many Christians in our time today, were lacking.
They were intent on worshipping God. And worshipping God is good. But they were intend on ONLY worshipping God...that was the be-all and end-all for their journey. They worshipped. Then they walked off the scene, with no regard to what they were about to cause when they did.
Maybe Jesus remembered those wise men when he taught us to love God, yes, just like the wise men...but to also love our neighbors. Those innocent, suffering people affected by the actions of others who give so little thought to them.
Maybe that's what this story means. That so often, we Christians in today's world believe that just showing up, listening to a praise band or some handbells, basking in a wonderful sermon, and calling it a day, well, that's just about enough. So many of us Christians then go on back home, turning our backs on the beggars, the oppressed, the hungry, the hurting, and those so very afraid of what those acting in the name of their alien gods can do to the rest of us.
Maybe, as we move through Epiphany this year, we should keep these stories in mind, and when Jesus is revealing himself as the true Son of God, we can hear him echo the words of Jeremiah:
See, I am going to bring them from the land of the north,
and gather them from the farthest parts of the earth,
among them the blind and the lame, those with child and
those in labor, together;
Maybe, this year, this year, unlike the magi, we can look over our shoulders, look back at what and at whom we've left behind and turn around. And go back. Because we know that truly worshipping God must, MUST mean truly loving our neighbor. Maybe this year is the year to truly be wise.