Matthew 2:1-12 In the time of King Herod, after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the East came to Jerusalem, 2 asking, "Where is the child who has been born king of the Jews? For we observed his star at its rising, and have come to pay him homage." 3 When King Herod heard this, he was frightened, and all Jerusalem with him; 4 and calling together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he inquired of them where the Messiah was to be born. 5 They told him, "In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet: 6 'And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah, are by no means least among the rulers of Judah; for from you shall come a ruler who is to shepherd my people Israel.'" 7 Then Herod secretly called for the wise men and learned from them the exact time when the star had appeared. 8 Then he sent them to Bethlehem, saying, "Go and search diligently for the child; and when you have found him, bring me word so that I may also go and pay him homage." 9 When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. 10 When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy. 11 On entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother; and they knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. 12 And having been warned in a dream not to return to Herod, they left for their own country by another road.
Did they know? Lying face down on the rough wood of the floor, tears flowing unbidden from their tired eyes, muscles aching from a journey that covered too many miles and too many worlds, hearts pounding from a longing too deep to define. Did they know? As they gazed into the red-faced infant, inexpertly wrapped in a threadbare blanket by a mother way too young for this responsibility, this gift, did they know? Or did they only hope?
In the silence, between the falling to the floor and the rising to open their treasures and offer their gifts, their blood roaring in their ears, did they retrace the steps of this journey? From the euphoria felt in the sighting of the celestial event, to the hurried decision to go where it called them to go, to the painfully slow plodding steps of the camels across the miles of rock and sand, it seemed to take forever, as though they would never arrive at the place they needed to find. Maybe it was that frustration that caused them to detour to Jerusalem. That stop never made much sense, really. They stopped to ask directions, of all things. They had gone miles and miles following a star with unerring accuracy, and now, for some “God knows why” reason, they stopped in Jerusalem to ask directions to the birthing unit. Maybe their assumptions kicked in and they couldn’t imagine such a birth taking place anywhere but in the seat of power. Maybe their lack of political understanding led them to believe that the current king would be celebrating this birth with as much enthusiasm as they would. Maybe they rode through the mean streets of the big city and were startled to find no party breaking out, no bunting hanging from the balconies, no sellers of souvenirs lining the streets with royal baby themed items spilling from overloaded carts and wagons. Nothing worth celebrating seemed to be going on anywhere. So, they decided to ask.
Their accents and clumsy command of the language drew attention to them as outsiders, but their questions of kings and succession made them dangerous, targets of a suspicious puppet king serving at the pleasure of Rome. So they found themselves in Herod’s receiving room, where the bathrobed despot was quizzing them about their quest. Maybe they gave him their answers with the innocence of true believers, maybe they caught a scent of his fear and machinations and held back the details. When he sent them off to Bethlehem with the smarmy political handshake and empty promises, they stumbled out into the night with their heads spinning and their hearts pounding.
Maybe it was because of their doubts about Herod and the wisdom of involving the powers that be in the quest for hope and salvation that caused them to look again. Maybe they lost sight of the star for a time, which caused them to wander off course, and their unsettling encounter with a despot desperate to keep his tenuous grip on power made them look for direction elsewhere. When they saw the star they rejoiced exceedingly with relief and a little bit of embarrassment. And they climbed up on their camels and high-tailed it out of Jerusalem, barely exchanging a word or even a glance at one another as they rode all the way to the front door of a little nondescript house on the edge of this suburban wasteland. The house couldn’t be any more different from the one they just left; as plain as the other was opulent, as vulnerable as the other was fortified. Had they stopped long enough to think about it, their questions would have returned, their doubts would have surfaced.
But instead they leapt from their weary camels who were clumsily choosing this spot to finally lie down, because if no one else did, the beasts of burden knew they had reached their destination. The wise men ran up the stoop and barely paused to knock before spilling into the room, startling the young mother who hastily covered herself from feeding an infant who always seemed hungry.
When they rose from the floor and into the hands of a confused and bewildered girl they thrust gifts more rich than she had ever seen, let alone could hope to own. Then with hearts in their throats, they asked if they could hold him. With trembling hands they took the offered child and felt his warmth, smelled the warm milky breath and wept more tears they couldn’t explain.
They staggered out into the night, blinking at the light from the star still showering glory down on them. No, they though, not on them, on him. That child. That singular, yet seemingly ordinary child. Did they know as they made their way home on yet another unfamiliar road? But then any road would have been unfamiliar because the whole world had changed with that one encounter, with an act of worship, with an offering of treasures and of self. Did they speak to one another as they rode, comparing impressions, sharing visions and dreams, asking questions? Did they dare to ask their questions?
Of course they did. They could see it in the child. He was one for questions. He would grow to be asked more questions than anyone before or since. And he would answer them all. With truth. No, with Truth. Truth that was sometimes hard to take, often hard to understand, and always needed to be dwelt upon, pondered, claimed. Or else it wouldn’t be the Truth that we need.
What we don’t know about the wise men could fill whole encyclopedias. Oh, we’ve made up stuff because we don’t like mystery all that much. We’ve given them history, given them names, given them a story so that we can wrap our minds around them a little more comfortably. We’ve constructed a scenario that makes sense, that sounds nice, that fits into the narrative we’ve created for ourselves.
But Matthew doesn’t care about all of that. They are a plot device, a means to an end. The wise men don’t matter to Matthew. Except as a way of announcing this birth. They are a sign pointing to something beyond themselves. Something that gives them meaning and purpose, something that makes them characters in the story, something that defines them. They are who they are, and who they have come to be because of what they found. Who they found.
Did they know? Do we? Or is faith enough? Is hope enough? Can we live without knowing, taking the glimpses we have been privileged to receive as sustenance on the on-going journey of faith?
If you look up the word “epiphany” in the dictionary you find, alongside the religious definitions - a Christian festival celebrated on January 6th commemorating the manifestation of the Christ to the gentiles in the persons of the Magi, or an appearance, especially of a deity - you find something else. Something that implies a stumbling upon, a glimpse, a revelation, an intuitive perception into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, commonplace occurrence or experience. Not knowing, as much as grasping. Receiving. And maybe that is enough to get us through. To keep our feet moving. Maybe. Happy Epiphany.
Shalom,
Derek
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