By George Pence–
A person’s faith is an extraordinary thing, and so often fragile. It is something that exists in a profound way for some, but to others it exists not at all. For those who have faith, they know that it ebbs and flows. At times it floods the heart and exceeds a person’s ability to contain or comprehend it. While at other times, and to the very same person, it seems so elusive that they clutch more to its memory than to its present reality.
It is almost like a dream – delightful, but with all the fragility and elusiveness that a dream implies. When sleep gives way to wakefulness the dream disappears along with all the specifics that made the dream so real. All a person’s left with is a vague memory of how it felt and the inability to preserve or even describe it.
It is the same with miracles. The heart can ache for a miracle, often without a perceived result, but then occasionally a miracle happens in just the way we had hoped. We are initially consumed with elation and gratitude for an event so astounding. But eventually we wonder, was it merely unexpected and improbable? Should we think of it as a miracle or simply good fortune? The “miracle” begins to recede into something nebulous, less profound – maybe memorable, but not astounding.
During this Epiphany, I wonder about the Magi and their visit to the baby Jesus.
The story in Matthew is brief, yet experts surmise that the Magi were astrologers and maybe from Persia. These were a class of people, not uncommon at the time, who enjoyed a reputation for prophecy, wisdom and spirituality. They were known to be empathic and sensitive to the transcendent.
These Magi traveled widely, and back then Judea was famous for rumors of a messiah soon to be born. Although they were Zoroastrian, the Magi shared the Jewish belief in a messiah. They saw in the heavens a star that signified some great happening; perhaps the very happening that so many people then anticipated.
The rumors were rife and Herod became unsettled by them. So he called the Magi to court and requested their help. “Who is this baby?” “When is this baby?” “Where is this baby… specifically?”
The Magi must have known that the king’s interest was more than curiosity.
Still, they searched, if not for the king then for their own sense of something amazing and miraculous about to happen. They wandered at large asking where local belief would point to such a child being born. It was probably then that they heard the word “Bethlehem” for the first time.
That word assured their arrival at a village of maybe 300 whose name in Hebrew means “House of bread.” A name that now seems especially prophetic. The presence of a newborn in a town that size would not be hard to detect, but how would a baby born in a town that size satisfy their expectations?
The dimension of their amazement is something we will never know, or fully appreciate. Persia is about 1,500 miles from Bethlehem, which is a long way to follow a star only to wind up kneeling in a barn. Yet that barn is where they found themselves, and what they witnessed there convinced them that their purpose was achieved.
Now entirely convinced, they offered their precious gifts, got on their camels, skipped a promised report to Herod, and rode east through a forbidding desert on their way back to Persia.
Some star. Some barn. Some baby.
Of real interest is what happened to these Magi when they got back home? We never hear about them again, so what they witnessed didn’t result in their return to Judea, much less to Jesus.
Why?
We can speculate. Mary, Joseph and Jesus were soon on their way to Egypt, and then, much later back to Galilee, but never again to Bethlehem. So how easy would it have been to find them?
And if they had come back that arduous 1,500 miles, and wound up in Galilee, what would they have found? For thirty years probably nothing more than a young carpenter on a journey of self-discovery. And did the Magi have thirty years to wait until Christ’s ministry began? Probably not.
What transpired, if the Magi were normal folk, like you and me, is predictable. Before they even crossed the Jordan River they began to wonder. “What was it we actually saw?” “If we hadn’t had such expectations, how would we have experienced that night?” “Was it a miracle? “Now it seems more like a dream.”
Perhaps they stayed in Persepolis and remained friends. Occasionally, as is the habit of old men, memories came back and antique events seemed real and tangible – almost recent. At odd moments faith in the reality of what they witnessed in Bethlehem would suddenly envelope them. They would feel alive and immersed in a sea of certitude and wonder.
But then, like so many years before, their hearts would ultimately head east again, cross the Jordan River and certitude would melt into something fond and undefined. Once more doubts would obscure the magic of that night in a manger.
And yet, who knows how long these old men might have survived. Is it possible that reports could have reached them about a young man in Judea named Jesus – reports of miracles, a crucifixion, darkness at mid-day and a veil torn in the temple? Could word have reached them about this same Jesus being resurrected and appearing in the company of hundreds?
And if that good news reached them, and they recalled a baby of that same name from so many years before, what would they think of the lives they spent in Persia? What would their hesitations and doubts mean to them then? How would they regard that missed opportunity to see such a wondrous promise fulfilled?
Would they think that a return journey of 1,500 miles was not that far, and a wait of thirty years not that long?
