The Magi story is the stuff of fairy tales: wealthy, wise strangers appearing out of nowhere, bearing treasure for a king recognizable only to those who have the eyes and the heart to see. Over the centuries, legends sprung up around these visitors to baby Jesus. Someone decided there must have been three because that’s how many gifts there were. Others gave them names from faraway countries–Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar–and the carol “We Three Kings,” written in 1857, cemented their images into our collective imaginations.
All of this has led to some beautiful storytelling, and stories (your English teacher priest will always insist) carry essential truths. However, considering the original story in the context of the Gospel itself reveals entirely different treasures.
Right before the story of the Wisemen from the East in Matthew, we read about the birth of Jesus in a simple home in Bethlehem, just six miles from Jerusalem, the seat of Jewish power. In Jerusalem stood the palace of Herod and the great temple, and the most important Jewish religious and political leaders of the day lived and served there. Both Isaiah and the psalmist in today’s lessons promise that all nations will one day bow down and bring tribute to God and to the King’s son there.
On the other hand, Bethlehem is mostly known as the birthplace of David, the youngest and least significant of Jesse’s sons–the one who is sent to the fields to watch over the sheep–who eventually became the most celebrated king of Israel, ruling from Jerusalem. Today, the sprawling city of Jerusalem extends to Bethlehem, but the two are divided by the great wall that separates the West Bank of Palestine from Israel. Graffiti covers the Palestinian side of the wall.
The magi clearly know the ancient prophecies directing them to Jerusalem because they go there first to seek the new king. King Herod, alarms blazing, immediately summons Jerusalem’s religious leaders to find out what this visit is all about. Those leaders could have calmed his fears by quoting from those more comforting passages from Isaiah and the psalms about nations bowing down to Jerusalem but instead point to an entirely different piece of prophecy: And you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,are by no means least among the rulers of Judah;for from you shall come a rulerwho is to shepherd my people Israel.'”
Herod, who is not from Bethlehem and would almost certainly not describe himself as a shepherd, responds swiftly and brutally, not surprising for a ruler who senses a threat to his power. The rest of the story–traditionally read on this Second Sunday of Christmas–immediately follows the Magi’s coming in Matthew’s Gospel. An angel warns Joseph to flee to Egypt, and the family escapes, just before Herod sends his henchmen from Jerusalem to kill all the boys aged two and under living in and around Bethlehem. Those of you who know the Duluth singer Charlie Parr will appreciate his lyrics to “Bethlehem,” telling that story from the perspective of a grieving and less fortunate father.
In a church blessed with so many children, I’m honestly happy most years to replace this painful reading with the gift-bearing magi, and the lectionary itself skips over the bloody details. Still, the massacre of those small ones has been on my mind this week. The graffiti on the barrier between the people living in Bethlehem and Jerusalem brings me immediately to the walls–physical, emotional, and spiritual–built between the people on our continent and the way that our own children have suffered over our battles for power.
In these fraught times, we have perhaps never been closer to experiencing the great mystery and the great, revolutionary power of the birth revealed and described in these passages–a birth that, if only we had the eyes and heart to see–shakes all of the powers of the earth to their core.
Sunday Morning Words 