A new path The journey of the Magi By Cate Anthony
I offer this narrative retelling of the story of the Wise Men from the perspective of one of the Magi (Matthew 2:1-12) as an Epiphany meditation. The season of Epiphany not only signifies the calling of the chosen few, like the Wise Men, but it also is an invitation to anyone and everyone around the world to follow Christ. As you read it, you might imagine yourself as one of the Magi, compelled by a star to leave home behind to seek out the promise of God. What in your life tells you of such hope that you are compelled to journey (literally and spiritually) to find Jesus? It all started because of that star, you know, that star that got stuck and just would not move. That star seemed so out of place, so unusual, an unanticipated, indefinable beacon that seemed to speak hope and potentiality and the Great Perhaps out into the world, the truth of the Prophet made manifest among us men. We hung so many maybes on that star—maybe this, this was finally it: the sign of the One, come to lead us home. And so we started out of the East, walking out of our lives toward an end we could not even contemplate. They said it was an audacious thing, daring to believe that under the star we would find something bigger than even our revered wisdom could think up. We journeyed so long, the three of us ragged companions strung together only by hope. On the days when the journeying seemed futile, the star hung high and bright in the sky, beckoning us on and on and on. When we finally made it to Jerusalem, star-dazzled and fatigued, we gained entry to the court of Herod and asked him where to find the One the star foretold: the ruler of Israel, the great Shepherd of the people of God. The king didn’t know a thing, and in fact seemed 18
quite concerned. He bade us to continue until we found this new King of the Jews, and told us to come back to share the ruler’s location so that Herod, too, might meet the One so Divine. And so we continued on, the star dancing in front of us, our own wondering buoyed by its twinkle and sparkle and shine. And finally, just when it seemed like we’d follow the star until the end of our days: it stopped. I’ve never felt so relieved—I tell you, we cried with exceeding joy when that darn ball of gas finally stopped leading us on. At first, it seemed like the star had stopped too soon—we were in front of a stable of all things, ramshackle and run down! But since we’d come so far, we ventured in and when we saw that tiny child in the lap of his mother (so heartachingly young and holy herself), I tell you: this incongruous, wrinkly, sleeping little one was the one foretold generations before, the one for whom we’d been waiting, the fulfillment of all our hopes. The glory of the star shone bright within that tiny child, divinity vesseled beyond our wisdom’s wildest conjurings. We cried and laughed and praised and gave glory to God above, and offered some gifts to the new family. When the time came we turned back toward home. The night before we set out to journey once again, we each dreamed the same voice of God above warning us not to return to Herod, whose desire to find this child lay rooted in fear and anger and a thirst for power. In the end we stepped East along a different route than traveled before—a new journey for souls newly transformed by seeing God made manifest right before our eyes. I still see the star, you know, when I close my eyes: star of wonder and promise and God among us. I’m so glad we followed that star. ✤ SEASONS OF THE SPIRIT
