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It’s perhaps a bit difficult to remember three or so astrologers traveling desert roads by starlight, when outside both sky and soil are covered by the white blanket of winter snow.
Still, it is this day—or really, tomorrow—that we celebrate each year the journey of the Magi unto Bethlehem.
It is the end of the Twelve Days of Christmas, and the beginning of the winter season of Ordinary Time. The shift from holy birth to holy life, from waiting to watching, as the Christ Child grows to become the teacher and healer and savior that was promised.
For ages, this day, the Epiphany, was the third great Feast of the Church, after only Christmas and Easter. Pentecost was important, sure—it was the birth of the Church and the gift of the Holy Spirit—but Epiphany was bigger. Because it was the very first time that Christ was revealed to Gentiles.
The Magi were scholars from the East, probably astrologers from Babylon, who saw in the stars the sign of a king being born. It was a story that was told, again and again, of famous men, powerful kings and holy people that even the heavens were watching.
And like so many of us, these Magi wished to be a part of the story, to be there at the birth, to witness the beginning of all things, the new world that would be born at the hands of this king.
And so they set out, journeying probably a year or more to reach the land of the Jews and to seek their king at the royal house.
And yet they seem unsurprised when the child is not there, and even Herod knows nothing of the matter. Well, not exactly nothing. He seems to know that they speak of the messiah, just not where the child is. It’s this legendary king who would come on the clouds or raise up an army to save the people of Israel.
You would think the birth of the messiah would be a thing to celebrate. The work of God so long awaited, happening after all these years. The promise of rescue from the grip of Rome.
And yet Herod feels threatened, as so many in power do. Because for Herod, this means only that someone else will be king.
And so he plots to kill the child, but human plans are no match for God. In fact, the angel’s dream that keeps him safe is barely even mentioned in the story. It’s an afterthought.
Because what matters more is that the Magi know. Somehow, these scholars from afar know what is to come. The stars have told them not just who is born, but why. What his life will mean. And how it will end.
They come bearing gifts to mark the seasons of his life. Gold to mark him as king, with all the riches of the world. Incense, to serve him as priest and to offer him as God. And myrrh, to stow away for a time, to save through the years until the day arrived when it was needed to anoint a body.
Three gifts for three offices. King and God and Sacrifice, as we sing each year.
In a moment, somehow, these scholars, these astrologers—pagans and Gentiles from outside the land and outside the people of God—experience the whole of the life of Christ in a single moment. Scenes play, crashing into one another in the minds of these people who know the stories of gods and kings.
A flight to Egypt, once a place of danger, now a place of safety when a new king decides to murder innocents to maintain power.
A Feast in the Temple, and a child sitting among the sages, speaking and learning as one of them.
A Baptism in the river, and the heavens opened, announcing the Son of God for all to hear.
A journey through the land, a gathering of students, a story of healing and teaching and love.
A final meal. A betrayal by a friend. A trial and a death and a burial in a tomb.
And then a dawn on the third day.
A life of salvation, glimpsed in an instant, bowing at the feet of a peasant whom the stars even crown as king.
…
All through the Scriptures, there has been a hint of more from God.
This story focuses on Israel, on Abraham and Isaac and Jacob, on the kings of Judah and Israel, on the exiles and the judges and the generations between. But there is always a hint of more.
Hagar is the first person to name God, and then she and her son walk off the pages of the Bible with a covenant of their own to hold to.
Rahab is protected for trusting the stories of God’s power from outside her own traditions.
Yael is hailed as a hero in the battles of Israel.
Ruth becomes an ancestor of kings—even of Jesus himself.
On and on, the ages run, and these glimpses of God’s work appear among the rest. The stories we have might follow God’s chosen for this story, but there are other choices God is making that we never see in full. Other nations where God is working beyond the pages of our book, other prophets and people of God who tell a story of God of their own.
And on this day, the two collide. The story of God unites as the Gentiles re-enter the tale of Israel. Astrologers from the East—people whose divination was condemned by the Law of Sinai are today praised for those pagan practices, because through them God has spoken. Through them, the Magi have seen God, Incarnate in the flesh, a peasant who would save the world.
For centuries, the Magi have been depicted as symbols of the entire known world. Nativity sets and paintings through the ages have depicted them as kings from Europe, Africa, and East Asia. Stories have been told of their origins, their travels and traditions before they gathered in Jerusalem to meet the Christ Child.
But no matter how we understand them, the Magi call us to remember that the story of God is larger than our own. That God’s Spirit is at work beyond our walls, our stories, and our lives. And most of all, that God’s love is never for us alone.
The first covenant in the Bible is between God and every creature on the earth. Before the people of God become divided. Before the nations fall to us and them, before their wars break out and their languages divide, the covenant of God is made with all.
And on this Epiphany Sunday, that covenant, that ancient promise, is fulfilled, in a tiny house where the attendants of kings bow before a Child who has come to save the world.
Thanks be to God.
Merry Christmas.