Magus

Matthew 2:1-12

January 6, 2008

Rochelle A. Stackhouse

That star. That star was so compelling, almost as if it had a voice and called out to us, “Come, walk, ride, run, dance, come!” We came! It kept moving on ahead of us, teasing us that we had almost gotten to our destination, and then it fled ahead, laughing. We grumbled, the camels growled, and then we laughed and followed.

It did not take us where we expected to go.

As we traveled west, we found an ancient writing from the Hebrew people, and so went to where the text said their kings would receive homage (since we thought we were being led to a new king), although the star did not exactly stop over a palace. But it was so close, nine miles off, that we might be excused for making a wrong turn and doing the logical thing.

Stars are not captive to human logic, or even ancient texts.

There was no child in the palace, no new king, only an old one. From the moment we met him, we knew this detour had been a mistake. But what was done was done, and it was not a mistake we would make twice.

The star waited for us as we left the palace, and we could almost feel it tapping a foot in impatience. When finally it stopped, beaming, we saw a small house. Thinking we were being made fools, we nevertheless knocked and inquired about a child. The old woman who answered the door looked as though she were used to strange things happening, and so she showed us into the main room where sat a young woman with a small boy. She was singing to him.

All of us were struck with the same intense emotion, stunning us to silence. As we had known how wrong Herod was, we knew how right this child was. The gifts we had brought, which seemed so suited to offer in a king’s palace, seemed so odd on this dirt floor. With the barest hint of a smile, she received them. Although we longed to stay, we declined an offer of food and hurried out before Herod could know we deceived him. We could not put this child in danger.

And we went home.

For more than thirty years, we heard nothing; we saw nothing. No star appeared again. No news came to us from that god-forsaken wilderness or that small town. The great rulers of Rome ebbed and flowed, as did the petty rulers of places like Jerusalem. Had we misunderstood? Had Herod killed him after all? Some of my students gave me Herod’s advice that we should go and “search diligently,” but that did not feel right to me. Sometimes, I would tell them, you need to seek, but sometimes you need to be found. The star had found us before. I believed we would be found again.

One by one my companions on that journey died, still waiting for heaven to act. Some had given up hope. I did not. In a small basket behind my bed I kept a handful of dirt I had scooped from the floor of that house as a token, something to tell me that I had not dreamed the whole thing.

Then one night my dreams were disturbed. I saw that same star dancing again, laughing, and calling to me. The next morning my young apprentice, Cyrus, ran back from his usual trip to the village well with some news. The fact that he ran was miracle enough, but then he said that a traveler had come to the well to rest. Cyrus likes to talk, and the traveler eagerly told his story. Thomas, he called himself, and said he came from Jerusalem. That’s when Cyrus perked up his ears, for he has heard my story many times. That’s when he came running for me.

I do not move quickly any more, so I sent the fool back to invite Thomas to my home for tea. Thank heavens Thomas spoke some Latin, so that I could hear his amazing tale, and what I heard over the course of that morning filled me with such hope that if I die tomorrow, I will die believing there is a powerful God who has not abandoned this world. Jesus. That was the name of the child we saw, and though I know it is not an unusual name for Thomas’ people, I am sure it can only be the same child, now a man, killed as I feared he would be, and yet alive.

Thomas told me of Jesus’ teachings, how he healed, how forgiveness and love formed the centerpiece not only of his words but of his life. Thomas told me of Jesus’ courage in confronting the powerful and of his gentleness with the poor, the sick, the outcast and children. Thomas told me that Jesus had made it very clear to them that this call to reconciliation with God and all people was not meant only for the small nation of Jesus’ birth, but for all the world. In fact, Thomas said that Jesus’ mother told a story about strangers who spoke a foreign tongue and dressed in strange clothes bringing gifts while Jesus was still a baby. She couldn’t understand a word they said, but she said she became sure at that moment that Jesus belonged to more than her family or her people.

That’s when my tears began to fall. I struggled to communicate to Thomas why his story had affected me in this way. When my story became clear to him, his eyes danced with the same light of that star; he laughed and said I should come with him. His companions had sent him to spread the good news of Jesus all the way to India and everywhere in between. Come, he said, for you are part of this story.

So that outrageous star has these stiff joints and old bones back on a camel again. Cyrus looked at me like I had lost my mind when I clasped Thomas’ hand and agreed to go with him. Plainly everyone in town thought I was crazy, too. “Long journeys are for the young,” they said, “let Thomas go tell his story; you need to stay here and read the stars and teach our children,” they said. Only Thomas showed no surprise.

He understood, for he had been led to me. I had been found again, by the one who had beamed at me from the heavens so long ago. Others were waiting to be found, and Thomas and I had a story to tell them, to tell you, so you will know that the one who searches diligently for all of us, and does not give up, is God.

We needed to tell you this: What is important in life is not what you find with all your diligent seeking.

What is important is that you are found. Again, and again, you are found.