The Magi

Isaiah 60:1-6, Matthew 2:1-12

January 7, 2007

Rochelle A. Stackhouse

In the small village of Ha in southeastern Turkey, a small group of monks who live in a very ancient monastery took me to see a small chapel with a crude stone altar table in it which they say dates from the time of Jesus. They say it was built by twelve travelers from the East who stopped in their village while following a star. This is the story they tell about those twelve travelers.

You see, 9 of the twelve magi were getting old and the days and weeks of travel on the back of a camel had begun to weaken them. They got to Ha and could go no further. So they sent the three youngest ahead to keep following the star and bring their gifts to the newborn King. You know the story of what those three did in Jerusalem and Bethlehem; we read it just now. But the Bible doesn’t tell the rest of the story. In Ha, in Turkey, they say that Mary wanted to thank the magi for their gifts, so she gave them a small piece of cloth she had used to wrap Jesus the night he was born. They treasured this gift and carried it with them as they returned to Ha to find their nine companions. When they got back to the village, they sat around a fire and told what they had discovered, from their meeting with Herod to their precious moments with Mary and the infant Jesus. After a time of silent reflection, the twelve began to discuss what to do with the piece of cloth Mary had given them. They all lived in different cities, and they all wanted part of this, but it was too small to be cut into twelve pieces. So in the end they decided to burn the cloth and divide the ashes among themselves in small boxes. But when the put the cloth in the fire, flames leapt up and a great vision appeared before them. They saw the child grow up and begin his ministry. They saw him feed five thousand and walk on water and heal the blind and raise a dead child to life. They heard him speak of God’s love and forgiveness, of God’s call for people to forgive and love one another. They heard him condemn the religious and political leaders of his country for their greed and corruption. Then they saw him arrested and hung on a cross to die. But just as they despaired for this child, they saw a stone rolled away from a tomb and Jesus once more alive and sending his disciples out to heal and preach. They saw themselves as disciples also spreading the good news and also facing persecution. Then the flames died down and the vision faded. Then and there the twelve magi built an altar and sang praises to God and committed themselves to serving God in Jesus’ name. They told the villagers of Ha their story and then they returned home.

So I wonder, when they returned, how did the people respond to this story? Were their hearers disappointed that they had not discovered a mighty warrior, a person of great wealth who could make lavish gifts to supporters, a mythical god who would send lightening bolts on all those who displeased him?

Here’s what I think happened. I think the people of Persia or India or Ethiopia or Turkey, or wherever the magi went thought when they heard the tale of the three, or the twelve. I think some people heard the tale and laughed at the folly of these stargazers who wasted so much time and treasure on a wild goose chase. I think some people heard the tale and thought it was lovely but didn’t really apply to them because it happened in a very different land and had to do with people they knew little about and cared less about.

But I think some people heard this tale and had the reaction of the mother in the opera Amahl and the Night Visitors when the magi told her about the child they were going to find. She responded, “For such a child I have waited all my life.”

Indeed, the first gift of Christmas was not anything that could be unwrapped under a tree, not even a sleigh bell from Santa’s sleigh for you Polar Express fans. The first gift of Christmas was the one both the shepherds and these very wise men carried with them from their first meetings with the child who could not even yet speak. The first gift of Christmas was hope, hope that God had acted in such a way as to overcome our very human limitations, our human inclinations toward anger and prejudice and greed and hate and fear and selfishness. Hope that there was a new power present on earth, that Herod and powerful folk like him had good reason to be afraid and troubled that God would not allow them to act without consequences. Hope that good really could conquer evil. Hope that the spirit of the world might shift to be more in line with God’s Spirit. That’s the hope they carried in the ashes of Jesus’ swaddling cloth.

There are those today that receive this story and say, “See, it didn’t change anything, did it? God really either does not exist or is not interested in us.” There are those who say, “Oh, it’s a lovely story, but it happened long ago and far away and really doesn’t have anything to do with us.” But there are others, perhaps you, who hear this and feel that delicate dove of hope flutter its wings with the breath of God’s Spirit. Who see the good in the world and believe that God is still at work and who want to be part of it, just like those twelve magi did.

This Communion table does not hold the ashes of Jesus’ baby clothes, but it holds the presence of that child of hope just the same. When we eat and drink together today, we eat and drink the hope that filled the minds and hearts of those magi and the shepherds before them. Will you, like them, leave this holy place and carry that hope to a waiting world? Amen.