I grew up in a very Protestant Southern home where the carol “The Twelve Days of Christmas” sounded like a curious nonsense song intended more for entertainment than any religious purpose. If there was such a thing as a Christmas “season,” it lasted for one week – from Christmas Day to New Year’s Day. Christmas trees in our neighborhood were all out at the curb by the time the football bowl games had kicked off around noon on New Year’s Day.
Of course, most of the Christian world has for centuries observed Christmas for twelve days, followed by Epiphany Day on January 6. For Western Christians, Epiphany commemorates the visit of the Magi to the Christ-child. Because they brought gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, the gift-giving tradition is practiced in many cultures on Epiphany rather than the first day of Christmas.
Since the fourth century, the Magi have been known in
Christian folklore as kings, presumably from different nations. This designation probably springs from the writings
of Tertullian (160-220), who described them as “almost kings.” In fact, the word “Magi” refers to a group of
Zoroastrian priests in Persia who studied the stars to discern the workings of
God in the world. In our scriptures, only
the gospel of Matthew tells their story.
In their study of the skies, they observed the rising of an unusually
bright star. They decided to follow this
sign from heaven, and it led them to Judea.
People making this journey would normally follow the “fertile crescent,”
the arable land between high mountains to the north and semi-desert to the
south that follows the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers, then heads West toward the
Mediterranean Sea before turning southward into Judea. This was the path followed by the family of
Abraham in Genesis 12. Persia was in
Mesopotamia, the part of the world that had given birth to the first
The Magi worshiped the Christ child by presenting three gifts. The gift of gold signified that Jesus was a king. Frankincense was a gift for a high priest. Myrrh was a precious burial ointment, signifying that not only would Jesus’ life be significant; so would his death. With these three gifts, the Magi honored Jesus as a king and priest for all people who would give his life for the sake of the world.
The story, however, is not all sweetness and light. It also entails tragedy and sorrow. The Magi came to Jerusalem to inquire of their counterparts in the Jewish religion where to find “the child who has been born King of the Jews.” They posed this question in the hearing of Herod, the Roman-appointed King of Judea (whom history tells us was obsessed with squelching any threat to his own power). Herod inquired of the priests and scribes where such a child might be born. They quoted the prophet Micah to identify the town of Bethlehem as the birthplace of “one who is to rule Israel.” Herod encouraged the Magi to go to Bethlehem, a small shepherding community just a few miles south, and then return with a report once they had found the child. Later, the Magi were warned in a dream not to return to Herod, and Joseph was told by an angel to take the child away from Bethlehem. Herod, furious at having been tricked by the Magi, gave orders for every male infant in Bethlehem to be killed. This slaughter of innocent children is not recorded in any historical records outside the Bible. However, the story is consistent with what we know about the behavior of Herod near the end of his life, when his life-long paranoia was aggravated by a terrible disease that drove him mad. He died soon after the birth of Christ.
So Matthew’s story of Jesus’ birth is not only about following the light of God and giving gifts. It is also a time to reflect honestly on all forms of continuing resistance to God’s light – in the world at large, in our own communities, and in our own lives. When I visited the Holy Land in 2008, I walked from the Old City of Jerusalem to Bethlehem, which is inside the West Bank. I had to pass through the checkpoint at the Wall, the 25-foot steel separation barrier separating the West Bank from Israel proper that has choked off the economic vitality of many Palestinian villages and cities such as Bethlehem. The violence and division that plagues the state of Israel today is a harsh reminder of how much at odds the world is with the kingdom of God. Today, the Magi might not get past the checkpoint. Being from the area of present-day Iran, they would likely be profiled suspiciously and detained. Today, some of the Christian olive wood carvers who live in Bethlehem and nearby villages are constructing nativity sets that include a wall between the Magi and the manger as a way of telling the world about the absurdity of their situation.
Walls of division are hardly limited to Israel. The wall there is symbolic of all the separation barriers we construct. We wall ourselves off from people in need because we don’t want to get involved with their problems. We wall ourselves off from people who are different from us because we don’t want to be challenged. Sometimes we wall ourselves off from the people closest to us because we are afraid of being hurt, or because we don’t know how to share our own hurt. In addition, we erect walls that separate us from God, because we’re afraid of what God might ask of us. We structure our lives so rigidly that no new experience, no fresh wind of change – no new light – will be able to disrupt our carefully ordered universe. We may not contribute directly to the kind of violence committed by Herod, but we are complicit by our self-protective withdrawal, our self-serving denial, and our refusal to join others in the cry for justice.
The story of the Magi challenges us to bear the light of Christ undeterred by any threat of darkness. Herod’s slaughter of the infants, as tragic and awful as it was, failed in its intent. Ultimately, Jesus would not escape the slaughter. He, too, would die a tragic and humiliating death, but only after revealing the true nature of God. And his death would give way to resurrection, thus defeating the power of death forever. As members of Christ’s body, we are empowered by the risen Christ to live out the justice, mercy, and compassion of God’s reign. Our efforts to bear the light of Christ will also meet resistance, but we need not be discouraged. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5). When the light we shine is Christ shining through us, the forces of darkness are incapable of extinguishing the hope we bring.
Copyright 2013 by J. Mark Lawson
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