to grow in wisdom

The Great Feast of Christmas (24 December to 5 January) is followed by the Feast of the Epiphany (6 January) when the Church remembers the visit of the magi recorded by the biographer Matthew (Matthew 2.1-12).

I will assume that Matthew is as reliable a record as any other ancient text, which is not to claim that the text is without bias or agenda, but to accept it as a primary source for historical claims.

Matthew records that a caravan of strangers arrived in Judea.

They are there because they have observed something in the night sky that, according to a significant body of learning with which they are well-versed, they have interpreted to announce the birth of a great leader of the Jews.

They present themselves at the court of Herod the Great in Jerusalem, where their arrival is taken seriously as potentially giving rise to a messianic uprising that could threaten Herodian dynastic ambition.

Consulting their own library of knowledge, the royal courtiers identify Bethlehem as the potential epicentre of any such possible revolt, and the strangers are sent there to establish the lie of the land and report back.

On finding the family of Joseph, they present gifts summarised as gold, frankincense and myrrh, gifts that are reminiscent of the idealised wedding procession of King Solomon the Son of David through the wilderness towards Jerusalem in the erotic poetry of The Song of Solomon, and also of a prophecy attributed to Isaiah of the wealth of the surrounding nations flowing to the royal court in Jerusalem.

One or more of the strangers has a dream which they interpret as being a divine warning not to return to Herod, and so they disappear into their own country by another road, or another way of being.

How might we reflect on this account?

Firstly, we note that the travellers at the heart of this account are strangers. They are the other, and the other is always a source of fear for humans. God is the ultimate other, and as such the other is often an envoy of God. We do not know the size of the caravan, but, extrapolating from three named gifts, tradition has given us three kings, and this is reminiscent of the three divine visitors received by Abraham. We do not know where these strangers come from or return to. But in seeking to deceive the stranger, we seek to deceive God, and in welcoming the stranger, we welcome God.

Secondly, we note that humans are meaning-making animals, even when the world cannot beat the weight of the meaning we construct (for example, the arbitrary value we have given gold, or land). The ancients sought to navigate world events according to the map of the night sky. We, too, endlessly, find patterns, and attribute significance. The age of scientific enquiry is no different from those ages that came before.

Thirdly, and entirely related to the above, we note that the ancient world was highly connected, through the exchange of ideas and philosophies as well as trade. We strive not only to make sense of the world but to do so, at least in part, by overcoming the fear of the other. Only together will we overcome our fear of the unknown. The stranger and the familiar each have a piece of the code we are trying to interpret.

Fourthly, we note that our present is understood in the light of the past, and the actions of the other, in as much as they have a bearing on us, are understood through the lens of our own history. We do not so much judge a book by its cover, as judge the cover of the other by the content of our book. This is less than fair, but there we are. Those of us whose shared history has trod heavily on others should tread with extreme caution.

Fifthly, we note that dreams are a way in which our subconscious attempts to bring order to the chaos of information our conscious mind observes in the world. This is another level of meaning-making. At some level, something about Herod registers as false, and yet it is in the time of sleep that God is able to bring clarity, to bring us from a place of harm to a place of harmony.

Sixthly, we note that the way ahead is a way that leads us to disappear from the view of the watching world, and that it can never be the same way by which we have appeared in the world. Our lives begin with the struggle to come together, to construct not only meaning but also allies, partnerships, purpose. There comes a point when the mission changes, when the goal is to give our lives away. When maturity is marked by giving away our lives to others. The gifts given by the magi are, within the frame of reference of the account Matthew gives us, the first gift offered, the first unburdening of the self. This is followed by the gift of not trying to retrace their earlier steps but embracing a new and unknown way forward. An event not told by lights in the night sky, but conducted entirely in the dark, so to speak. There comes a further point where the mission changes again, and we are called to give our death away to others, to model dying well, which in fact begins long before we die. The magi disappear entirely from the story, but not from our imaginations.

In 2025, how might we welcome the stranger, lighten the load of the meaning we construct, embrace the limitations of our understanding, redeem the past through gratitude for what was and is in all its imperfection, meet chaos with empathy as the birthing of harmony, and give more of ourselves away to others becoming less than they may become more?