They were star-gazers, those wise ones of old. Stories have been told about them. Poems have been written. Hymns have been composed featuring those mysterious travelers from the East. They capture our attention every Epiphany. They stretch out the Christmas story. Oh, sure, in Christmas pageants and nativity scenes we cram them in with the shepherds and the angels but they were different witnesses to the Christ child. They plotted their journey based on signs and hunches and dreams. They bowed to King Herod and then had the insight to skedaddle home another way and avoid his wrath and violence. They brought gifts, so the story goes, gifts that predicted how the babe’s life would evolve. Gifts most parents would not want to receive, so heavy with symbolism.
Every year the Epiphany story only raises more questions for me. What star draws me, entices me, guides me? How far would I go to follow the pull of my dream? What would I give up, what would I sacrifice on the chance that I would see history in the making? Who do I trust and will my instincts tell me to go another way?
I am so grateful for the magi, the wise-ones, the monarchs, who bring to the scene a majesty and a wisdom that speaks both of knowledge and insight. Oh Epiphany, you tease my imagination and open my soul.
