This was the first year that my son Jude took much notice of the crèche. When we visited St. Patrick’s Guild recently, he careened around the store exclaiming at each turn as the Nativity was set in brightly painted displays that must have seemed, to his toddler eyes, nearly life-sized. He would point to the Holy Family taking care to announce each of them in a voice that everyone in the store could hear, and then he would count off the Wise Men. He really likes those magi, with their turbans and gifts.
I’ve never known quite what to do with the wise men. Theirs is a story that doesn’t fit with the humble trappings of the incarnation. Perhaps this is why we relegate them to after Christmas in the church, to the feast of Epiphany that we celebrate today – moving their story of finery and gold, of expensive gifts and exotic flair away from the lowly manger, the crusty shepherds, and the beasts of burden. These kings simply do not fit.
And, yet, we who live on this side of the global train tracks, whose lives are decked with finery and opulence, at least in the eyes of much of the world, we probably have more in common with the Wise Men than we do with most of the rest of the characters in our annual Pageant. Unlike the shepherds and peasants whose lives are defined by getting by, many of us are in the position of searching the night sky, asking deep questions, wondering after it all – what does it all mean? What am I supposed to do with my life? And, like the three kings, most of us occupy a much higher rung on the social order of the world. Like the wise men, there is little in this world that will cause us to take a knee or to bow our heads. Most of us, on our good days are firmly convinced that we are the captains of our own ships and the lords of our own land.
This is why the story of the Wise Men is so vital, if a little troubling, in our life of faith. The wise men bow down and worship. Whatever they encounter in that humble abode – whatever glory glimmered through the lowly garb of a peasant compelled them to fall to the ground in worship. It doesn’t seem possible or likely. Kings don’t bow down. The powerful and rich are not easily humbled, which is probably why the crèche usually has the kings in a respectful pose, nodding their head or taking one knee – nothing too common or too humbling. It’s all very dignified.
During college a friend of mine was wandering home one wintery night and stumbled upon a light-up nativity (you know, the plastic ones that glow from within) wherein one of the wise men had blown over and was laying face first on the frozen ground. I remember she told me that the accidental pose seemed much more appropriate, as though the wise man was prostrate before something truly worthy of worship. She dashed over and toppled the other two wise men and then fled into the night. I always remember her story at this time of year, how the gift of the incarnation, the presence of the glory of God shining out among the poor and the least and the humble was enough to drop kings to lay face-first on the ground in absolute abandon and worship. And, it always leaves me wondering when have I encountered something so glorious that I was compelled to do the same?
