After
Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea, wise men from the east . . . set
out, and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its
rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. . . . On
entering the house, they saw the child with Mary his mother, and they
knelt down and paid him homage. Then, opening their treasure chests,
they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrhh. And having
been warned in a dream not to return to Herod [who wanted to
harm
the child]
they went home by another
road.
— The Gospel according to Matthew, Chapter 2
Probably no other aspect of the traditional Christian nativity story is
as embroidered in popular culture as the passage given above. The story
of the wise men
who come from the east to pay homage to the infant Jesus is told only
in Matthew. That they were kings, three in number, named Kaspar,
Melchior, and Balthasar, that they rode on camels and wore rich robes
and glittering crowns, that one of them was black, and that they were
attended by a deferential page, are all embellishments dating from the
Middle Ages. Yet they are portrayed this way in art, in song, and
notably in typical crèches, where their presence along with the
shepherds is yet another inaccuracy.
But these figures in all their mythical splendor are my favorite part
of the Christmas story. I've already written of my love for the story
of
Amahl and the Night Visitors,
in which Gian-Carlo Menotti adds even more characters and events to the
kings' tale. The first Christmas card I ever sent out, in 1964 when I
was a senior in high school, had a picture of the kings crossing a
field and, inside, Carl Sandburg's quiet "Star-Silver," which calls
them "vagabond kings." Until I started sending my year-end letter
instead, I always chose a card with a Wise Men theme.
When I was little we
went to church at St. Margaret Mary's in Penbrook, a few blocks from
where we lived on Canby Street. The parish was founded a year after I
was born, and my father told me they named it after me because he was
the choir director. I don't think I believed him. At Christmas there
was a crèche that I judged "life size." It had a camel with real
leather reins and a saddle. On Sundays we got to church before anyone
else did, to get the music ready, and sometimes Daddy would lift me up
and let me sit in that seat.
That crèche is still in use and is pictured at left in a
snapshot I took last week. The shelf with the cruets of holy oil is
about even with the top of my head (I'm 5'4'), so you can see that the
scene is
only "life-size" if you are about two feet tall (and that camel is a
newborn). As crèches go
it's not very pretty. It's garish, chipped in a lot of places, and the
figures are out of proportion to each other. But looking at it this
season I had a small epiphany of my own. It is possible that I love the
Dragnet Christmas story so much
because the nativity scene shown there looks a lot like this one.
And just as my understanding of the message of
Amahl has changed since I was a
child, so has my understanding of the story of the wise men. I no
longer concentrate on the gifts or the beautiful robes or the exotic
camel. I concentrate on that last line.
They went home by another road.
It's a call to change. This is the last day for Holidailies. I thank
Jette and her helpers for
setting this up and keeping it going. It looks easy but I know it's
not, and undoubtedly takes way more time than you ever think it will.
Holidailies made me start writing again for this journal and made me
follow through on a commitment. I found new online journals to read and
got reacquainted with some old friends I'd neglected. People read my
work and responded. I've marked my calendar at next November to check
back in and register again.
I'm going down that other road now, and so are you. You know my love
goes with you as your love stays with me. I'll be seeing you.
