EPIPHANY AND THE THREE GIFTS

 

Today is the feast of 'Epiphany', the day in the Christian calendar that celebrates the revelation of God incarnate as Jesus Christ. 

 

In Western Christianity, the feast commemorates principally  the visit of the Magi to the Christ Child.

 

To mark this festival, here's an extract from my book, published Christmas 2019, Joseph and the Three Gifts: An Angel's Story...

 

 

'EPIPHANY'

 

Time to talk about those Three Kings – or, as they are alternatively known, the Three Wise Men…

 

You have seen them so many times – in their robes, crowns and turbans – that it will not change your view to be told that the number three is only a guess (based on the number of gifts), that they were not necessarily kings (at least not until they were designated as such in much later versions of the story), that their names, as we now popularly know them, were never officially recorded and that they didn’t actually arrive that night at the stable, but came later – up to two years later – long after Mary, Joseph and the child were living in rather more conventional accommodation.

 

But rather than confuse what has been a perfectly successful story that has stood the test of time for centuries, we’ll stick to the facts as they have been set down in legend.

 

They come, these wise men from the East – sages, let’s say, in their own far-off lands – with their camels, entourages, servants and all the standard paraphernalia of authority figures.

 

They are also sometimes referred to as Magi – ‘magicians’ is probably not the best word, so let’s say they ‘astrologers’, although they are also, almost certainly, astronomers since, in those times, the two are pretty much one and the same. 

 

Men of stature and significance they may be, but they are certainly not followers of the God of Moses. Nevertheless, they have been summoned to make their journey by the rising of a new star in the Eastern sky. There are those who have sought to explain this claim with speculations about comets and eclipses, but I prefer the more poetic explanation that the heavens themselves proclaimed the magnitude of this cosmic event.

 

The challenge set these Magi was to seek, find and pay reverence to a child who, as the signs foretold, was born to kingship. And, without doubt, it has proved a hard task and has been a long and onerous pilgrimage through the worst bleak mid-winter weather.

 

However, as their quest nears its goal, these wise men – for all their wisdom – make a disastrous and near-fatal error. They decide to consult the local monarch, King Herod (or, as he prefers, Herod the Great), as to the birthplace of the new sovereign of whom they’ve been told. It was, I suppose, the logical thing to do: if you are seeking the whereabouts of one king, ask the advice of another. 

 

Unfortunately, this particular king happens to be a paranoid psychopath. So when three wandering sages ask the Jewish-born Herod, ‘Where is the child born King of the Jews?’, he is seriously rattled. What does it mean? Usurpation? Herod consults his own wise men and, from their extensive knowledge of ancient prophecy, they advise His Majesty that Bethlehem is the likely birthplace. Had Joseph been aware of this, several perplexing aspects of his recent experiences would have made more sense, such as that edict of Caesar Augustus and the ninety-mile trek to a Bethlehem birthplace. Order is all too often masked by partial knowledge.    

 

The fearful Herod slyly instructs the travellers to pursue their mission and, if they find the child, to return with news so that – as he disingenuously claims – he, too, may go and pay homage. The unsuspecting Magi head straight to Bethlehem, unaware that the consequence of their regrettable mistake will cost many lives.

 

That is in the future; for the moment, here they are three more outsiders arriving in the heavily congested town. For sake of continuity, then, let’s return to that now somewhat overcrowded stable to witness their entrance. Out of courtesy to the old stories, I will use their traditional names…

 

Caspar (or, if you prefer, Kaspar or Gaspar), the young man: lithe, virile and clean-shaven, believed by some to be a king of India; Melchior, the old man: stooped and venerable with long white hair and beard, often referred to as a king of Persia; and Balthazar, bearded and dark of skin: a king, it is said, of Arabia. You can, if you’ve a mind to, research their individual and collective histories across centuries of lore, but – believe me – as with any fable it will add little to your appreciation.

 

They kneel or, in the case of Melchior (whose old knees no longer permit kneeling) bow before Mary and the baby, something so at odds with Joseph’s understanding of custom and correctness that he steps back a pace in bafflement.

 

Then the visitors open and offer gifts of astonishing value and disconcerting significance that Mary accepts with solemnity and apparent understanding, but which further trouble Joseph and make him feel even more an observer of another person’s story.

 

 

Caspar is first; his gift, enfolded in richly embroidered silk, is a porphyry jar, plain and unadorned, but with a stopper of blue agate which, when removed, releases the clean, sweet, aroma of frankincense that transforms the stale stable air with its bouquet of citrus and spice.

 

Melchior is next, his gift, securely tied with leather straps, is a finely wrought casket of antique silver, studded with garnets as red as blood and pearls the colour of a summer moon and, within, a great quantity of gold gleaming with a heavy, burnished warmth in the lantern-light. 

 

 

Then last (or first, the order is unimportant) Balthazar presents his gift: a purple velvet bag secured with golden, tasselled cords from which he takes a box of pale, translucent alabaster incised with a complex design inlaid with lapis lazuli the colour of a peacock’s breast. When opened, a heady, overpowering perfume spills out into the air: redolent of new-turned earth, laced with resin, it is the bitter fragrance of myrrh. 

 

 

These offerings are not only heavy with weight and worth but also with prefigurement: frankincense representing divinity and worship; gold for kingship and honour; and myrrh for death and burial.

 

If Joseph has even a glimmer of comprehension about the meaning of these portents, it is overwhelmed by the prosaic question of how he will manage the journey back to Nazareth with wife, child and such seriously cumbersome luggage.

The Illustrations are by Henry Martin

Here's a link for anyone tempted to read the rest of Joseph and the Three Gifts: An Angel's Story