My love for the stories about the birth of Jesus began
as soon as I could toddle up the aisle of my parish
church and peek through the communion rail. Every Advent,
I joined the other children, jostling to get a glimpse
of the Christmas crib. Each Sunday, new figures appeared,
heightening my anticipation of the holy birth. Even
after spying the baby Jesus nestled in the manager on
Christmas morning, when most of the kids thought the
story was over, I continued my vigil, waiting for one
more scene to unfold at the crib-the visit of the Magi.
These exotic, mysterious figures fascinated me. The
story of their long journey across a vast desert, with
only a star to guide them, made a deep impression on
my imagination. I could see these kings, riding on their
camels, following a twinkling star for thousands and
thousands of miles. I could visualize their encounter
with the Christ child, one kneeling close to Jesus and
his mother, another standing back almost in shadow,
and a third leaning over to get a better look as he
held the reins of his camel, straining at the bit. One
was dark-skinned; two had beards. All three wore splendid,
flowing robes and glorious hats; a puffy purple velvet
hat with a feather sticking straight up in the front,
a crown with rubies on the points, and a deep blue silken
baker's hat with a golden tassel swinging from the top.
And what gifts they brought! Only rich and powerful
kings from strange and faraway lands would bring gifts
like these; a box of gold, a jar of costly incense,
and a bottle of perfumed oil. |
Imagine my surprise and delight
when I learned that one of the kings shared my name: Kaspar!
My family spelled it " Casper ," but that didn't matter.
It was the same name, and that meant we might be related.
The thought filled me with awe.
Years went by before I searched the
Gospel of Matthew on my own and found repeated reference
to "wise men from the east" ("astrologers" in some
translations) - but no kings, no names, no specific
number. This puzzled me until I learned about midrash (MID-rash),
a type of story that is actually a commentary on another
story. The Hebrew word midrash translates
into English as "to search, inquire, and interpret." To
engage in midrash means to give free play
to the imagination, enlarging and embellishing the
original story to reveal hidden insights. The story
of the Magi as told in hymn, pageant, art, and theater
surely qualifies as midrash . Through the
centuries a brief Scripture story has grown into an
elaborate tale. Does this mean we need not take it
seriously? Heavens no!
Stories shape the way we think and
feel, but we also have the power to shape and reshape
them. This recasting goes on constantly and reflects
our changing perspectives. Indeed, stories that become
static lose their meaning for us. As a lifelong lover of the Epiphany story, I have observed some interesting
shifts over the years, but lately I sense a groundswell
of reinterpretations of this "classic" tale.
This past fall, a promotion tucked
into an issue of AMERICA magazine caught my attention.
The Jesuits were promoting gift subscriptions with
a tear-out ad showing three figures kneeling before
Jesus, who was seated on his mother's lap. They wore
the ragged garb of shepherds. Last in line knelt a
figure with an angular jaw and no sign of facial hair,
probably a young male. The pose of the three worshipers
strongly suggested the Magi; A prominent star shined
overhead, Jesus looked older than newborn, and Joseph
was absent from the scene. Below the picture, the
caption read: "This Christmas, give a gift that will
enrich and enlighten." All of this indicated that
the artist was playing with - recasting - the people
in this familiar, traditional scene of Magi adoring
the Christ child.
A recent mailer from Liturgy Training
Publications in Chicago featured its "Welcome, Yule!" poster
for the upcoming season. The poster's depiction of
the three Magi intrigued me. The most prominent figure,
in the foreground, appeared to be a young person riding
a horse or pony. This drawing went so far as to give
one of the Magi androgynous features.
Last year at this time, in a reflection
on the Epiphany readings for AMERICA, John R. Donahue
SJ, related the story of a small boy who frowned with
disappointment at the Christmas card renderings of
the Magi and blurted out, "Where are the girls?" The
Jesuit went on to suggest that by raising the question
the child had "captured the meaning of Epiphany" - Christ
for all people.
A humorous spin on the Epiphany story
circulated on the Internet toward the end of 2000.
The subject line read, "What if there were three wise
women?" A long list of remarks followed: They would
have asked directions, arrived on time, brought practical
gifts, and so on.
What does all this mean? Is the Epiphany
story about to be overhauled in the interest of political
correctness? Are women invading the domain of the
Three Kings? In all likelihood, they've been there
all along. In The Birth of the Messiah (Doubleday,
1993), the definitive study of the infancy narratives
of Matthew and Luke, author Raymond Brown suggests
that we view the Epiphany story in the context of
the journey accounts that dot the historical record
of the first century Mediterranean world. He cites
numerous examples of foreign dignitaries journeying
from distant lands to pay homage. What group of powerful
men would set out for a foreign land on official business
without women along to provide the services and comforts
required on a lengthy journey? The ancient storytellers
had no need to make specific reference to the women
because the listeners would have assumed their presence
and deemed their contribution not worthy of mention.
It's
easy to get so caught up in regal images of Matthew's
night visitors that we miss the core message - Christ
for all people. The story of the Magi in the Gospel
of Matthew allowed the Jewish followers of Jesus to
imagine the unthinkable - God's grace extending to the
outsiders, the gentiles. Who are the outsiders in our
world? Can we imagine the favor of God extending beyond
the human boundaries of race, class, nationality, ethnicity,
religious devotion, and gender? The Epiphany story portrays
people on a journey in search of the truth and a glimpse
of the divine, people "seeking God with a sincere heart" (Dogmatic
Constitution on the Church, no. 16). If we recast the
story of the Magi, who will play these seekers of the
divine? Consider the possibilities: those without power
or wealth, young people, women, Muslims. Let the midrash begin. |
Barbara
Marian at 5 years of age when she first experienced
the hunger to find and see God.
The child in each one of us carries
the deepest of human longings--to see God. This longing--indeed,
this fear--is the basis of the religious impulse in
human nature and all forms of religious expression.
Children the world over are fascinated by babies.
They are drawn to them. They delight in them. This
is true of little boys as well as little girls. The
baby in the Christmas creche, glowing in the joy of
adoring parents, captivates us. It is the Child calling
to the child in each one of us.
The story of Christmas is perhaps the most treasured
story of all because in it we sense something that
calls us home to our center--to the deepest, most
beautiful reality we can imagine--the Love we come
to name "God." |
