Nativity, by Rogier van der Weyden (15th century) Wikimedia Commons public domain image
***
I had certainly not planned that this year’s Interpreter Christmas message would be . . . well, from me. In fact, I had things all arranged for an essay from someone else. But then there were complications. And they came too late for me to reasonably impose on anybody other than myself. So I hurriedly threw something together, and it has just appeared:
Abstract: As religious holidays go, Christmas has been domesticated unusually well — and effectively commercialized — among people and even whole cultures that don’t accept (or even care about) the central theological claim that Christmas asserts. After all, who doesn’t like cute little babies, at least when they’re not crying? But that theological claim is stunning. Radical. It’s radical in the strictest sense of that word, because it goes down deep, to the very root (Latin radix). Beyond the pleasant and comfortable sentimentality of favorite holiday foods, scenes of carolers in snowy villages, and warm family gatherings, Christmas dramatically distinguishes Christianity from every other major world religion.
I apologize. But there it is. And, at this point, there’s nothing that can be done about it.
***
Here’s a retelling of part of the traditional Christmas story by the man who was probably America’s most popular poet during the nineteenth century:
“The Three Kings,” by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow (1807-1882)
Three Kings came riding from far away,
Melchior and Gaspar and Baltasar;
Three Wise Men out of the East were they,
And they travelled by night and they slept by day,
For their guide was a beautiful, wonderful star.
The star was so beautiful, large and clear,
That all the other stars of the sky
Became a white mist in the atmosphere,
And by this they knew that the coming was near
Of the Prince foretold in the prophecy.
Three caskets they bore on their saddle-bows,
Three caskets of gold with golden keys;
Their robes were of crimson silk with rows
Of bells and pomegranates and furbelows,
Their turbans like blossoming almond-trees.
And so the Three Kings rode into the West,
Through the dusk of the night, over hill and dell,
And sometimes they nodded with beard on breast,
And sometimes talked, as they paused to rest,
With the people they met at some wayside well.
“Of the child that is born,” said Baltasar,
“Good people, I pray you, tell us the news;
For we in the East have seen his star,
And have ridden fast, and have ridden far,
To find and worship the King of the Jews.”
And the people answered, “You ask in vain;
We know of no King but Herod the Great!”
They thought the Wise Men were men insane,
As they spurred their horses across the plain,
Like riders in haste, who cannot wait.
And when they came to Jerusalem,
Herod the Great, who had heard this thing,
Sent for the Wise Men and questioned them;
And said, “Go down unto Bethlehem,
And bring me tidings of this new king.”
So they rode away; and the star stood still,
The only one in the grey of morn;
Yes, it stopped—it stood still of its own free will,
Right over Bethlehem on the hill,
The city of David, where Christ was born.
And the Three Kings rode through the gate and the guard,
Through the silent street, till their horses turned
And neighed as they entered the great inn-yard;
But the windows were closed, and the doors were barred,
And only a light in the stable burned.
And cradled there in the scented hay,
In the air made sweet by the breath of kine,
The little child in the manger lay,
The child, that would be king one day
Of a kingdom not human, but divine.
His mother Mary of Nazareth
Sat watching beside his place of rest,
Watching the even flow of his breath,
For the joy of life and the terror of death
Were mingled together in her breast.
They laid their offerings at his feet:
The gold was their tribute to a King,
The frankincense, with its odor sweet,
Was for the Priest, the Paraclete,
The myrrh for the body’s burying.
And the mother wondered and bowed her head,
And sat as still as a statue of stone,
Her heart was troubled yet comforted,
Remembering what the Angel had said
Of an endless reign and of David’s throne.
Then the Kings rode out of the city gate,
With a clatter of hoofs in proud array;
But they went not back to Herod the Great,
For they knew his malice and feared his hate,
And returned to their homes by another way.
***
The Anglo-French artist James Jacques Joseph Tissot had spent considerable time in the Holy Land, and the accurate details in his work show that he had profited from his observations there. (Wikimedia Commons public domain image)
How many “wise men” were there, according to the gospel of Matthew? (They’re only mentioned in Matthew.) The text doesn’t say. And it certainly doesn’t give their names. There were probably at least three. The distinctly “dual” form of Greek nouns and verbs — as opposed to the singular and the plural — had fallen pretty much into disuse by the time of the New Testament’s koiné dialect. Still, if there had been only two, that could have been specifically indicated.
Anyway, for a little bit of background on the so-called “wise men,” see the article that the late (and much lamented) Bill Hamblin and I published in the Deseret News back on 13 December 2014:
And this piece, in which Bill and I seek to separate the different threads of the nativity story as they appear, respectively, in Matthew and in Luke, was published on 11 December 2021:
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