This short story was the sermon/homily in the church where I work on Epiphany Sunday. On Epiphany, we commemorate the journey, welcome, and choice of the magi. The sermon elements from the beginning and ending have been excised in favor of simply reproducing the story.
Balthazar was a student of history. Being a student of history looked a bit different back then than it does now. At present, a historian might pour over the stacks in the university library, consult some primary source documents, and submit conclusions to journals of academic study. Balthazar did all of those things, too, or his version of those things, but a historian of his time also did more than that. Balthazar studied the stars, the movement of the spheres in the sky, the twinkling mysterious objects that seemed to move around above our heads.
What did a star mean? Many a historian and scientist at Balthazar’s university claimed they could learn things about the world from the movements of the stars. Born under this alignment of the heavens and you might be a warrior. Under this configuration, you might be a priest. You could use the stars for travel—this, at least, was demonstrably true. Oceans and deserts alike could be traversed by using the stars. The most peculiar—and the most revelatory—stars were the ones that seemed to come and go. Every so often, a star would appear, stay for a time, and then depart as if it had never been there. Astrologers said they signaled events of great power—the rising of kings, the toppling of empires. These rare events were cataloged, studied, and debated for centuries.
Only, Balthazar had never seen one—at least not until that night.
One night, after long hours at the university library with friends Caspar and Melchior, Balthazar succumbed to a dream he’d been having for years on end. In the dream, Balthazar always heard two voices. They spoke of the world in different ways. The two voices wanted very different things. In his sleep, the voices debated about what Balthazar should do with his life. Their epic arguments sometimes spilled over into the day and they urged him to take this action or that action. Balthazar had given them names after they had stayed with him long enough: the Spirit and the Ghost.
The Spirit seemed, at least to Balthazar, to appeal to his better nature—though often in a bit of a chaotic way. The Spirit might urge him to give his lunch away, leaving him hungry but a poor beggar fed on the street. The Spirit might whisper at night that Balthazar needed to commit his studies to freeing people, telling stories of how tyrants fell rather than how they built their empires. The Ghost was different, offering a different way. The Ghost might tell Balthazar to keep new conclusions to himself and squirrel away his money, protecting himself from the uncertainties of the world. The Ghost might whisper in his ear that Balthazar should become a soothsayer to an emperor with his knowledge of the stars, tell the powerful what they wanted to hear.
One night, though, the Spirit and the Ghost finally agreed on something: the star. The Spirit and the Ghost were practically yelling, jolting Balthazar from his slumber the night the star appeared. He ran to the balcony in his chamber and saw it: a star at its rising that had not been there the night before. Balthazar had always wanted to see something like this but never dreamed he would. For what seemed like an eternity, he just stared at it. Then, Spirit and Ghost alike said in unison: Follow the star.
Balthazar woke his friends, Caspar and Melchior, and they set out immediately for the star that led them westward. They packed whatever valuables they could find to sustain them on their journey and rode all through the night. It took months and months, but eventually it seemed they were approached the land above which the star was situated. Balthazar recognized where they were heading. It was a land on the fringes of the great Roman Empire that had held sway for decades upon decades now. This corner had been home to a great but obscure people who had known kings like the musician David, the wise man Solomon, and presently a man called Herod if he remembered rightly. If stars heralded events of great power, perhaps Herod was a good place to start their search for the star’s meaning. The Ghost delighted at this plan, but the Spirit demurred.
Herod was glad to see them, at least at first. When they told him about the star, his demeanor changed for the worst.
“We know that stars herald the coming of great power,” Balthazar had said. “Sometimes even the rising of kings. Perhaps a child? A new king of your people? We observed the star at its rising and have come to pay this power homage?”
Herod scoffed at first and said, “Homage. You see, my soul magnifies my power and rejoices in homage. You have found what you’re looking for, magi, and it is I. God has looked with favor upon my might; surely from now on all generations will call me blessed, for the Mighty One has done great things for me and holy is my name. My mercy is for those who fear me, from generation to generation. I have shown strength with my arm. I have scattered all who oppose me, even in the thoughts of their hearts. I have brought down the weak and lifted up my empire. I have filled my coffers with good things and sent everyone else away empty. God has helped me, remembered my power. How is it that I am not who you seek?”
The Ghost reveled in Herod’s speech, lighting fire in Balthazar’s chest. What power! What order! What stability and security. What might comes with Herod’s vision of the world! The Spirit churned in Balthazar’s gut, wary of Herod’s claims. No, this was not what the star meant. Herod was not the one.
To Herod’s chagrin, Balthazar was insistent that they sought a different power. Herod was of a mind to strike them down right then and there, but he consulted his priests and scribes, asking them about such a star and such a power. They told him of ancient words that spoke of a leader from Bethlehem, just like a past long-honored king. Instead of killing the magi where they stood, Herod opted to send Balthazar and his friends to Bethlehem instead.
When they arrived, they found the opposite of Herod’s ornate fortress and throne room. Bethlehem was a small town full of poor folks and workers. There were no kings here, no emperors, not even a Roman puppet like Herod. What were they supposed to find here?
The Spirit urged Balthazar forward to a small house directly beneath the star. They knocked and a young woman answered the door, revealing a small living area where a toddler was racing around and through his father’s legs, giggling like all was right with the world. Balthazar looked left and right for a king, a warrior, a threat to Herod and Rome’s grip on this kingdom, but there was no one but these new parents and a toddler. Gently the Spirit turned his head to the young woman who ushered them in.
Her name was Mary and she told them all of the extraordinary things that had happened to her the past few years. Visitation by an angel. Her cousin’s miraculous pregnancy. The birth of her son. Balthazar confessed that she and her son were not the ones he expected to find at the end of a star that portended great shifts in power. Could he be a king, a savior? Balthazar asked.
Mary laughed and began to recite words she seemed to have told herself a thousand times before: “My soul magnifies the Lord,” she said. “My spirit rejoices in God, my Savior for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is God’s name. God’s mercy is for those who fear him, from generation to generation. God has shown strength with his arm; God has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. God has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; God has filled the hungry with good things and sent the rich away empty! God has helped Israel in remembrance of promised mercy, according to the vow God made to our ancestors, to Abraham and his descendants forever.
“That’s what my son means, Balthazar, that’s who he is.”
The Ghost scoffed and shook dismissively at Mary’s message. The Spirit burned with a fire as bright as the star they had followed to Bethlehem. This was what the star meant. This was who it was for. But Balthazar still didn’t understand.
The toddler ran to Balthazar and climbed up into his lap and Mary continued. “My son will not rule with violence and death, not with an empire. God will remake the world through him, a world of love, peace, and righteousness. The whole world made new, at first little by little but then maybe everything at once. He will outlive many empires, but at the end of all things, he’ll be there to make things right.”
That was a lot to expect of a toddler, Balthazar thought, but Mary’s mysticism was alluring and seemed true. The Spirit was elated in a way Balthazar had never felt, the Ghost silent and stewing.
They stayed with this holy family for a time, enjoying their hospitality and generosity. Mary and her husband, Joseph, insisted on sharing what they had and hosting the magi because they believed in was participation in the world their child would bring. Little by little, but then maybe all at once, as Mary said. As Mary told them more about the Jewish people she came from, the traditions they held, and the Scriptures they read, the more Balthazar became convinced of her story. The new world that would come through this toddler was magnificent and joyful. How could he refuse?
Looming over Balthazar and his friends, though, was the specter of Herod’s task. He had sent to Bethlehem and he would expect them to return and report. The last night they stayed with Mary, Balthazar couldn’t sleep. The Spirit and the Ghost were at war within him. The Ghost urged him back to Herod’s security and might. The Spirit urged defiance and pointed to the loving welcome of Mary and her family. Balthazar awoke the next morning, though, and knew exactly what to do.
The magi left all that they had brought with them to barter their way to Bethlehem from their university, impractical but valuable gifts in exchange for food and water. They refused to return to Herod, Balthazar choosing the way of the Spirit and its peace and joy. They returned to the university, but Balthazar never stopped thinking about the child and his mother, the words and hospitality they had shared. For the rest of his life, Balthazar felt uneasy in the world he lived in. He watched the violence of the powerful, the lopsided shares of wealth, the suffering of the poor, and he thought of the world that Mary promised. From that day on, he always listened to the Spirit and chose the way of life. The Ghost and the way of death were of little interest to him. By the choices he made and the causes to which he committed, Balthazar hoped one day to meet the child and his mother again—if not in this world, in the one the child would usher in. Little by little, he hoped, and then maybe all at once.
Wesley Spears-Newsome 