The scripture for today, December 20 (12/20), is 2nd Corinthians 12:20b as found in the New Testament of the Bible:

“….I fear that there may be quarreling, jealousy, outbursts of anger, factions, slander, gossip, arrogance and disorder.”

It can happen among well-meaning people trying to accomplish the same good work but from different angles. Do you insist your way is the best way, and souls will be lost if the committee or congregation doesn’t do things your way? Do you then get hurt and think (or say) everyone else doesn’t love the lost like you do? Then are you tempted to switch congregations or just drop out of the church completely?

A good test when personalities clash is to ask yourself, “Would this congregation survive without me?” Of course, it would. It did before you came and will after.

A good solution: If your heart is set on a certain good work, but no one else’s heart is, do what you can alone. You don’t need a committee to follow your heart.

Let us prefer one another, honor one another, and love one another. No more quarreling. We are family ~ God’s family.

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9— ZECHARIAH

Silent Thunderbolt

 

Zechariah is stubborn. Sometimes that’s good. But only sometimes. It takes people forever to prove things to him. But once he believes, he’s solid. His mind is made up forever. It’s just getting him to that point.

For example, he’s convinced the Deliverer, the Messiah, will come during his lifetime. How does he know? It’s in the proof. Centuries ago Daniel, Hebrew regent of Babylon, told the exact era in which it would occur. Even announced each era by name. Everything has progressed on schedule.

Zechariah tells everyone who will listen to him. “Get ready. The Deliverer’s big day is coming soon. Mark my words. I’ve got the proof!”

In the meantime, Zechariah’s own big day is almost here. He has waited for it all his adult life. He will begin serving as priest of the month in the great national temple.

Zechariah likes being around people and is a natural-born leader, part of which is attributed to his stubbornness which people see as a virtue if he agrees with their point of view. A lot of people look up to him, though not everyone. He is still young.

He was born and raised in Jerusalem. Got his education at the temple. He likes city life and always knew that is where he would live his whole life. But, when his parents got with Elizabeth’s parents to agree on a marriage between them, that changed.

Elizabeth was a country girl but smart and educated. Her father had made sure she knew how to read. Zechariah respected that about her. But she didn’t like the big city. Her parents had been worried she’d not be able to make it there. So, they had struck a bargain. Zechariah could marry Elizabeth if he would consent to settle in their small village. To sweeten the deal, they offered Zechariah his future in-laws’ house they’d lived in when young.

• BC 40
• Obscure Village in Province of Judea, Palestine

  “Zechariah, do you think I should make a new tapestry for our bedroom wall?” Elizabeth asks, pushing her long single braid over her shoulder.

“Sweetheart, you have made a dozen tapestries for that wall.” Zechariah smiles at his wife who is almost as tall as he is.

He peruses her rumpled clothes, wishing she’d take more interest in her attire, as he does. Even his beard is meticulous. She would be beautiful in more colorful clothes with her thin body. Alas, clothes mean little to her; but give her a good scroll, and she can be entertained for days. He chuckles thinking about that.

Zechariah is at least thankful she knows how he likes to keep things clean and tidy, even to the point of whitewashing the house every year. He admires the way the house is decorated with a few ornamental things here and there.

“I know, but you like to change things around sometimes,” Elizabeth replies. “You know, a different tapestry each year.” She inspects the tapestry already on the wall.

“Have we lived here that long?” Zechariah asks, looking up from the scroll of Malachi on his lap.

Elizabeth sits on a brown cushion across from her husband. “Well, I could always make another one for our guest room.”

He looks up from his scroll. “You mean the one that was supposed to be for our baby?” As soon as he says it, he wishes he hadn’t.

Elizabeth stares at her husband a moment, sighs audibly, tilts her head, and looks long at him without saying anything. She hugs herself, then looks down at the floor.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” Zechariah says, putting a hand on her cheek. “God will give us children someday. So many, we’ll move into a bigger house with lots of bedrooms and you can make all the tapestries you want.”

“Huh,” she responds sharply, gathering her skirts around her. “With that many children, I won’t have time to make tapestries.” She playfully takes hold of his earlobe, twists it, and gets up from her cushion.

“Dinner will be in an hour,” she announces.

“When I reach the legal age to serve as priest in Jerusalem,” he calls after her, taking her cue to the subject, “I’m going to investigate all the interferences of King Herod with our religion.”

“Whatever you say, dear,” she says from the courtyard.

“When the Deliverer arrives, I’ll be able to tell him what’s going on. He’s coming, you know. Then he’ll take over for us.”

Elizabeth has heard it a hundred times. She is gathering up sticks from the wood pile to build a fire in her oven. Her husband’s door is open.

“Zechariah, I wish you wouldn’t talk like that,” she calls back to him.

“About the Deliverer?”

“No, about King Herod. It’s not safe. I want you around for a long time.”

“Yes, I know. Samuel was just telling me last week that I’d better not let one of Herod’s spies hear me say that.”

• BC 37

 Dear Grandfather Matthat. Would you believe I’m finally thirty years old and eligible to serve in the temple? You’d be proud of me. By the way, we have a new high priest. Never again will King Herod allow the high priest to also be king; at least, not as long as he is in power. He has no business appointing the high priest.

Growing up, Zechariah, the oldest grandson, used to be close to his maternal grandfather of the Judah tribe  (his paternal grandfather was of the Levite tribe). How Zechariah wishes he hadn’t moved from Judea so far away up north. Matthat is still his hero, though.

•  Jerusalem, Province of Judea

 “My name is Anna,” she tells him as he proudly walks through the front gate in his required priestly white linen robe. “Welcome to the temple. Is this your first time to serve?”

“Yes, it is,” Zechariah replies. “By the way, have you worked here at the temple long?” he unabashedly probes, noting that she is quite elderly.

“Yes, I guess I have. I’ve been here over forty years.”

“I’ll bet you’ve got some stories to tell,” he responds. Indeed, she does.

He settles in to the apartments set aside for rotating priests as they take their turn serving at the temple. Too much multiplying through the generations for a priest to serve full time as in centuries gone by. He has a roommate, a priest named Josiah who is not yet married.

“Is this your first year?” Josiah asks, sitting in one corner watching Zechariah unpack his tote.

“Yes. Yours?”

“No, I was here last year. I’ll introduce you around and show you where everything is.”

The month passes quickly. He hadn’t taken Elizabeth with him. He never will. His wife never liked to travel far from home. So shy out in public. Well, he talks enough for them both. Just a country girl, she calls herself. How he loves her. How he hopes they can finally have that son they have longed for.

•  Obscure Village in Province of Judea

 Zechariah is sitting in the village square. The town is too small to have a wall around it. So, instead of gathering at the city gate, the men gather at the square.

“You know the Deliverer is due to come in our lifetime,” he says, throwing out a few crumbs from the bread Elizabeth had packed for him.

Little birds fly down and fight each other for a morsel of the bread.

“No one knows that, Zechariah,” Samuel replies.

“We’ve got proof,” Zechariah continues. “Daniel explained it five centuries ago, and everything has happened just as sure as we can predict our yearly seasons. Those three world empires he named—Babylon, Persia and Greece—have come and gone just like he predicted. We’re in the fourth—Rome. He’s coming soon.”

“Oh, I don’t know. Can anyone really know?”

“He’s coming, I tell you. I have the proof. And there will be no crumbs of power left for King Herod.”

•  BC 35

 Zechariah is in the inner circle at the temple, he’s got proof of what he’s been suspecting about King Herod’s political interferences with the national religion and his hypocrisy.

Elizabeth tries to tell him to not be so vocal about it, even if he does have proof. He could be arrested for it someday. He tries to hold back, though it is hard. Writing his grandfather helps.

•  BC 34

Dear Grandfather Matthat: Our latest high priest was assassinated. King Herod denies it, but he was too good of a swimmer to have drowned. The Deliverer will rescue us soon.”

•  BC 30

 Dear Grandfather Matthat: With Cleopatra’s death, maybe our taxes will go down. How much longer must we wait for our Deliverer? Heard Sarah is engaged to some man named Heli. Do you approve of him? I can’t be used to the fact that Sarah, who is younger than me, is my aunt. With much affection, Zechariah.

•  BC 27

Dear Grandfather Matthat: King Herod just had his wife executed. Claimed she wanted to take over. My tenth anniversary serving at the national temple is next year. Heard Sarah and Heli just got married. Congratulations. We keep praying for the Deliverer, and a son too. Your loving grandson, Zechariah.

•  BC 20

Dear Grandfather Matthat: Congratulations on your new granddaughter, Mary. Hard to believe we now have a cousin so young. I hope she influences the world a lot better than our new Augustus Caesar. When is God going to send us the Deliverer? We’re still praying for a son. Grandfather, it’s about to kill us. Everyone else has children. Your obedient Zechariah.

•  BC 8

            “Life has been pretty good to us, Elizabeth,” Zechariah says, watching his wife fold their clothes after drying them on pegs.

“You’re right. At least mostly good.”

“I have a steady job, we have a decent house to live in, and we are in relatively good health.”

“Considering other people our age, yes our health is pretty good.”

Elizabeth has grown thinner, though Zechariah had not thought it possible. Her hair has a white streak from her forehead back toward her crown. She’s a little stooped, but not as bad as some of her friends.

Zechariah smooths his beard that is now completely gray, though only a little complimentary gray grows at his temples. He notices the wrinkles in his hands. After all, he is five years older than Elizabeth and beginning to grow a little rounder in the middle, though one could never call him really fat.

“I guess you could say we had the perfect life except for that one thing,” Elizabeth sighs. “Well, I’ve long ago accepted it. Nothing we can do to change that. Life is too short for regrets. What will be, will be.”

“I can’t agree with you, Elizabeth. We’ll never be too old until we are in our grave.”

_____

As always, Zechariah is at his spot at the village square. Samuel meets him there. Samuel is grayer too. Blames it on his twelve children and three grandchildren, though he chuckles whenever he says it.

Zechariah still throws his few bread crumbs for the birds to scramble for, and the birds still fight over them.

“Someday!” Zechariah says to Samuel. “I don’t care what you say.”

“About which thing, Zechariah?” Samuel asks.

“About a son. I know I don’t have proof. But that doesn’t change my wanting a son so badly I can hardly stand it. Just one son to carry on my name. That’s all. Just one son, like that bird that just flew away with one crumb. That’s all I ask for: just one.”

“At your age?”

_____

Sitting at their breakfast table, Zechariah once more reminds his wife, “I’m priest of the month starting next week, sweetheart.”

Then, staring into nothingness, he adds, “You know, if we had had a son in our first year of marriage, he’d be nearly old enough to serve in the temple himself. He’d make me proud. Who knows, he might have had a grandson for us by now too.”

Elizabeth, used to this conversation along the years, does not respond.

He looks up at the ceiling, with his teeth clenched, and hits his fist on the table.

Elizabeth is startled at his outburst.

“Zechariah! What’s gotten in to you?”

Her husband stands, and calls out, “How long, God? How long?”

He clears his throat to fight back an unexpected and unwanted onslaught of tears.

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” She rises and takes the few steps to her husband. They embrace. Their tears mingle into dew drops of hope that eventually must melt away into a vapor of what might have been.

“Did you realize,” Elizabeth whispers, looking up at her husband, “how many baby welcomings I have avoided all these years?”

“Probably as many child dedications as I’ve avoided,” he responds.

“It’s gotten so hard to smile when another baby is born to someone else,” she adds.

“Yes. But we must keep doing it, Elizabeth. We must keep smiling. We’re part of some plan of God we don’t understand.”

“Maybe his plan is to not grow bitter,” she replies. “I find myself always fighting the bitterness. But maybe we’re supposed to be an example to others who have had life disappointments.” She looks up at him and pushes a strand of hair off his forehead.

Zechariah gently pulls away from his wife, walks out to the courtyard, and looks up toward the sky. “I will not give up!” he adds with forced enthusiasm. “I keep asking God. I will never stop asking. Never.”

“At our age?” Elizabeth’s laugh is melancholy. “You’re always wanting proof of things. Don’t you see? We’ve got our proof. We’re too old. Our dream is dead.”

_____

Dear Heli: I wish grandfather Matthat were alive. I miss him. King Herod has just had two of his sons executed. Afraid they’d take away his kingdom. I go to the national temple to serve again next month. It will be my fortieth year. Where is the Deliverer to carry on God’s name? Where is my son to carry on my name? I cannot give up. Am I being irrational? Zechariah.

• Jerusalem, Province of Judea

 “All right, everyone. Clear out.” the high priest announces to the priests inside the temple. “Time for the incense ceremony.” No one is allowed in the Holy Place but Priest Zechariah. “Clear out, everyone!”

Indeed, this year Zechariah has received the honor of offering the incense by the curtain hiding the Most Holy Place behind it. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He is awed by it.

Now Zechariah is left alone in the golden Holy Place. He lights the incense, then prays.

“Almighty, God. Send us your Deliverer. Please, God. The people need your Deliverer to control Herod and set up your eternal government. We need him, God.

“Oh, and uh…and God, I need a personal miracle too. I know Elizabeth and I are old and all. But we can’t let go of our dream to have a child. Please, God. So, send us your Deliverer, and while you’re at it, send us a baby of our own. Would you God? Please?”

From nowhere, a man stands by the altar. Zechariah sees it happen. The stranger just appears out of thin air.

“Zechariah!” His voice booms.

“Who are you?” the old man responds. “How did you get in here? Everyone’s supposed to be outside in the courtyard.”

The stranger’s stature grows. Imposing like a giant. His demeanor is intimidating, like a warrior. Zechariah stops talking and backs away from the incense altar, trembling.

“Zechariah!” the voice repeats. It echoes from the walls and resounds between floor and ceiling, earth and heaven.

“How do you know my name?” he asks bravely. “Who are you? What are you?”

“My name is Gabriel.”

“Gabriel?” Zechariah repeats. “You couldn’t be…”

“Yes, I appeared to Daniel long ago to tell him about…”

“…about when the Deliverer will be born.” Zechariah finishes for him, forgetting his fright for a moment.

“Exactly,” Gabriel responds.

“He’s coming soon, isn’t he?”

“You read the scriptures well, Zechariah.” Then Gabriel smiles warmly. “But that is only part of what God has sent me to tell you.”

“There’s more?”

“God has heard your prayers over the years about a child,” the angel goes on, a grin forming. “Your wife, Elizabeth, will indeed give you a son. You will name him John.”

“A son, Gabriel? You said a son? Really?” Zechariah is cautiously elated.

The angel grins broadly. “He will cheer your heart and fill you with happiness. Multitudes will rejoice with you!”

“Well, we know a lot of people. But multitudes?”

“He will be a great man someday. Therefore, he is never to drink alcohol.” The angel is more somber. “The Holy Spirit of God will be in him from his birth.”

“God’s Spirit? Like the prophets in the Bible?” Zechariah’s momentary smile transforms into wonder.

“He will turn multitudes of people in the nation back to God,” Gabriel explains forcefully. “He will make fathers pay attention to their children, and make the children of God pay attention to their heavenly Father. Then everyone will be ready for the Deliverer.”

“The Deliverer? I’m really going to have a son? And he’s going to announce the Deliverer? But that’s what I’ve been doing all along. You want him to announce him too? That’s great, Gabriel!”

Zechariah pauses. He takes a handkerchief out of his sleeve and wipes his sweating brow. No. I’m just imagining this. Control yourself, Zechariah. You’re hallucinating.

Regardless, the stranger remains.

“Well, we’re pretty old, Elizabeth and I.” He clears his throat. “Uh, how about some proof?”

“I am Gabriel!”

Zechariah is unsure, but trying to believe.

“I’ve been sent to tell you this good news,” Gabriel continues. “You’ve been talking about it for years. Well now, you’re not going to be able to talk at all. You will be speechless until John is born.”

Zechariah tries to respond but he cannot. No sound comes out. As hard as he tries, the words will not form. He stands mute.

The two things he has wanted to announce in reality all his life: The coming of the Deliverer, and the coming of his very own son. Now he cannot tell anyone.

Then, as he stares stupefied, Gabriel disappears. With the blink of an eye. Gone.

Zechariah stands still. Staring at the empty place next to the pure gold altar of incense. Silence. Trying to grasp his illusive dream. His head reels. He tries once more to talk. Once more he cannot. His proof is solid.

Zechariah’s heart slows, and he walks into the will of God. His soul bows in the silence of submission.

Outside of the Holy Place, the other priests, the Levites and the congregation of men are growing restless.

“It shouldn’t take him so long,” one priest says.

“Do you think he collapsed?” another priest questions.

“Someone should go check on him. He’s old, you know.” A priest looks toward the door.

“We’re not allowed in. We’ll have to wait.”

Eventually, the great door from the Holy Place to the courtyard opens.

“How did it go, sir?” asks an elderly priest.

No answer.

“Did the incense not burn well?” asks another.

Silence.

“You okay?” A priest comes up and puts his hand on Zechariah’s shoulder.

Zechariah spreads both arms out and up toward the sky, then brings them down. He stretches his arms out to the side like they are wings, then dips and swings around as though in flight. He touches his lips, then touches the lips of someone near him. He folds his arms and rocks them back and forth.

Everyone looks harder at him, eyes squinting, eyebrows pushed together, crevices between them. They look from Zechariah to each other. No one has an answer. Zechariah remains standing in front of the great doors.

“Someone cut out your tongue, Zechariah?” a younger Levite finally calls out, immediately embarrassed he said anything.

Zechariah starts over. He tries to get across what has just happened. They do not understand.

An older priest, Zechariah’s old friend, Josiah, walks up to him and says something the others cannot hear. They see Zechariah nod.

Priest Josiah turns to the group of men. “Zechariah cannot talk. We’re going to our apartment now so he can write down what has happened.”

The others walk away, wondering.

“Do you think his mind left him in there?” one asks his friend. “Or was stricken with a demon?”

• Obscure Village in Province of Judea

 During the following three weeks, Elizabeth hears rumors, but she does not understand them.

Something about her husband not being able to talk. “That’ll be the day,” she always replies.

“What’s going on in my house,” she demands teasingly upon hearing footsteps and knowing it is Zechariah just returned home.

Before getting to her, he picks up a wooden spoon and empty jar.

Elizabeth looks at him curiously, wondering what he is going to pour into it as a home-coming gift.

Instead, he rattles the spoon around in the jar as he walks toward her. Zechariah is laughing and crying all at the same time.

Elizabeth drops her sewing to greet him, not knowing whether to laugh or cry with him.

He drops the spoon and jar on the floor and embraces his wife as he has never embraced her before.

“Hey, that’s too tight! What’s gotten into you?” She pushes loose, and holds her outstretched arms between them.

Zechariah backs up a step, enthusiastically rocks an imaginary baby in his arms, and points to her. He stands still, hoping she can comprehend what he is trying to tell her. But her face shifts to sympathy or annoyance. He is not yet sure which.

“What’s wrong with your voice? Sore again?” she asks. “Talk to me!”

He leads her over to some cushions, makes her sit down, then hands her a small scroll. Tears form freely in his aging eyes, then slip down to caress his smile.

She unrolls the scroll and reads. He gently brushes her hair away from her eyes.

My loving wife, Elizabeth. I cannot talk. It is because of the angel.

She looks at her husband of nearly fifty years in utter confusion. He motions for her to keep reading.

His name was Gabriel, the same one who appeared to Daniel five centuries ago. If you believe what happened to the prophet-regent Daniel, you must believe what has happened to me. It’s the only other proof I have besides my speech-lessness.

She looks up at him. Her eyes question him. She goes back to the scroll.

God, help her believe.

Gabriel told Daniel that exactly 483 years after the order went out to rebuild Jerusalem the Deliverer will come to Jerusalem to be anointed high priest and king.

Elizabeth once more stops reading and looks up at her husband.

The thoughts of them both intertwine in hope beyond hope. Tears slip down her cheek. He takes out a handkerchief from his sleeve and gently touches them. How he loves her.

“The Deliverer?” she says guardedly. “God’s using you to break the news?” A smile reappears on her face. “Well, he sure picked the right one, to do the job,” she adds sheepishly. “I’d love to see King Herod’s face when you tell him he’s about to be replaced,” she adds with a touch of humor that does not often show itself in this quiet woman.

Zechariah then picks up the clay pot he has used earlier, puts it on his head like a crown, then knocks it off, breaking it in the process.

“King Herod? He’s going to lose his crown?” she asks.

Zechariah nods. Then he picks up a scripture scroll, and respectfully holds it over his head.

“He is going to be replaced by God?”

Zechariah nods.

Next, he picks up Elizabeth’s shawl. He wraps it around his head like a turban. He picks up the scripture scroll and marches ceremonially. Then he knocks the turban off his head and onto the ground.

He waits as Elizabeth thinks it through.

“God is going to replace the high priest too?” she finally asks.

Her husband nods. Then he takes from her hands the scroll he had written to her, and replaces it with the scripture scroll. It is the prophecies of Isaiah. He turns it in her lap until he finds the place he wants to show her. It does not take him long. He points for Elizabeth to read.

As she reads, her hands begin to tremble.

A child is coming into the world. He will be both Son and Father, and he will rule. Forever.

When she looks up from her reading, he takes the scripture scroll away and returns the one he wrote to her, indicating for her to resume reading.

Dearest Elizabeth. The angel Gabriel said that you have been chosen to bear the messenger who will announce the Deliverer’s arrival. My beautiful sweetheart, nine months from now, you will give me a son.

She pauses. This cannot be true. This is a cruel joke. Zechariah has gone too far. They are never going to have a child of their own. The last hint of bitterness and dismay before she breaks free of doubt.

She looks at her husband once more. Gentle, soft diamonds appear in the eyes of them both and wash their souls with expectation. The seed of faith rises and unfolds like a flower of spring after the long winter of barrenness.

She presses trembling lips together in a desperate attempt to control feelings she has long-ago imprisoned but which are now attempting to escape. Feelings of motherhood.

Zechariah reaches over and gently puts each aging hand on her cheeks, then moves a little wisp of hair away from her eyes and nods for her to continue reading.

Elizabeth picks up the scroll and reads.

The God of the universe has come to set us free. You and I, the nation and everyone free of our shame. He has set the virile power of delivery right in the middle of our lives!

“In nine months, you and I will be parents. We will have a miracle baby. I love you now and always. I have not loved you less because you could not bear children. But from now on, we will have a different kind of love, a love engulfed in the design of God.

She rolls up the little scroll.

“But why can’t you talk?” Elizabeth asks.

Zechariah points at the scroll then himself, then shakes his head back and forth.

“You said an angel appeared to you.”

Her husband nods his head.

“You did believe him, didn’t you? After all, he was an angel. Or, at least that’s what you said he was.”

Zechariah shakes his head no.

“You didn’t believe? Why?”

Zechariah bends over and walks as though he is a crippled old man.

“You thought you were too old?”

He nods his head.

She stands and steps over to her husband. They embrace. As they do, they gently rock back and forth.

After several moments, they sit on cushions and hold hands in silence.

Elizabeth is quiet, then breaks out into laughter. “You know, to grab the nation’s attention, especially King Herod’s, our baby’s going to have to be just like you. Brash, talking all the time, stubborn… Oh, I hope he isn’t like me. He’d never get his first words out of his mouth.”

They laugh. With new freedom, new hope, new power they laugh. Just as Sarah had laughed so long along. And Abraham.

•  BC 7

 Nine months later Elizabeth with the wide gray streak in her hair and wrinkled hands gives birth to their only begotten son. Their miracle baby. He will give his life for the Deliverer—the other miracle baby—someday.

The news spreads through the country village like wildfire. Then to other villages and other towns. Even to Jerusalem. “Some woman in her sixties gave birth to a baby.” everyone is saying. “I heard she is seventy.” The story is on everyone’s lips.

•  Jerusalem, Province of Judea

 A week after his birth, the elderly parents take their first-born son to the temple to dedicate him to God. Friends and neighbors come for the ceremony. So do strangers.

They have a celebration first. They’ve arranged for a dinner at a relative’s home in Jerusalem.

“Oh, let me hold your baby, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth reluctantly gives him up to a cousin.

“It’s my turn to hold little Zechariah awhile.” He is passed on to a neighbor.

“But his name is John, not Zechariah,” Elizabeth objects.

“Hey, don’t I have a chance? Isn’t Zechariah just the cutest little baby you ever saw?” He is passed on to another woman.

Elizabeth says once again, “His name is John.”

Finally, Elizabeth takes her son back and holds him close to her breast. She coos to him. “Your name is John”

She looks up at them.

“John was the closest friend of King David long ago. King David’s descendant will be the Deliverer, and John will be his closest friend. John is the name he must have.”

“John?” people repeat to whoever is sitting next to them. “There’s no one in your family named John.”

Zechariah walks over to where his son is and looks down at him with a father’s pride.

“You’re not going along with this, are you?” they ask. “He’s going to be named after you. Right?” one of the women asks.

He pulls out the small clay writing tablet he carries with him whenever he leaves home. He etches on it with large letters, then holds it up over his head for everyone to see.

HIS NAME IS JOHN.

 Immediately, Zechariah knows something has changed. He instinctively motions for his wife to stand, and they walk to the middle of the courtyard. Everyone follows, wondering what is going on. Zechariah is acting strange again. When everyone arrives, Zechariah raises his hands in a grand gesture toward them all as though he is going to give a speech. Of course, that is impossible.

People look at each other confused. Some whisper, “He can’t say anything. What is he doing?”

“Brothers and sisters!” he shouts.

Zechariah can talk? Everyone stares at him in shock.

“God is coming through the Deliverer,” he announces loudly to everyone’s amazement. “He is coming through a descendant of David to save us from our enemies.”

“But Zechariah, David is not your ancestor. Who are you talking about?” the people ask.

“God is finally keeping the promise he made centuries ago. In our lifetime we will finally be able to worship God in peace.

Then he takes his baby in his arms and blesses his baby in everyone’s hearing. The audience remains silent.

“You, my son, will be a prophet of God. You will announce the coming of the Deliverer who will save us from our enemies. You will prepare everyone for his arrival by making them admit their sins and turn from them.”

The Deliverer? The audience stirs. The Deliverer is coming soon? The audience is shocked with hope. Do they dare believe? Zechariah never tells them anything without providing evidence.

Zechariah looks at his son, born to parents who should not have been able to have a son. He is the proof. Then he looks back at all the neighbors and relatives gathered for the celebration. He is ecstatic. He can hardly contain himself.

“God is merciful after all,” Zechariah continues with a shout and a grin. “Just as the sun rises each morning from out of the heavens to shine in our darkness, we will no longer live in the valley of the shadow of death.”

What is he talking about?

“Light is sprung up, brothers and sisters. Light in the shadow of death. Make ready!” Now Zechariah is laughing. His neighbors and relatives laugh with him. Then they begin to cheer. Freedom. Freedom. Freedom!

•  Obscure Village in Province of Judea

 Zechariah and Elizabeth return home. Life is back to normal. But not really. Will their life ever be normal again? Zechariah is disappointed that his grandfather did not live long enough to see such unbelievable things happening to his very own family.

Dear Heli. If Grandfather Matthat were alive, he would now have a great grandson. His name is John. By the time you receive this letter, Mary will be back home. The three months she has been here have given her strength. She is good. Listen to her. She is telling you the truth. Help her fiancé, Joseph, through this too. They both need your strength. And pray for them. They are so young.

Six months later they receive a message on a little scroll delivered by merchants from Bethlehem just a few milles  to the south.

Cousins Zechariah and Elizabeth. May I introduce myself. I am Joseph, your new cousin. Mary and I have married. The baby was born. Our Deliverer. We think we should stay here in Bethlehem. If this is where King David was born and grew up. Maybe we should raise Jesus here too.

Indeed, the young family does settle in the same town where their baby was born and where Joseph had grown up. He turns the little compound he had left behind as a sheep corral back to a one-room house and courtyard.

In the meantime, Zechariah reads the scriptures to his infant son, knowing deep down he doesn’t really understand them. But hoping perhaps he does.

“Listen now, son. You’ll have to tell the people. They won’t always like it, but you must tell them. Be strong. You can do it.  You’ll have the proof.”

• Bethlehem, Province of Judea

 As soon as Joseph and Mary find a house to live in, Zechariah, Elizabeth and baby John come to visit.

“John, this is Jesus. Jesus, this is John.” The two fathers hold their babies up so they can see each other and make a curious introduction. Curious because they do not really expect the babies to understand. Curious because the babies smile and wiggle excitedly.

On their visits over the next two years, the fathers talk about strategies they think their sons should follow when grown. The mothers warn the men that their sons will have a mind of their own, and they will choose their own strategies.

These are good times. Happy times.

• BC 4
• Obscure Village in Province of Judea

 One morning during breakfast, Zechariah and Elizabeth hear loud shouting out in the street. “A massacre in Bethlehem! A massacre in Bethlehem!”

“Mary and the baby!” Elizabeth cries in a sudden panic.

Zechariah runs out his gate to find more information.

“King Herod’s troops arrived during the night, searched every home, and killed all the babies under age two.” the messenger explains to the crowd gathering around him. “They’re all dead. All the babies and toddlers are dead.”

The streets fill with people exchanging speculations on what was going through the mind of their madman king to carry out such an atrocity.

“Oh, no! Not Mary and Joseph. Their baby was killed?” Elizabeth wails.

Then they hear another shout. “It wasn’t all the babies.” Their hearts fill with hope.

Then, “Just the boys were killed!”

Elizabeth grabs John, now nearly three years old, and locks herself in her house. “What if they come here next?”

“I’ll stay out on the street to keep up with the latest news,” her husband tells her.

“Don’t go far, Zechariah! Please, don’t go far. Oh, poor Mary and Joseph. And Jesus. How could God allow his Deliverer, his Messiah to die?”

The morning is spent with neighbors visiting each other in an effort to learn more and to comfort the comfortless.

“Didn’t you have a relative there?” some would ask.

The night is spent with the men in the city guarding their own houses and their own families. If the soldiers come here, the fathers will fight the soldiers to the death. They sit leaning against their family gate, sword across their laps.

The next morning, Zechariah, tired from sitting by his barricaded gate all night, is back out on the street. He arrives just as soldiers do. Patrols have been dispatched to all the surrounding towns. One of them goes to the center of the country village and the people follow him. He has a scroll. He unrolls it. Will he declare a death sentence on their village too?

King Herod regrets the extreme measures that had to be taken, but his concerns are only with the nation. If the boy king had been allowed to live long enough to be put into power, he could have destroyed the entire country.

A few days later, things are quieter. Zechariah decides it is safe to leave town. “I’ve got to go there. What if they got Jesus?”

“Not without John and me. We’re going with you. Mary will need me.”

“What if the troops are still there?” Zechariah objects. “You’ll put John in danger!”

We must go. It’s our job. We must teach little John never to be afraid.”

•  Bethlehem, Province of Judea

 Early that evening Zechariah, Elizabeth, and little John ease into town, trying not to attract any attention. They have told John they are playing a game and have put him in a basket hanging from their donkey. They arrive at Joseph’s and Mary’s house. Their donkey is gone.

The front gate has been broken down. They rush in. Empty Shelves. No clothes. And no sign of blood.

“They got away, Zechariah! They got away,” Elizabeth says.

“How could they have known?”

• BC 2
• Obscure Village in Province of Judea

 Returning home. Zechariah sends a letter by courier to Nazareth up north.

Dear Heli. We think they’re safe. We’re not sure. But we can’t find them.

Then they wait. Wait for a letter to let them know the Messiah, the Deliverer, little Jesus is safe. Two months later it arrives by courier from Egypt.

Dear Cousin Zechariah and Elizabeth. We did not write before for fear the government was watching your house. We are safe in Egypt.

We heard the news when we arrived. Those poor families. Babies killed on our account. We knew most of them. Mary hasn’t stopped crying. We know those babies are now safely being rocked in the arms of God, but their parents must be grieved out of their minds.

How are we ever going to keep Jesus safe if we have to spend the next thirty years on the run? Please write us. We need your encouragement now more than ever. Your cousin, Joseph.

Zechariah writes back.

Dear Joseph, Mary and Jesus. Be brave. Do not lose hope. You will come home someday. Your baby will grow up. Jesus will deliver us. Read the prophet, Hosea, in your scripture scroll. The answer is there. You are in our prayers, Zechariah.

• AD 1 – AD 15

 Zechariah continues to train John, even though he is only four years old now.

“Be strong, my son. Stand up for truth and for God. Never give in. Stand with the power of God. Now, son, who is going to give you power? Say it with me. God will give me power.”

Dear Joseph, Mary and Jesus. King Herod had 40 rebels executed. Stay where you are. Our sons will grow up and will overcome with the power of God. Your old cousin, Zechariah.

The training continues. “John, people will not believe you. But show them the proofs in the Holy Scriptures and keep talking. Don’t let them shut you up. Make them listen to you.”

Dear Joseph, Mary and Jesus. His last act was more unthinkable than the others. Knowing he would die any day, King Herod had another son executed anyway so he wouldn’t take the kingdom from him. Five days later, Herod himself died a horrible death. I have to fight the desire to rejoice at his suffering. It is safe to come back. Stay with us until you are settled again. As always, cousin Zechariah.

It’s two months before Zechariah and Elizabeth hear back from Joseph and Mary. They worry.

Dear Zechariah, Elizabeth and John. Mary, Jesus, and I are back in Nazareth, Galilee. God warned us not to settle near Jerusalem. King Herod’s son, Archelaus Herod, is apparently worse than his father. We will be safe here where Antipas Herod, Archelaus’ saner brother, is tetrarch. We’ll be fine. Your cousin, Joseph.

_____

Year after year, Zechariah continues teaching and preparing his son for the job ahead.

“Father,” John complains one day, “the kids at the synagogue school are teasing me because you keep telling their fathers I’m going to announce the Messiah, the Deliverer. That really embarrasses me.”

“You’re too much like your mother. Don’t let them get to you like that.” Zechariah smooths John’s hair.

“But are you sure, Father? I know I was a miracle baby and all. But I need more proof than that. Help me, Father. I’m just not sure.”

“God will give you strength. Everyone will try to prove to you that you are not to announce the Deliverer. But you are, Son. Never forget that. Never forget who you are!”

_____

John is now a teenager. But something is not right. Zechariah is sick. He knows he will not recover.

“You’ll be on your own now, Son. Remember who you are.” Zechariah instructs him.

“Father, I can’t do it alone. You always said I was too much like Mother.”

“Son, listen to me. You can, and you will. Be brave!” Zechariah coughs, sips some water and continues. “Speak out. Show them the proof.” His voice is gravelly. “Don’t be afraid. Never be afraid. Stand up for truth and right and justice. No matter what the cost.”

John clings to his father’s last words. “You’ve got proof. It’s iron clad. Be brave… Be brave…”

8— THE WISE MEN II

Cradle of Majesty

 

Stop! Stop everything right now. This is none of your business, magi, or whoever you are. This is not your religion. It’s ours, and we have everything the way we want it. We cannot abide any outsiders. You’ll just come in and change everything.

Forget your star search or whatever you call it. You are not wanted. This is our religion, our king, our Deliverer. We know what’s going on. You’ll disrupt everything. Stop before you start intruding into things you do not understand.

•  BC 5
• Ecbatana, Media

 And so they move on. Following the ever-fading memory of the star, the star they have thus far followed to all the wrong places.

Upon their arrival, the four magi—Yasib, Dushatra, Kumar, and Michel—go immediately to the gigantic library that holds the archives. Michel is in high spirits. He is the only one who is.

“Among these national archives,” he explains in the courtyard, “are documents of kingdoms the Babylonians and later the Medes and Persians conquered centuries ago. Our ancestors’ kings brought each country’s archives here, along with their more educated captives.”

“We saw the religious records of those countries over in Nippur,” Kumar responds, as they walk inside and look up at the ornate ceiling. “Are you suggesting the star we saw might mean the beginning of a new kingdom, one more powerful than even the Roman Empire is today?”

“That is an unequivocal yes!” Michel replies without hesitation.

“You cannot know that. No one can predict the future that successfully,” Yasib objects, pausing to look at an open scroll in an unusual language.

“But they already have.” Michel leads them down the long dark aisles, talking as he goes.

“What do you mean?” Dushatra asks.

“The Jewish religious writings predicted the downfall of numerous kingdoms including Egypt long before they actually occurred. As you are well aware, all the kingdoms on the east coast of the Great Sea long ago fell under the power of Babylon, then the Medes and Persians, then the Greeks and finally now the Romans.

“One prophet actually predicted that the Jews taken exile to Babylon would be freed—the exact year,” Michel continues proudly, “The seventieth year of their captivity. Furthermore, another prophet predicted the exact name of the emperor who would free them—over a century before he was born—Cyrus.”

Michel continues on down the aisle, knowing exactly where the archives are that they need. He has been here before.

“As is widely known to historians, one of our country’s magi government leaders six hundred years ago was Daniel, a descendant of Jewish royalty. He was greatly respected and held in high esteem by our emperor.

“Daniel himself wrote a book which he left behind in our archives. Oh, here we are. If you will be seated, gentlemen, I will find it and read the portion that predicted the unknowable centuries before it occurred.”

The other magi find a table and wait. Occasionally one of them gets up and looks at the titles of the scrolls on the shelves nearby, searching to see something that might be helpful.

“Here it is,” Michel finally says, rushing back to them. “During the time of King Nebuchadnezzar six hundred years ago, Daniel predicted the rise and fall of the Babylonians, the Medes and Persians and the Grecians. The fourth kingdom he predicted would crush everything in its way. That fourth kingdom, gentlemen, is the Roman empire of our own time.”

“No. It can’t be done. No one could know the future that far ahead,” Kumar objects.

“Now listen to this, and I quote,” Michel continues undaunted. “‘During the time of the last kings, Jehovah, the only God, will establish a kingdom that will never end… It will destroy every other kingdom, but it will never end.’”

“Never end?” one of them whispers. They look at each other questioning what he has read to them.

“Did Nebuchadnezzar believe it?” Dushatra responds.

“The king made Daniel ruler over the province of Babylon with daily access to the royal court.”

Michel reaches for another scroll, a continuation of Daniel’s writings. “Furthermore, he gave the exact year the predicted one would be anointed as high priest and king of the kingdom.”

The others stare at Michel in astonishment.

He goes on. “Since Jewish priests do not serve until they are thirty years old, if the priest king was born with the star last year, he would begin ruling exactly 29 years from now.”

The other magi look at each other with doubt in their eyes. Michel sees it and waits for them to absorb his words. Finally, one of them breaks the silence.

“Prove it. Show us where he predicted the exact year.” Kumar leans back in his chair, eyes narrowed.

In anticipation of their request, Michel has just now scrolled to the passage.

“Here it is, gentlemen. It’s been in our archives six hundred years. No one had anything to gain by changing it. This is what it says: ‘Pay attention: From the time the king orders Jerusalem rebuilt until the Anointed One, the priest and king comes, it will be seven ‘sevens’ and sixty-two ‘sevens.’ So, 7 x 7 = 49. And 62 x 7 = 434. Adding these together, with twenty-nine, you have 483 years.

“Our Jewish book of Ezra says King Artaxerxes ordered Ezra to return to Jerusalem to begin rebuilding the city during his seventh year. Artaxerxes gave this order 453 years ago as of last year when the star appeared. If this priest king begins to reign when he is age 30, that will make it exactly 483 years.”

Yasib, Dushatra, and Kumar sit and stare at Michel. He does not rush them. He gives them time to think.

Thank you, Jehovah that you have made it possible for me to reveal you to them.

Dushatra is angry. He had not wanted Michel to be right. He rushes to the entry to the library and leaves out the door.

Jehovah, guide their hearts and minds. They never wanted to believe, Michel prays.

Kumar stands, walks back to the lobby, and puts his hands on his head. He leans against one wall and slides down it, then puts his head on his knees.

It is hard for them to admit they’ve been wrong. Go easy on them, Jehovah.

Yasib stays where he is, but stares at the scroll. He gets up and begins reading it for himself. He does not take his eyes off it. He scrolls to other parts of this amazing document.

“There are no mistakes in it, sir. Daniel would not have allowed his writing to be distorted.” Michel takes a seat at the now deserted table and continues to wait. He knows deep in his heart they will be back.

Jehovah, open their hearts as you did Abraham’s when you promised him a miracle baby, Michel pleads with God.

The stool next to Michel scrapes along the floor. Kumar is back. He is not saying anything, but he is back.

Michel closes his eyes. Jehovah, be especially kind of Dushatra. It is such a shock to him.

They hear footsteps coming down one aisle. Dushatra, being a large man, cannot keep from making some noise when he walks. It echoes softly.

By now Yasib has seated himself back at the table.

Dushatra appears. He runs his fingers through his hair. His eyes are bloodshot.

“I didn’t know,” he whispers. “I didn’t know.”

Yasib speaks first. “Well, uh, gentlemen, uh, perhaps we need to investigate the other writings of this Daniel. Did you say he had other writings, Michel?”

“Yes. Are we ready to search for a reference to a star?” Michel continues.

Dushatra clears his throat as he pulls out his stool and seat himself. “Indeed,” he says so softly, the others have trouble hearing him. “That is what should be done.”

Kumar mutters. “You won’t find any mention of a star there. But we must examine it so no one can say we didn’t investigate everything.

Michel finds several copies of Daniel’s book and gives one to each of them. Each finds another table where he can spread out his work, seats himself and reads.

Michel looks up from his own reading now and then. Have they been sufficiently convinced they are on the right track?

Don’t let them skip over anything, Jehovah. Make them read every word. It is critical to our mission, Michel prays. Are we close to the answer for King Phraattes?

One by one they read the predictions regarding world powers that they know for a fact came true about Babylon, Persia, Greece and Rome. They read about the impossible made possible.

They read of Daniel’s defiance of the great god of the Babylonians, Marduk.

Kumar scratches his head. “How did that Daniel manage to survive through four emperors in the royal courts?” The others shush him, and all go back to reading.

They read about Daniel’s dream. One by one they go to the librarian to request copies of the zodiac charts to determine the significance of the lion, bear and leopard among the stars. But nothing they figure out from the charts makes sense.

They read of another dream of a ram and goat. One of the horns of the goat throws some of the starry host out of the heavens and down to earth to be trampled.

“You mean the ram represents the kings of Media and Persia, and the goat the king of Greece, Alexander the Great?” Kumar asks, interrupting the others. No one answers him. “Well, the ram could represent good and the goat could represent evil. Will evil succeed in conquering good?”

Michel smiles and he watches each of them struggle, their eyebrows together, the forehead wrinkled, their eyes focused only on their scroll.

Next, they read for themselves the prediction of how many years it will be from the order to rebuild Jerusalem until the Anointed One, the Priest-King, comes to reign over the world. That’s the 483 years Michel had explained to them.

They continue to read strange and amazing things. Startling things.

Then they come to it. It is toward the end of Daniel’s writings. Yasib is the first to arrive at that point.

“Hordes who lie buried in the earth will come back. Some will be delivered to live forever, others to die forever. Wise men will radiate like the heavens, and they who lead others to the right way will be like the stars!” Yasib rereads the passage aloud. “Wise men? We magi are supposed to be the wise men that Daniel predicted?”

But, it warns not all the wise men will be accepted. “What must we do?” Yasib asks.

Michel has found the passage too. He helps the others find it so they can read and analyze it together.

Over and over they read the passage. What must they do to be accepted? They must lead others to righteousness. Lead others?

They read on a little further. Then, there it is. The Star! “Each truly wise man,” they read, “will receive his own star.” It is the wise who will shine like stars!

When Michel reads it, he rises from his stool, lifts his arms and shouts, “Yes! We found it!”

This time, he reads the entire passage aloud.

“No, this cannot be,” Dushatra says. “We’ve been fooled before. We will not be fooled again. We’ve been fooled by references to a star in the Hindu writings, the Buddhist writings, the Zoroaster writings and the others, but we won’t again.

“Sorry, Michel,” Kumar finally says, walking over to his colleague. “It’s not enough. It doesn’t prove anything.”

But Michel is not through with them.

“Gentlemen, in these archives are the books of the Law of the Jews, commonly called the Law of Moses. The Jews also have books only of prophecy. We will read them all, just like we did the writings of the other religions, and look for any references to a star. Agreed?”

The other three reluctantly agree. It will take time. Possibly another month. But it is necessary. They must be able to report something to their King Phraattes. That, or remain in exile.

The next day they return to the archives. They obtain copies of the scrolls they need and retire to reading rooms. Day after day they read. But to no avail. Absolutely nothing.

A week passes. Then Yasib spots it. With guarded excitement, he calls the others and reads it to them. “‘A star will come out of Israel’s descendants. A crown will rise out of the kingdom.’ So, we have one reference to a star and it being a king. But we need more than this.”

After the others have found the passage and read it for themselves, they agree it has possibilities. But they must have more evidence.

Since this passage is near the end of the Jewish law books, a few days later they are ready to begin reading the prophets. The first is Isaiah. They do not have long to wait.

Kumar sees it first. He calls the others. “Listen to this, gentlemen.” He clears his throat. “‘People in night darkness saw a great light, a light that has just appeared… For a baby has just been born, he will govern and be called…’”

Kumar stops reading. He looks at the others. They look back expectantly. He finishes the passage. In slow motion.

“‘…He will be called God!’”

Once more he pauses. The four magi stare at each other. Old Yasib’s hands tremble. Dushatra pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his sweating brow.

There’s more, Kumar announces. “‘His kingdom will never end! He will reign where King David did forever!’”

They go back to their reading. Now with a sense of wonder. A sense of awe. It is not until they read to nearly the end of Isaiah’s writings that they find another mention of the light and what they should do about it. Dushatra shouts from his reading room that he has found it. The others mark their reading places and rush to him.

“Did you find something, Dushatra?” Do they dare allow themselves to hope? Without comment he reads it to them. “‘The light will come to the whole world and all kingdoms of the world will come see it!’”

“That settles it!” Michel declares. “We, too, must go to Israel, to Palestine, to see and honor this light who will rule the world!”

Without hesitation, Yasib agrees. “It would be the prudent thing to do. Our King Phraattes will want to stay on good terms with this child king, this god.”

“My king will also,” Kumar exclaims. He hasn’t lived in Indus for a long time, but he feels confident that his King Gondophares will want to be represented also. “I must leave at once. I will obtain gifts and letters from my king and meet you at Ctesiphon.”

“Should we approach Augustus Caesar about this?” Michel asks. “I’m sure this Jewish God-King will be powerful enough to conquer Rome someday.”

“That’s up to King Phraattes.”

“So it is settled. We meet in Ctesiphon in a month.” Yasib smiles.

• Ctesiphon, Parthia

 “Your Majesty, Dushatra, Yasib, and Michel wish an audience with you,” the sentry announces.

“Really? I never expected to see them again. Didn’t I warn them never to come back unless they had an explanation of the star? How long ago was that? So they’re back.

“Three of them are, Your Majesty.”

“Lost one of them, huh? Good thinking. Do they expect to impress me this time? No one else has. Oh, well, nothing much else is going on today. May as well have an execution. Send them in.”

Dushatra, Yasib and Michel walk toward their king with heads bowed, then bow completely to the floor at the throne. They are permitted to rise and talk freely with the king. They have brought scrolls with them. One by one they go over their findings in the Jewish writings.

Not fully convinced, King Phraattes insists on reading the proof passages himself. He is amazed. Amazed that they seem to contain the only logical answer. But even more amazed to learn that a god might have been born in his own lifetime.

“I’ve never seen a god before. I would like to see this god and pay homage to him,” the king says. “But it is not possible.

“There is serious unrest in the palace. They don’t think I know about it, but I do. I have reliable spies. I will stay and protect my throne, and perhaps I can go visit this god later when I stabilize things here.”

Sensing uncommon loyalty, the king announces, “Since you are the ones who made the discovery, you will go as my ambassadors.”

“Your Majesty,” Dushatra hurries to explain, “Kumar has returned to Indus to tell King Gondophares about this. We agreed to wait for him.”

“Well, the four of you could represent the two empires. That is good. We should do things in allegiance with Indus now and then. However, we will not pass this information on to Rome. I do not want to be the bearer of bad news.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

A month later Kumar returns from Indus. By then the other magi have arranged for the gifts they will take to the king who apparently is also a god. They have made arrangements for a caravan to carry supplies and provide protection across the long desert. It will take five months traveling north, over, and down to make the trip to the land of Israel, the land of Palestine.

• BC 4
• Jerusalem, Province of Judea, Palestine

 The journey is long and hard. But the magi know they are doing the right thing. As they near Palestine, which is what Israel is called now, they wonder how the people there must be reacting. Festivals? A new palace being built? A new temple?

The magi are puzzled when they cross the border. Life as usual. No excitement. King Herod continues to reign. If he knows about the child-king, he has refused to officially recognize him.

The foreign caravan of camels makes its way through their land. The Jews stare inquisitively at the regal magi and their entourage. The magi do not tell anyone why they are here. They sense something is wrong. They are certain, however, their presence is reported to King Herod.

They arrive in Jerusalem. As representatives of two great oriental kingdoms, they must seek an audience with King Herod.

After several attempts, they manage to arrange a meeting. King Herod will give them ten marks of the sun dial. That is all. But they must wait a week for the meeting. They are told to be grateful for that much time with such an important world leader.

Finally, the week is over, and the entourage returns to the palace. Their meeting is confusing.

“What God-King are you talking about, sirs? There is only one king, and that is me. There is no one for you to pay tribute to but me. Have you brought me something special?” He laughs nervously, and his aides laugh with him. The magi do not.

He slaps his hand on the arm of his throne and announced, “Time’s up. It’s been a pleasure.”

“But the city, Your Majesty. Which city is the child in?”

“I tell you what,” the king responds as his guards escort the magi to the door leading out of his throne room. “Wait a few days, and I’ll send you a message.”

The door closes. Once outside, the four talk. “Do you think this new-born God King is Herod’s son?” Dushatra asks.

“Do you think King Herod is keeping it a secret so his son can pounce on unsuspecting kingdoms when he comes to power?” Kumar asks.

“He’s old like me,” Yasib explains. “He’s scared. Scared of losing the power of his youth. I recognized it in his eyes. I’ve seen it before in old men.”

The four magi remount their camels and head slowly through the streets. People stare suspiciously at the oriental strangers dressed regally and even their camels adorned with more gold than any of them have ever seen.

Some run from them as they approach. The magi stare back, wondering what has gone so terribly awry. Why aren’t the people rejoicing? He is their God King. Surely they, too, saw the star. What did their priests say it meant? Surely they know. They have to know. What are they hiding? Or hiding from?

Four dignitaries and four days.

Something is not right. Everyone remains silent. Where are the ceremonies and celebrations? The pomp and parades? It’s all wrong. Everything’s quiet. Too quiet.

But God is in charge. If the people cannot reassure the foreign ambassadors they’re on the right track, God will have to do it himself.

God gets out his flare. God is about to relight his star.

_____

A knock on the door of their inn.

“His majesty King Herod has agreed to see you one more time—for ten marks of the sun.” The soldier announces.

“He has sent one of his own chariots. You’ll be seeing him in his private quarters. This is a great privilege.”

The soldier waits outside their door until the men are ready to be presented once again to the king. But in his private quarters?

The four magi arrive and are escorted by another soldier to a back door, and then through an unobtrusive inner door.

“Come in, gentlemen. Sorry to have kept you waiting,” King Herod says warmly. “But I had to check you out, of course. I am prepared now to tell you where our new child-king is.”

“Your Majesty, we are most grateful,” replies Yasib.

“He’s in Bethlehem, in the province of Judea. That’s the same province Jerusalem is in, and not too far away.”

“You’re saying, then, that he really exists and we’ve found him,” Michel asks for reassurance.

He is wary. Something is terribly wrong. No one is paying attention to the whole event.

The conversation that follows as they are served wine and dates becomes guarded.

“Thank you, sir. We’ll be on our way now,” Yasib announces.

“By the way,” King Herod interjects, “I haven’t had time to pay him a visit yet myself—what with all my responsibilities. Stop by here on your way back. I’d like to see how he’s getting along. I do need to make time to go see him, you know. Probably in a couple of months.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Dushatra reassures. “We will do that. Thank you.”

The king’s chariot returns them to their inn. Despite the fact that it is nearly evening, the magi waste no time in ordering their personal guards on standby, their camels saddled and their belongings gathered up. They must leave Jerusalem before the king changes his mind. They do not completely trust him.

As they go through the gates of Jerusalem, they hear behind them the creaking of hinges. The gates are being closed for the night. They are not worried. Their guards are the best in Parthia, and Bethlehem is not far away.

On the road again. After five months of travel, a few more hours will seem as nothing. Each magus becomes engulfed in his own thoughts and stares into an empty evening sky, wondering what is going on.

Somehow they know this obscure baby in an obscure town is destined to be more powerful than King Herod the Great, or Rome, or all the kingdoms of the world.

They stare ahead along the darkened road between the holy city and the little town of Bethlehem. Wondering.

Why are they the only ones looking for the new-born God-King? Don’t these people know what’s going on right under their noses? Don’t they care? He’s their god. Can’t they see? Are they that blind?

Suddenly empty stares turn to astonishment. A great light! Zooming out of an ethereal distance.

“The light! The star is back!” Dushatra shouts.

“We were right. It is, indeed, his star. He is going to be king. King of the world!” Michel adds.

“He will rule in peace,” Yasib says. “He is a god. He will live forever.”

“The impossible star has once more proven it,” Kumar announces.

They stop their camels and stare with new understanding.

Their excitement slips into awe. They continue on their journey in silence. Deep, deep silence.

Light. Enlightenment. A thought comes to Dushatra. Could this baby be the great Buddha reincarnated? But if he merged with the essence of the universe, why would he return to earth? That’s backward. That’s punishment. God now a baby… God now a baby… Why would a god allow himself to be punished?

They watch the star. So light. So bright.

So captivating. They feel enslaved to it, but they do not care. They want to be. Strangely, they want to be.

•  Bethlehem, Province of Judea

 They arrive at Bethlehem about midnight. One of their personal guards shouts up to the guard in the tower.

“Open up! We’re here from the Orient. We are ambassadors of the kings of Parthia and Indus. We’ve come to pay tribute to your new-born king.”

“What king? We don’t have any kings here!”

“The descendant of David.” Michel calls up.

“Well, you’ve got the right city. King David was born here. And someday we’ll have a great king born in this very town. But it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Don’t you see the star? That’s his star,” Dushatra calls up.

“What star?” the guard responds.

“Man, can’t you see what’s happening tonight?”

“Oh, all that light? It’s probably a reflection of camp fires up in the hills.”

“But don’t you see the tail of the light?” Kumar asks.

“Yeah, but even if it is a star, it would be like the end of a rainbow. You don’t ever really come to it. Are you astrologers or something?”

“Please! We have letters from the king of Parthia and the king of Indus. May we come in?” Michel shouts back to him.

The guard comes down from his post and walks through the smaller door in the larger gate in and out of Bethlehem. He looks at the letters.

“I don’t read very well, but they look good to me. Where’d you find those beautiful camels?” He shifts from one foot to the other looking at the grand way the men are dressed.

“Very well. You may come in. But you’ll have to enter through the smaller door. No one comes in through the large gate at night.”

“That is agreeable,” Yasib replies.

Gradually the four magi, their personal guards and all their pack animals work their way through the gate, sometimes called the eye of a needle. Some things they have to take off the pack animals so they will fit. Eventually, they are all inside.

“Now what?” Kumar asks.

“The star,” Yasib replies. “Its beam seems to be pinpointing something.”

“Stars don’t do that! But we all see it!” Dushatra exclaims.

“Then let us proceed!” Michel announces.

The caravan works its way as quietly as possible through the darkened streets of Bethlehem.

Michel signals everyone to stop.

They know why. They have actually found it. The tail of the star. It is shimmering above a roof top.

The house is small and on an extra narrow street. Even in the dark, the magi can tell it is not a well-to-do part of town.

“Samgar,” Dushatra says quietly to the guard closest to him “Stay out here. If this is the right place, we will send for you.”

“Well, this is it, gentlemen,” Yasib says softly. “The King of kings. The Priest of priests. The one predicted centuries ago. The god.”

No one in the neighborhood seems awake.

Neither is anyone else in their country. All dream of being awake, but they are not. They dream they will understand and see it all. But they are blind.

“Gentlemen,” Michel says with a rather shaky voice. “Shall we?” he asks proudly.

The four slowly approach the gate. How does one greet a god? A knock. Nothing happens. They’re forced to knock louder. One of the guards comes over to help. They wait.

Shortly, the gate creeks and is opened. A young man with disheveled hair stands in the gateway in his night tunic, holding a small oil lamp.

“Yes?”

Yasib gets right to the point. “We have come to honor the new-born king, the god-man. We have traveled from Parthia and Indus. We saw his star on the night he was born.”

“You saw his star?” Joseph replies. “You know about the star? You know he’ll be the king some day? You know it all?” As he speaks, he takes note of their clothing. They are obviously rich Orientals; therefore, surely they were not sent by King Herod as spies.

“Yes, sir. King of all kings is what your Daniel said,” Michel states proudly.

That is all Joseph needs. It is obvious these four strangers know. He opens the door wider and steps aside so they may enter. He feels awkward. The visitors are dressed in the finest garments he has ever seen or dreamed of.

“I will get him and his mother,” Joseph whispers. “Please wait in here.”

As acquainted as the four magi are to regality, pomp and ceremony, a lump rises to their throats, and their hearts beat faster. They unite with the pulse of the universe. What will the god-child be like?

They wait. They hear low voices in an adjoining room. Then shuffling. Moments later a pretty young lady walks out with a toddler in her arms. They are both squinting from the light.

Mary stops, not sure what to do. It is obvious by their dress and demeanor these four men are important. She has never been around such dignified men like these before. Not up close.

The four dignitaries immediately bow their heads to the cobblestone, as if bowing before a god.

Mary is embarrassed. They remain prostrate. Anxiously Mary looks over at Joseph. He clears his throat, and as regally as he can, he says, “You may rise.”

The visitors rise and Joseph provides rough cushions for them to sit. They refuse to be seated until Mary and Joseph sit. Mary tries to feel more at ease but they compound her nervousness. For they, too, appear nervous.

“We saw your star,” Michel explains.

“Our star? Jesus’ star? You saw it? No one else seemed to notice. It didn’t last long, you know,” Joseph answers.

“Yes, we know,” Kumar adds. “We instantly knew there was significance somewhere. We searched every way we knew how. We searched the heavens, we searched our archives, we traveled to well-established libraries and we finally found the answer.”

Dushatra nods toward Jesus. “This little child will someday rule the entire world as the King of Peace? He will have the power of a god?”

“No, there is one God,” Joseph explains. “He will have the power of the one and only God, Jehovah.”

Mary realizes no one besides her family, the shepherds who came that night and a couple of people at the temple in Jerusalem have acknowledged who and what Jesus is.

Now foreigners understand. Foreigners. Do they even believe in God? It’s all wrong. Where are her own countrymen, Mary wonders for the hundredth time.

“Does he walk yet?” asks Yasib.

“Of course,” Mary laughs, glad for the change of pace. “He’s been walking for six months now. Would you like to watch him? Jesus, go see Daddy.” Mary puts him down on the floor.

The Son of God holds on to his mother’s hand a moment to catch his balance, then toddles over to Joseph. “Good boy, Jesus!”

It occurs to one of the magus that this couple has not noticed the star is back.

“Look up,” Michel says. “Look. Your star is back.”

“Star, Daddy! Star.” Toddler Jesus points to the sky with little stubby fingers.

“Where did you learn that word, Jesus?” Mary asks. Mary doesn’t remember Joseph or herself teaching Jesus that word.

His big eyes open even wider. A single tooth is displayed. Jesus repeats, “Star. Song. Star. Song.”

“The angels announced it to some shepherds that night,” Mary explains. “I think Jesus is referring to their announcement. I think he knows.”

“Do you think he’d walk over to us a moment?” Kumar asks, his voice quaking as never before.

Joseph turns toward the magi with new understanding. “Jesus, would you like to go see the nice men who came to see you?”

Jesus smiles and tugs at Joseph’s arms to let him down. His feet again touch the ground. Little Jesus toddles over to the great wise men from the Orient.

They grin. They’re grinning at God. They take hold of God’s hand and place it in their own. One of them is kissing God. God giggles.

Mary, still nervous, goes over and picks up her holy offspring and takes Jesus back with her to her seat.

The four men regain their composure. “We have brought gifts as tokens of esteem from our countries,” Dushatra announces. “Please give us a moment.”

He excuses himself, bows, and walks backward the best he can to the gate and out into the street. A few moments later he leads some of their guards into the crowded little room. They are carrying ornate chests.

“First,” he explains, “may I introduce Kumar? He comes representing his country, Indus, and his king, King Gondophares”

Kumar bows in respect before the mother and child.

“Please allow me the honor and privilege of presenting the child with this chest of frankincense,” Kumar says. “Just as you burn incense in your temple to your god, and we burn incense in our temples to our gods, we offer it now to this child. On the day he declares to the world that he is a god, burn this incense to him and tell him it was from us.”

Jesus reaches out and touches the pretty inlaid mother-of-pearl lid. Joseph takes it and sets it on a sturdy table nearby.

“Next, may I introduce Michel, the Babylonian who kept telling us we needed to read the writings of the Jews.”

“Your Highness. Your honor.” Michel stumbles over the words as he addresses the child-king. “Your Majesty. Young sir,” he continues. “Please allow me to present you with this chest of the finest myrrh in the world. Save it for his coronation day. The day when he will be anointed priest and king, not only of your small country but of the entire world. Remind him that Indus and Parthia came and honored him. We pray he will give special honor to our two countries as a result.”

Jesus plays for a moment with the amethyst knob on the lid of the chest. Joseph takes it, too, and sets it on the table near the other gift.

“Last, there are Yasib and myself, Dushatra. We are both from Parthia, though Yasib is actually Median.”

Old Yasib steps forward. Two guards step around him to present another grand chest, though smaller than the others.

“There is enough gold in this chest to make the grandest crown in the world. There will also be enough gold for a scepter. As your own prophets predicted, the scepter will never leave him. He will have a kingdom of peace that will reach the entire world. And he will reign forever. For, even though he was born, he will never die. He is a god and cannot die. And he will create a holy kingdom that will never die.”

Joseph motions to the guards where to place the small chest on the cobble stones. Little Jesus crawls down from his mother’s lap, goes over to the chest and playfully sits on it. But it is cold and he jumps up and giggles.

“We must leave now,” Dushatra announces. “We have fulfilled the mission. We have found the celestial secret of the star. Are there any inns in town?”

“Actually, one. We were planning to stay in it the night he was born, but it was full and bulging. I hear it is nice, but probably not as nice as what you are used to.”

They agree it will be fine. Joseph tells them how to make their way there.

Once more the four magi bow with heads touching the cobble stone. Then they rise half way and back out of the courtyard one at a time to the narrow gate.

As they leave, Joseph says, “God bless you.”

God bless you? No one has ever said God bless you to the magi before. A personal god who actually cares about them? It is strange. It is nice. They kind of like it. God bless you.

_____

They arrive at the inn, manage to obtain the attention of the proprietor, and are granted entry. Their guards bed down the camels and settle in to sleep next to them in the livery. The four magi eat, then retire.

After the lamps are out, they realize the star is now gone.

“Why do you think no one paid attention to the star light but us?” Kumar asks.

“Have they quit learning?” Dushatra adds.

“All along, these people have had their own documents to read to find him.” Yasib tries to find a comfortable spot. “But it is as though the whole country is blind. As though that’s not the king they wanted.”

“But he was sent by God.” Michel sums up what they all know.

The four fall asleep. They all four dream. The same dream…

Laughter. A face appears out of blackness. It is King Herod’s face, King Herod’s hideous laughter.

Soldiers come. The laughter is replaced with crying. Strange crying. Screams. Pitiful screams of babies.

Now a divine voice is heard.

DO NOT RETURN TO JERUSALEM.

In their sleep, they stir restlessly.

LEAVE THIS COUNTRY THE OPPOSITE WAY FROM WHICH YOU CAME. STAY AWAY FROM JERUSALEM.

All four wake up. Simultaneously.

“We must leave immediately!” Dushatra declares loudly.

Back out in the street. The night barely lingers before a new dawn. A dawn of terror. The foreigners make their way down narrow streets. They’ve given orders for their guards to remain as quiet as possible. They arrive once more at the gate of the city.

They do not try to explain. They give several silver coins to the guard, and quietly make their way back out through the eye of the needle, the door within the larger gate.

Instead of taking the northern route back out of the country, they turn south toward the desert. They must protect the child-king. They must not be discovered anywhere near him. Back out on the road, they whip their camels into a gallop. They must distance themselves from the child-king before dawn.

And so the foreign believers leave the holy land. Forever.

_____

Good riddance, magi, or whatever you unbelievers call yourselves. You’re not wanted here. This is our religion. Don’t go changing everything. You’ve got the wrong person.

7—THE WISE MEN I

Celestial Secrets and Star Search

 

One God? Many gods? One God by one name? One god by many names? Who can tell?

God in one person? God in three persons? God in a thousand persons?

God in spirit? God in nature? Signs of God? What are the answers? Are answers even possible?

That light! Where is it coming from? A star exploding? A planet erupting? An angry god? More questions. Always more questions. Frightening questions.

• BC 6
• Ctesiphon, Parthia, the Orient

“Sir. Sir. Come look. Something’s happening in the heavens!” The young astrologer rushes down the steep steps from the roof and down the hall.

Kinta’s black hair is ruffled from being out in the wind half the night, part of it down in his eyes. His clothes are crumpled from lying on his back observing the stars on the rooftop observatory, watching for omens from the gods. His eyelids droop from forcing himself to stay awake when everyone else is sleeping. Everyone else except his boss, that is, who seems to never sleep.

He frantically bangs on the officium door of the senior magus, then enters without being invited.

“Young man, have you left your post?” Dushatra demands, towering above the young astrologer. It is not really a question.

“You have to see this,” The young apprentice explains, holding on to the door, partly in preparation for the dressing down he knows he will receive for his disrespectful interruption.

“I don’t have to do anything,” Dushatra replies sharply. His hazel eyes seemingly pierce through Kinta. “How long have you been on our staff, anyway?” He runs his hand down his oval face and salt and pepper beard.

“Sir, you may be missing it. Please, sir. The universe is exploding.”

Seeing that a little gruffness does not turn off the fairly new apprentice, Dushatra leaves his charts and follows the young man down the hall. As they go, the younger one speeds up almost to a run. Eventually, the older man catches up and climbs the stairs to the roof.

He does not have to be told where the amazing star is. He stares, wondering secretly if he should rejoice or cringe in terror. Something great and cataclysmic, like nothing he has ever seen before. Surely King Phraattes has seen it too. He will be demanding an explanation.

“The phenomenon, sir,” Kinta whispers. “What is it?”

“It is not for you to question,” Dushatra replies, trying to cover up his own confusion. He himself does not know.

Dushatra stares, trying to decide what his first strategy will be. Should he go to the king unsummoned? Or should he wait and give the impression he is ignorant of what is going on around him?

“Anything else happen before I got here?” Dushatra inquires.

“No, sir. Only in this one location in the western sky.”

“This bears further observation, young man. I want a constant watch on it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Amazing!” Dushatra repeats, heading back toward the steps.

“Sir, you know what it reminds me of?” the apprentice interrupts, hoping the elderly man is not angry at his brashness. Dushatra stops and looks back a Kinta, but says nothing, so he continues. “It reminds me of, well, of angel glow.”

“Angels?”

“You know, spirits.”

Dushatra turns and looks sternly at the younger man. “Or a god,” he adds, his eyes on the star, not Kinta. He turns to leave, then stops and turns back again. “I’ll be back later to check on the status of the new star.”

He never has that chance. For after only a few moments, the sky light is gone. No explanation. Just gone. How could it have been?

A few commoners, who work all night as watchmen and are outside during the heavenly event, stare in wonder too. What caused it? What is happening? Is the world about to end?

Their terror increases because of the ignorance they know they will be forced to remain in. The magi advise royalty. No one else is entitled to know. Will the world come to an end without warning?

Dushatra returns to his study to think. What shall I do? It is nearly midnight. Will the king wish to be awakened? He paces. Or was he up when the star light came? He paces. The king will demand an explanation.

Dushatra looks over his charts of the heavens. He calculates and broods. Never has there been a star in that location. What is happening with the gods? What can I tell the king temporarily to keep him placated until I can uncover its true celestial secret?

He pulls out the scrolls which refer to the teachings of the Compassionate Buddha. He turns hurriedly through the Maha Vagga but does not try to read it. He has nearly memorized it.

Once more he paces, interrupting himself only to look again at his zodiac charts. A knock on his door. He answers it, half dreading what it will lead to.

“King Phraattes wishes to see you immediately,” a military courier announces.

“And the others?” he asks.

The messenger is well aware Dushatra is referring to the other magi.

“They are being summoned also, sir.”

Dushatra dons the official court vestments which he keeps on hand in his study for such times as this. Then, wishing to look as important and knowledgeable as possible, he picks up his celestial charts and leaves his officium.

As he approaches the throne room, he hears angry shouting. He pauses at the doorway long enough to be recognized by the king, then proceeds to the front, bowing as he goes, to join the others.

“I don’t care what you think!” King Phraattes bellows. “I want answers, and I want them now!”

King Phraattes is taller than everyone else in the throne room with thick, wavy black hair down to the nape of his neck and covering his ears. Even at this hour, his black beard is trim. He wears a gold band around his head. Beneath his eyes are deep bags.

“But, Your Majesty, that is impossible so quickly,” one of the many magi present objects. It is Kumar.

“Then do the impossible,” the king shouts. “It is your job to keep me informed of the secrets of the gods.” The king stands. “What was it trying to warn me of? Is my kingdom safe?” he shouts, then sits back down on his throne, the gold band on his head slipping to the side.

In a calmer voice, “When the Roman senate appointed me king, I was promised security for the rest of my life. So what is going on? Augustus liked me enough to send me an Italian wife. Has Rome changed its mind after twenty-five years? I demand an answer.”

The king spots Dushatra, prostrate on the floor in front of the throne waiting to be recognized.

“Yes, yes, Dushatra. Rise. You’ve always been a little saner than the other magi. Tell me what you know of this new star that suddenly appears and then just as suddenly disappears.”

Everyone knows that Dushatra is of the Magi Tribe which had been rebellious to Darius the Great some five hundred years earlier, but which proved later to be useful. They had long been a recognized priestly tribe since the time of the Greek invasion under Alexander the Great two centuries later, and have served succeeding kings faithfully.

Dushatra, buying time, opens his scrolls wherein he has charted the skies.

“Your Majesty,” he begins slowly, “the star appeared in the western sky.”

“Any idiot knows that,” the king says, putting down his goblet of wine. “Tell me something I don‘t know.”

“In the western sky we have the constellations of Leo the slaughtered lion on exhibit by the great hunter, Cancer the battle gates to heaven, Gemini the twin navigators, and Taurus the bull upon which the sun god rides.”

Somewhat calmed by this display of knowledge, even though every magus is expected to know this, the king lowers his voice. But now it is more sarcastic and impatient. “So, what secret are they trying to tell me?”

“Impending disaster on our enemies, Your Majesty,” one of the other magus, Kumar, interrupts, picking up an idea from the king’s own question.

King Phraattes turns in his direction. “You’re so predictable, I don’t know why I keep you around.”

He turns back to Dushatra. “Well, what is this star an omen of?”

“Your Majesty, I am dumbfounded by it.” Dushatra is one of the only magi in the royal court with the courage to make such an admission. The king likes and trusts him for that.

“No human has ever witnessed the birth of a star. The gods have been from eternity to eternity. And what makes this omen so difficult to interpret is that the god was born, and then died in its infancy, conceivably because it was so evil.”

At that thought, King Phraattes stands, walks a few paces from his throne in silence, then returns and sits back down. And shouts once more.

The veins in his neck stand out. “What if the gods believe my kingdom is evil?”

Something must be said to calm him.

“Or a second possibility,” Dushatra continues quickly, “is that the god apparently came into existence and then was immediately absorbed by the Essence of the Universe because it was so good.”

“Any other ideas?” the king says, turning toward the other magi gathered in the throne room.

“There are any number of possibilities, Your Majesty. We will need some time,” one of them responds. It is Anzan. He is a new magus.

“Well, since no one has an answer for me, I have no choice but to wait for the truth of the star’s secret, do I? I want this to receive priority. Drop everything else you are doing,” he sneers.

King Phraattes stands again and hits his scepter against the arm of his throne. “Incompetent! All of you!” he bellows. “I want my first report in the morning. Now leave me.”

He sits back on his throne and rubs his face with one hand.

Some of the magi leave in small groups forming investigative teams. Others leave in pairs. Still others alone, believing their best work is done solo.

Dushatra is joined only by Kumar. His interest had been piqued when his colleague mentioned the god being absorbed into the Essence of the Universe. Kumar being from Indus and a Hindu. Dushatra, a native Indo-Parthian, is Buddhist. They both believe in the Essence of the Universe, though from different points of view.

“It’s serious,” Kumar finally whispers, running his fingers through his straight black hair. “I’ve never seen the king so mad. Or scared.” They walk in silence a little farther.

“We’ve got to elicit more input from others. We’ve got to form a team of experts.” Dushatra has worked enough with Kumar to know both are in agreement on this.

“The entire kingdom—or even the world—may depend on us,” Kumar reflects aloud, rubbing his clean shaven face. “This star god’s influence may know no bounds nor boundaries. This god’s star has surely been seen worldwide.”

The two men stop walking. “This god must not be ignored. To do so may mean doom. Of the entire human race.”

Instead of exiting out the front gate, the two men rush to the captain of the guard.

“We need a chariot and escorts,” Dushatra demands.

Magi being the king’s closest advisors, the captain obeys.

As the two magi wait, they crouch on the floor and think.

“Your chariot is ready, sirs,” a soldier announces shortly. “I have also ordered a second chariot with men able to defend you, should you run into trouble on the way to your destination. There is no moon out tonight and it will be more dangerous for you.”

Without saying anything, the two magi enter their chariot and Dushatra tells the driver where they want to go. “Make it fast,” he adds.

They hold on to the sides to maintain their balance as their horse and chariot rush through the outer gates of the palace stronghold and into the city streets, followed close by the other chariot with two guards.

The driver expertly guides the horse around corners and down narrow streets to their destination.

“Here! Stop here!” Kumar shouts.

“Yasib. Open up.” Dushatra pounds on the door. “Get up, Yasib. Get up. It’s urgent. Open up. We must see you.” He shouts louder.

His knuckles become scraped by the rough wood of the door. The soldiers take over and pound on the door with the butt of their swords.

A light from above is in Yasib’s room overlooking the street. Holding a candle in the window, a disheveled man calls down to the men below. His voice is quaking, though not in fear. He has lived a long time and his voice is not as strong as in earlier years.

“Come on up. My gatekeeper should be there by now.” There is no mistaking his Median accent.

While the soldiers stand guard outside the gate, the two magi enter and follow their escort to the second floor bedroom. Yasib has made no effort to dress or even put on a robe. He is past the age of trying to impress people.

Time has colored Yasib’s black hair to mostly gray, and his height has diminished significantly from his youth. His slanted eyes are still bright.

Condescendingly, he looks up from his seat as his two longtime friends enter.

“So what’s eating you in the middle of the night?” he says, taking a goblet of juice from a second servant in the room. At his age he is undisturbed by their presence.

“Yasib, it’s about the star,” Dushatra begins

“Which star is it this time?”

“Well, we don’t know,” Kumar explains while not explaining anything.

“That’s brilliant. You wake me in the middle of the night to tell me about a star you don’t know anything about.”

“It appeared, stayed several moments, and then disappeared. We both saw it,” Kumar continues.

“What sky was it in?” Yasib asks his friends of many years.

“Western. Does that mean anything in the Zoroastrian religion?” Dushatra asks.

“How easily could it be seen?” he continues, prying more information out of them.

“It overshadowed all the other stars around it,” says Dushatra.

“You mean it outshined all the others,” his friend, Kumar, corrects, lightening up what they know will be a very dreary and long night.

“The king is in an execution mood. He fears the doom of his kingdom. He is expecting answers by morning.” Dushatra looks earnestly at Yasib, with his always present smugness.

Yasib stands and walks over to his window where he looks up into the sky in silence. The others wait in hopeful expectation. Moments pass. He turns.

“Well, you know we must call in Michel.”

“But he’s Babylonian. Their magi are so far inferior of mind than the rest of us,” Dushatra objects.

“You may consider him a maverick, but so are the rest of us, you know,” Yasib reminds them. “If the leaders of our different religions knew we were in league, trying to find the best of each, they’d execute us before the king got a chance.”

“But Michel?” Dushatra continues.

“Personally, I never found much use for his Jewish religion. Never studied it much. Too many rules and regulations. Never liked anyone telling me what to do.” It is Kumar.

Yasib temporarily leaves the room and goes downstairs. The outside gate can be heard opening, then the clomping of horse hooves. Soon he reappears in his room on the second floor.

“Michel will be here in an hour. Now, where do we start?” Yasib asks, taking the lead that is rightfully his. “Kumar, your Hinduism is the oldest of our religions. We should start with it. We should search your scriptures for mention of all stars.”

“Do you have the copies I gave you?” Kumar replies.

“Yes, hidden behind my old scrolls in the cabinet over there. We will adjourn to my study. I’ll have three more tables and lamps brought in,”

He speaks to his attending servant, closes and bolts his door, then goes to the cabinet. He pulls out several scrolls, reaches to the back, and pulls out four that the other scrolls had hidden.

Just as the astrologers arrive at Yasib’s study, the other tables and lamps are brought in.

The men divide up the scrolls to scan through. Everyone lapses into silence.

“Gentlemen. I’ve been thinking about you.” Michel has arrived. He is of average height, has brown hair and eyes, olive skin, and a hook nose. His beard is long.

Yasib stands and welcomes him. “Oh, we didn’t hear the chariot arrive. I guess we were too absorbed. We’re searching for the meaning of a star Dushatra saw.”

“You mean the bright one in the western sky? I was praying, facing that direction when I, myself, saw the star. Amazing. Never saw anything like it. Been up half the night wondering if it had some special meaning.”

He takes his place at an empty table where a scroll is laid out.

“Here is a copy of the Hindu sacred writings. Search for any mention of a star,” Yasib explains.

Once more the silence. The dead silence.

Day dawns.

“Well, we’ve found two references to stars,” Yasib announces.

“We must be the first to appear before the king,” Dushatra, a real politician at heart, explains. “We cannot look hesitant.”

_____

The four are gradually joined by most of the other magi as they wait at the entrance to the throne room. All looking suspiciously at the others. Some taking peeks at notes they have brought with them. One by one they are recognized and given permission to enter.

King Phraattes’ eyes are bloodshot with dark circles under them. The interrogations begin. And the shouting of a king who is yet to be informed of the celestial secret

“Your Majesty, I think…” One magus begins

“Your Majesty, it seems to me…” Another magus interrupts

“Your Majesty, we need more time because…” Still another one wants to make a point.

“I haven’t slept all night,” the king bellows, “and you bring me this drivel.”

At last, their turn comes. Gray-haired Yasib approaches the throne, bowing as he goes, with the other three behind him.

“So far I haven’t heard anything that makes sense,” the king says, motioning for the four men to rise and come closer.

“I’m really disgusted with the rest of the magi. Even before they start, I know they have no answers for me.” He leans forward in his throne. “We’re running out of time. Dushatra, are you and your colleagues ready to save our kingdom this morning?”

Yasib steps aside, letting the younger, more alert men take over.

Kumar reads the passage he had found the night before. “It is in The Upanishads under ‘Chandogya.’ ‘Within the lotus of the heart are heaven and earth, the sun, the moon, the lightning and all the stars.’ This, Your Majesty, means that the star we saw is a manifestation of the heart of the great god Brahman. You have nothing to worry about. You are in harmony with Brahman.”

The king looks over at the other magi standing nearby. “What do you think of this?” he asks. “Do the rest of you believe in Hinduism?”

One man walks forward. He is one of the new magus and not well known. Anzan is trying to make a name for himself.

“Your Majesty, I am somewhat knowledgeable of Hinduism, but need time to read their writings. If it pleases Your Majesty, I will return tomorrow with an opinion.”

“Tomorrow?” the king shouts. “Tomorrow? What if there is no tomorrow?”

“Your Majesty, I cannot give it justice immediately,” the novice replies, not understanding how dangerous it is for him to object.

King Phraattes relents. “All right,” he sneers. “But you will be here first thing in the morning. If we have a morning. Next!”

Michel has said nothing. He follows Yasib’s group out to the anteroom, and attention is passed on to the next group of magi.

Yasib talks with the fifth magus, Anzan. He gives him a copy of the pertinent scroll.

_____

Michel goes home to sleep, but sleep cannot come. Not when he knows it is true what the king had said: The world may end tonight.

He turns over and over in his bed. “Jehovah, Creator of all things and all of mankind. You are the only God. Give me an opportunity to declare you before the king. If he believes in you, perhaps, just perhaps, many others will come to you and your glory.”

His wife, Meira, cannot sleep because of his restlessness. “Sweetheart, things will turn out okay,” she says, lifting herself up on her elbow next to him.

“If they would just give me a chance.”

“They will, Michel. Just be patient. Jehovah will make sure you have your turn.”

_____

Morning. Back in the palace and to the throne room, the four are called forward to hear rebuttals by Anzan, critic of the Hindu opinion of the star. They do not like what they hear.

“Your Majesty,” he begins, scroll in hand. “The same passage these men quoted yesterday about the star has some contradictory statements in it. It says that the great god Brahman thought to himself, ‘Let me be many.’ If Brahman, the great Self, the Essence of the Universe, voluntarily and happily divided himself up to be many, why do the Hindus consider themselves evil by being separated from Brahman, but good by becoming one with Brahman?”

The king takes a sip of wine from his silver chalice.

“Furthermore, Your Majesty, if a person must renounce all relationships and wealth, why does this passage say that being cows and horses, elephants and goats are poor existences? They have what the good Hindu wants: No wealth and relationships. Why would Hindus consider it punishment to be reincarnated as an animal?”

King Phraattes leans forward in his throne.

“In addition, this passage talks of a sage seeing the dead—his fathers, mothers and brothers of previous lives in the spirit world. How can this be possible since Hindu scriptures say everyone is continually reincarnated? The spirit world would be empty with everyone reincarnated or absorbed into the Essence of the Universe, Brahman.”

The king shifts, and leans on his arm.

“And finally, Your Majesty, it says that, when we move about in our dreams, we enjoy sensuous delights and are clothed in glory when we experience the Self, the Brahman. That, too, is contradictory. In order to be joined with the Self, one must renounce all desires and delights of the senses.”

Kumar shifts from one foot to the other and lowers his eyebrows, glaring at his antagonist.

“I do not see how Hinduism could have the answer for you. Therefore, the star being a manifestation of the great god Brahman’s heart could not be true.”

“Gentlemen,” King Phraattes replies, turning his attention to Yasib and his three colleagues, “Do you have a rebuttal?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” says Kumar. “In Brihadaranyaki, it says this: ‘Among the gods, he who awakened to the knowledge of the Self became Brahman. He it is who dwells in the sun, in the moon, in the stars.’ This is just further proof that the star is a good omen. An omen that your kingdom is in harmony with Brahman.”

Once more King Phraattes turns to the critic. “Any comments?”

Once more the contending magus requests the scroll and permission to return the next day with his reactions. The scroll and time are begrudgingly granted.

_____

Once again, Michel has said nothing. Again the sleepless night.

“Don’t they realize, Oh Jehovah, that the gods are not playing games on them? Don’t they realize those are no gods at all?”

He stares out his window. He paces. He climbs back into bed. Back up again.

He goes out into his courtyard so he does not disturb his wife. But she has awakened anyway and comes out to join him. She stands behind him, clasping him around his waist. He turns and looks at her.

“If Jehovah would only help me understand the meaning of the star.” He squeezes her hands.

“He will. Somehow he will,” she answers.

Michel looks up into the sky open above them. “If Jehovah would just explain it to me tonight, I could declare Jehovah to them in the morning.”

“If there is another morning,” she whispers low enough he cannot hear.

_____

Morning and once more to the palace. Once more a rebuttal by the young Anzan.

The throne room is now empty except for guards, personal servants, and the five magi.

“Your Majesty,” Anzan begins. “This passage quoted yesterday says we must live a life of renunciation of wealth, desire and relationships in order to lose our individuality and become one with the god Brahman. This is inconsistent with their teachings that, if we live bad lives, we are reincarnated as small animals or even unthinking objects such as rocks.”

The king says nothing.

Emboldened, the young magus continues. “Since rocks automatically have an existence of renunciation and no thoughts of their individuality, wouldn’t being a rock be considered a reward rather than a punishment? Wouldn’t a rock be closer to being one with Brahman, the Essence of the Universe, than a human?”

“Furthermore…”

King Phraattes interrupts. “I’ve heard enough. None of this reincarnation thing makes sense to me.”

“Your Majesty,” Dushatra interjects “If you will give us a little more time, we will search through the documents of the Buddhist religion. There are references to stars there.”

“Since when did you become Buddhist?” the king asks.

“Your Majesty, I’ve always been Buddhist. It is no disrespect to your Zoroaster religion. I was just born that way.”

“Very well. It looks like the gods have given us somewhat of a reprieve. But for how long? I will give you two days. No longer. After that, you will be executed or banished. I haven’t made up my mind yet.” The king is speaking in low tones.

“We are certain there is no imminent danger to you, sir,” Dushatra continues. “Therefore, we are asking for a week so we may be better prepared than previously.”

“Are you willing to lay your life on the line like this? Are you willing to give your life for that star?” the king asks.

_____

Michel and the others return home. Michel’s wife, Meira, has dinner prepared for him.

“How did it go today?” she asks as she serves the stew.

“Bad. Real bad.”

He picks up his bread, dips it in the stew, lifts it half way to his mouth, and then puts it back in the bowl.

“I have to listen to those men tell how wonderful their gods are, and other men telling them their gods are better.”

Meira hands her husband some grapes, hoping he will at least eat something light.

“Around and around it goes,” she says, summing up the whole affair.

“The star. It is haunting me. It is haunting my colleagues too. Not many of us are left wanting to search for its meaning. There has to be a meaning. Jehovah, what is it?”

_____

A week later Yasib, Dushatra, Kumar, and Michel arrive at the throne room. They wait nervously in the growing crowd. Awaiting their turn, they listen to the low conversations of each magus near them, secretly hoping all the others will be wrong, and only they right. They can hear through the closed door as one by one the king shouts, impatient with each magus and his postulations.

“You’re an idiot! Do you expect me to believe that? Leave. And don’t come back. If I ever see you again, you will be thrown to the lions,” they hear as the door to the throne room is opened and the dejected magus rushes out.

King Phraattes’ anger grows with each interrogation. Eventually, it is their turn.

“Well, Yasib, I see you are back. What foolishness are you going to tell me?”

“Your Majesty, as you know, I am old. Though my mind is as sharp as it ever has been, my voice is weak. Therefore, once again I defer to my younger colleagues,” Yasib explains.

“Guard, bring a chair for Yasib,” the king calls out. Turning to Yasib, he adds, “You were a good friend to my father. Sit and rest while I listen to your friends. Perhaps, under your guidance, they will make sense.”

Dushatra steps forward. “I bring you the wisdom of the compassionate Buddha.”

“Compassionate? What does compassion have to do with anything?” King Phraattes is back to his old self.

“My kingdom is about to come to an end and you talk about compassion. Forget it. I don’t want to hear any of your foolishness. Leave me.” The king’s face grows red with anger.

In desperation, Dushatra hurriedly raises his arms heavenward. “Truth. I bring you truth,” he shouts. “Truth reveals all secrets. Truth is stronger than all things. Truth will bring us freedom from the threat of the star. Truth will bring our kingdom everlasting happiness.”

The king unexpectedly smiles at the expert politician and lets Dushatra continue.

“Your Majesty, from the Sutta Pitaka we found this statement in chapter fifteen called ‘Happiness.’ ‘One ought to follow such a good and wise man, as the moon follows the path of the stars.’ This means that you are a good and wise king as long as the moon follows the path of the stars.”

King Phraattes takes his chalice filled with wine on the table next to his throne, and throws it at the magus. “I am not a fool, Dushatra. Your explanation is no explanation at all.”

Ejo has been standing at the back of the group of four magi. He steps forward.

“Your Majesty, may I speak?”

Dushatra turns and stares at the stranger in disbelief. Must be a spy. He cannot admit someone came in with his team without anyone knowing it. He remains quiet.

“I have studied the Buddhist religion. It is full of flaws. I would like to study this passage and return later to explain the contradictions I am sure I will find.”

“I suppose you want your week. As though I have all the time in the world. Are the Medes rebelling again? How about the Babylonians? What is that star a sign of? I demand to know.” He stands and struts before his throne.

“Guards!” the king shouts. “Arrest Dushatra and his friends.”

Yasib stands. “Your Majesty. Please. They are doing better than any of your other magi. They are close. I know they are close. Under my guidance, Your Majesty, they will discover the secret of the star.”

Yasib still has much influence Dushatra thinks. with royalty and commoners both. The king cannot afford a coup.

Realizing Dushatra and his colleagues have slipped through his fingers, the king motions the guards back to their posts. He allows the five magi to leave unharmed and orders the next magus to enter and give his postulations as to the secret of the star.

_____

Home again. As Michel unlatches the gate into his home, he hears laughter. His wife’s laughter, and that of a second woman. When he enters, the other woman puts her shawl over her head, says goodbye to Meira, greets Michel respectfully, and rushes away.

“It is good to hear laughter again,” Michel says as he seats himself on a bench near the gate.”

Meira smiles, sits next to her husband, and takes his hand. “All day long, all I hear is arguing and blithering about gods that don’t exist. They think they make sense, but they don’t.”

“Wait right here, Michel. I have a surprise for you.”

Meira disappears, then returns with something behind her back.

“Remember that scripture scroll you used to have of the prophet Jeremiah, and which you lost?”

Michel looks at her, his eyebrows arched high and his lips pursed as though daring to smile.

“Here it is!” She lays it on his lap. “I was getting ready to pour more grain into one of my storage jars, and there it was. It had apparently been placed with the other storage jars last spring when I brought in help with my seasonal deep cleaning.”

“Michel places his hand over it silently, then looks up at his wife. “Perhaps I can find the meaning of the star in Jeremiah’s writings.”

That night, Michel sleeps soundly for the first time in many days.

_____

A week later, Yasib and his group show up again at the throne room. The king is astonished. Admiration for their courage and audacity makes him allow their entrance and an audience. The magus who had challenged the Buddhist interpretation of the star is there too. It is he who begins the discussion.

“Buddhists…” Ejo begins. “Buddhists,” he repeats, “state the highest good is unity with Nirvana, personal annihilation, unity with the Essence of the Universe. On the other hand, Buddha said, ‘There is one sole Truth and apart from consciousness, no diverse truths exist. We must remain free from lusts and dogmas.’

“But then in Sutta-Nipata Buddha said he had preached the Truth. How can someone preach something that is only consciousness?”

Dushatra clenches his teeth.

“Furthermore,” the critic continues, “in his Sutta Pitaka Buddha says a wise man rejoices always in the law. Later he talks about the sinner following false doctrine. What law and doctrine can he refer to if there is only one truth, and that is consciousness?

“And one last comment, Your Majesty. In the Spirit of Theravada Buddhism in chapter eight, ‘Majjhima-Nikaya,’ it is said that Buddhism makes no claim to the exclusive possession truth. If there is no exclusive truth, then there is no truth. So how can anyone’s statement be known to be true?”

King Phraattes stands, then paces. He looks at Dushatra, Kumar, and Michel. Though Michel, once again, has said nothing, he is still part of the team.

“You are a bunch of idiots. You’re supposed to be telling me the secret of the gods, and you don’t even know what truth is.”

The king looks over at Yasib who he has allowed once again to be seated in his presence. “Are you sure you want to claim these men?” Then he looks back at the other three. “Get out of my sight!”

Dushatra and his colleagues, feeling grateful the king has seemingly forgotten his execution threat, bow to the floor then partially rise and back slowly away from the throne, heads bowed in submission until they reach the doorway. Yasib is the last to leave.

Hurrying out of the palace, they talk. “We must keep searching,” Yasib tells the others. “This time we will pursue my scriptures, the scriptures of Zoroaster. And this time we will do it right.” Yasib leads the way out of the palace.

“Come to my house and I will give each of you a different book of Zoroaster to study. We’ll meet at the end of two weeks and compare notes. We must be more thorough.”

_____

Two more weeks. Searching. Searching for a star that was and no longer is. Searching, perhaps, for a god that was and no longer is. Finally, they come back together. They compare notes. Each prays to his preferred god for the king’s good graces. They head for the palace.

“Your Majesty, Yasib, Dushatra, Kumar, and Michel wish an audience. They have found the secret of the star.”

Dushatra knows they are taking a chance. The emperor could turn them down if he is in another bad mood, and they could be executed for their impudence.

But King Phraattes’ fourteen-year-old son is on a smaller throne next to his proud father. They are laughing at something. The king looks up at the guard announcing the magi’s presence in the anteroom, and the purpose of their mission.

“Star? What star?” the king responds to the guard. “Oh, yes, the star. That was over a month ago. Well, these magi are harmless enough.”

He looks at his son. “It’ll give young Phraattees some experience in how to deal with the magi.” He pokes his son with his elbow. “Besides, I like them,” he says with a wink. “They’re the only ones with the nerve to stand up to me.”

To the guard, he waves and says, “Send them in.”

“Your majesties,” Yasib begins, “we believe we have found the secret of the star. It is found in the beliefs of the Zoroaster’s. I know you will be pleased because this is the religion of the Parthins and of Your Majesty.”

“Go ahead,” the king responds while his son hands him a cluster of grapes.

“In The Yasna 12,1 it says the Glorious Beings are clothed in the light of the stars. As you know, each of the gods is clothed with a star. The writer of this scripture said he was a praiser of the Bountiful Immortals and Ahura Mazda, and sacrifices to them.”

“I made a list of the Bountiful Immortals as I found them in The Yasna,” Michel interjects, not believing what he is about to say: “The sun god, the god of truth, the rain god, god of the earth, the god of metals, the god of best righteousness, the god of the air and the guardian god of dead souls.”

“I went through The Vendidad,” Kumar adds. “I found the god of good mind and guardian of sheep and cattle, the god of fire…”

The king begins whispering to his son and the two laugh. Things are not going well. Dushatra interrupts. “Your Majesty, Tishtrya, the rain god, is identified with the star Sirius. As you know, Sirius is the brightest star in the heavens. The new star we saw must have been the son of Tishtrya.”

“So, what you’re trying to tell me, gentlemen,” the king interjects, poking his son and giving him a wink, “is that the rain god had a son, but the son did not live. If the son did not live, that means you are predicting a drought this year.”

“No, Your Majesty. That is not the meaning at all. When the new star appeared, it…”

“What did I tell you, Son? These magi expect me to believe all this. Now, as you know I do believe in deity. I believe in as many gods as the next man. But there are only so many you can believe in.

“Gentlemen, you are lucky I am in a good mood. Today is my son’s birthday. You are thenceforth exiled from my kingdom.”

“Your Majesty,” Dushatra hurriedly interjects; convinced even their lives are on the line, “I must strongly object to your treatment. We are your priests. We are doing the best we can to watch for the welfare of both you and your kingdom. We are the only intercessors you have between yourself and the gods.”

Two powers have locked horns. The head of a kingdom on earth. The heads of kingdoms in the heavens. Who is stronger?

The king stands in fury. “Because you insist on pursuing that star, the only way you will be allowed back into my kingdom is that you present me an interpretation that is provable. Provable! Do you hear me? Provable!”

“But Your Majesty…”

He looks at Yasib. “I have had it with you and your so-called protégés. If I ever see any of you again, you will be executed immediately. Now out. Leave me. It’s my son’s birthday.” He motions for the guards to escort them from the palace.

The four magi bow to the floor, then, standing stooped, make their ways backward until they reach the exit from the throne room. Soldiers escort them through the outer courtyard and out into the street.

“You should have listened to me in the first place,” Michel criticizes. It is finally time to speak up. I told you to investigate the Jewish religion.”

“That is out of the question,” Dushatra objects. “That religion makes no sense. We will systematically study the religions of all the nations west of us, the nations in the direction of the star.”

“In that case, we must go down to Babylon,” Michel replies with a sigh. “The greatest libraries in the world are there. Tello is the largest one. Over 60,000 writings there.” After a moment’s reflection, he resumes. “However, they are mostly governmental. We should go to Nippur, my home town where I was born. There are over 50,000 writings there, some governmental, but mostly religious.”

Only their closest relatives know where they disappear to.

• Nippur, Babylon

 It has now been six weeks since the illusive star was spotted. The four magi have vowed to stay in Babylon until they find the explanation of the star. They must. Their only alternative is permanent exile from Parthia. Or execution if they return with the wrong answer to the celestial secret.

They stay in an inn and plan their strategy. Little do they know they will someday be in a similar inn far away, and the God of the star will actually speak to them. But for now, they do not know it, and need a little diversion before setting to work in the morning.

Dushatra, Kumar and Michel walk around town. Yasib stays back at the inn so he can nurse his aching joints and retire early.

The three sit by the river and walk through the market place.

Michel finds a silk scarf that would look perfect on his wife and buys it. The others pick up a few souvenirs themselves. There are some dates at one of the stalls and they all buy a few to eat as they walk.

Finally refreshed enough they think they can relax sufficiently to go to sleep, they return to the inn.

Morning comes and they go to the library.

“Okay,” Yasib tells the others. “We begin with the gods of the Babylonians, as inferior as they are. Spread out. Each one takes a scroll and search for mention of a star.”

They settle down to feed their obsession. Their families have tolerated them for over a month over a star that only half the men had even seen. But they know it has significance. If only they could figure out the meaning of the star. A week passes.

“We have found holy writings about Baal the god of the earth. No mention of a star,” Dushatra says.

Another week. Back and forth to the inn.

“We have found writings referring to Anu the god of heaven, and Ea the god of waters. Nothing to do with a star there either,” Kumar tells the others.

Another week. Will their money hold out? It has to. They cannot return home without declaring with absolute provable certainty they know the meaning of the star.

“We found Marduk, a more recent name of Baal,” Michel says. “No star. And I found writings on Sin, the god of the moon, and Shamash the god of the sun. Nothing about a star.”

A fourth week. They are growing discouraged. But, luckily, when one is discouraged, the others pull him out of it.

“Well, we found Nabu identified with Mercury, Nergal identified with Mars, Ninim identified with Saturn. But everyone knows these are planets and not stars,” Yasib explains.

Their money supply is growing low. They may have to find jobs. Perhaps they could tutor.

“We can’t give up. If we do, we’ll never see our families again. We can never give up. As long as there is breath in us,” Dushatra declares, “we cannot give up.”

Michel nods in agreement.

The next day at the library, Yasib announces, “Today we switch to another nation’s gods— that of the Grecians to the northwest. Persia conquered Greece. Later the Greeks reconquered Persia.”

Another week. Only now they are more careful with their funds.

“These Grecian gods are strictly over nature or general activities of mankind,” Kumar concludes one day. “They are identified with the planets and the sun, but not with the stars.”

“Then we shall check the gods of Rome, the benefactor of Persia, and most of the rest of the world,” Yasib tells them.

“I think you may be on to something,” Dushatra interjects. “Why didn’t we think of that in the first place?”

Once again they go back to the inn. They are now so mentally exhausted, it does not take them long, once they lie down, to fall asleep for the rest of the night.

“Wake up everyone. I’ve been to the market,” Michel explains, “and have brought everyone some rare fruit.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

“Apricots”

“Oh, that. There’s nothing rare about apricots.”

“These are from Africa,” Michel announces proudly. If I can show them that something new isn’t bad, maybe they’ll be willing to examine the Jewish scriptures.

They return to the library and examine the Roman gods. But their gods are almost identical to the Grecian ones, only with different names. They read of the usual ceremonies of appeasement by the priests, but that is all.

Another month has passed. They have sent letters home to reassure their families they are safe.

“We’re out of money again,” Yasib announces.

“Whose turn is it to find a job?” Dushatra asks.

“I’ll take a turn,” Michel volunteers. “I met a family with young children I can teach for a while. I look like the people around here anyway, so I won’t draw any attention.”

“Yes, that’s important. We can never let Yasib teach.”

“True,” Kumar adds. “Number one, his eyes don’t look like anyone else’s, and number two, he’s too old.”

Yasib puts his hands on his hips and scowls with his mouth while his slant eyes twinkle.

The four laugh together.

So, every day when the four leave the inn, three head for the library while Michel goes to his new job. It will spare him reading about gods that are not gods.

Eventually, he earns enough for the four of them to live another couple weeks, and resumes his daily trek to the library with the others.

“There has to be an answer in here,” Kumar says, wandering among the rows of scrolls.

“We have no choice but to begin researching the gods to our southwest,” Yasib explains.

“No, we must study the nation directly west of us,” Michel objects. He has been patient long enough.

“You are determined to convince us to investigate the Jewish religion of Palestine, Michel,” Dushatra replies. “They only believe in one God. They are narrow minded and it would be a waste of time.”

And so they turn to Arabia in search of the star. Northern Arabia seems useless. The Bedouins stay too busy raiding each other and rich southern settlements to develop many gods. Their main god is born out of a stone. All the lesser deities are the daughters of this god.

Southern Arabia is much like Indus along its coast next to Indus, and much like Africa on its coast nearest Africa. Then there is Sheba, ever striving for an empire of its own carved from another part of Arabia.

“Yasib, how do you do it?” Michel asks.

“What do you mean?”

“Keep up with the rest of us? You’re old enough, well…”

“Old enough to be your father?” Yasib responds.

“Well, yes,” Michel admits. “How do you do it?”

“Yes, what with your arthritis and all,” Kumar interjects.

“Well, when my mind is off my pain, I feel no pain. Besides, all that goat milk you make fun of me for drinking…”

“Goat milk?” Dushatra says. “What’s goat milk have to do with it?”

“I don’t know. But my father and grandfather lived to be ninety and they drank it. Back to work, you children,” Yasib teases.

“These Sabaeans claim to be believers only of Ilmuqah, the moon god,” Kumar tells the others. “But they also worship the stars which they claim to be angels.”

“Then I say we investigate these stars,” Yasib suggests.

So they do. But, as usual, the magi end up with more questions than answers.

“There is no way we can prove any of these angel stars had anything to do with the birth and death of the star last year. They are angels, not gods.”

“Remember what the king said. It must be provable.”

“But you cannot prove religion. It is unprovable. It’s strictly what you want to believe. Strictly faith.” Kumar injects.

“You’re wrong, gentlemen,” Michel objects. “You can prove the Jewish religion to be of divine origin.”

“Michel, if we agree to study that religion later, will you keep your attention focused on the ones at hand from the larger and more important nations?”

Another week goes by. They have moved out of the inn. It has become too expensive. Michel has found a widower younger than Yasib but frailer.

“He could use some extra income,” Michel explains.

So they crowd into the old man’s little house. His name is Hozo.

Each man has his own bedroll and spreads it on the floor at night. They take up nearly all the floor space.

“It’s a roof over our head,” Dushatra says. “That’s all we need.”

Yasib spends a little extra time with Hozo. They talk old times. The others have not ever heard Yasib laugh so much. Sometimes the old men break out into an old song from their youth, and their voices croak out the tune in youthful glee. The younger men enjoy the entertainment.

Next, the magi turn their attention to the African kingdoms. Michel is quite aware of the fact that these kingdoms are usually smaller than Palestine, but he bides his time. He knows one day in their desperation, when they have no other alternatives, they will investigate Judaism.

The Kushites near Ethiopia along the Red Sea worship a lion god, and the other kingdoms are not much different. Each kingdom believes in a single high god but without personality. Below him are many lesser gods controlling nature.

Below the gods are the spirits of the ancestors. They are the ones who take an interest in the lives of their descendants on earth. They are the ones all Africans devote their time and attention to. After all, the gods don’t really care what happens to humans. They are busy manipulating nature.

_____

Michel’s wife writes him a letter. Nippur had been her girlhood home and, though her family had all moved away long ago, there are a few neighbors she had grown up around who would remember her. A caravan master delivers the message to the neighbor Meira had referred him to.

One morning at the library, they hear it. “Message for Michel! Anyone here named Michel?”

Unsure whether to reveal his identity, Michel finally tells the messenger who he is.

“I am an old neighbor of your wife, Meira,” the messenger explains. “We played together as children before she married you and moved away. She sent this letter to me along with a shorter message explaining where you could be found.”

The letter duly delivered, Michel gives him a tip. He nervously opens the scroll and is relieved to read the contents.

I am okay, my darling. But I miss you so. I am praying every day that the others have finally consented to read the Jewish scriptures so you can be exonerated and come home to me.

He slips the small scroll beneath his wide belt and returns to work.

_____

No answers are found in the African religions.

Another month passes. More days and weeks of research and analysis.

“We cannot give up,” Yasib announces. “There has to be a meaning to that star.”

“We shall now investigate the Egyptian gods,” Dushratra announces.

Michel shakes his head in frustration.

Among the Egyptians, the magi find and investigate the gods of the sun, earth, water, joy, love, learning, childbirth, the netherworld, craftsmen and on and on. But no specific star god, other than the Zodiacs which they got from the Babylonians.

Nothing new there.

Still no answers.

It has now been well over six months since the appearance and disappearance of the mighty, but strange star. The star that nags at them and tugs at them and refuses to let go. The star that controls their every waking moment by just the memory of it. The star that could have brought an end to the world, but didn’t. The star that has to be holding some great secret. But what?

The questions. Ever lingering. The unknowable. The unanswerable. But still the star glint. Star glint of hope.

“Michel, it looks like your religion is going to have a hearing after all,” Dushatra says. “Not that we’ll find any answers in it either. But we’ve exhausted all the others.”

“In that case, gentlemen,” Michel pronounces, “I suggest we return to Parthia to look through the royal archives.”

“How could government archives prove anything about the gods? And what if the king finds out we’re back?” Kumar says.

“The archives I have in mind are in Ecbatana, the capital when Media controlled Persia. We will go there and stay out of the king’s way until we find our answer.” Yasib informs them.

Do they not know it is impossible to prove religion? Do they not know they can never uncover the meaning of the star?

6—ANNA & SIMEON

Flaming Hope With A Flickering Candle

 

Who said God answers prayers? There are millions upon millions of people praying to him all the time. There is no way he could hear them all at once and keep them sorted out.

Besides, we’re not the only things God created. You think the earth is some big deal? Our planet is only one of many to belong to our sun-star. Our sun-star is only one of millions in our galaxy. Our galaxy is only one of millions of galaxies.

So who are we? We are punier than the smallest needle point compared to the rest of the universe. We are nothing. Each of us just a spec. A forgettable dot on the sea of the cosmos. A whisper in the realm of existence.

• BC 90-80
• Asher, Province of Galilee, Palestine

“Sir, you have a baby girl!”

Some people are stubborn though. They actually believe God notices them. Who do they think they are?

“We shall name her Anna.”

Anna has a strange life ahead of her. Her entire life she will wait and hope, wait and lose hope, wait and hope. Sometimes desperately.

Does God really answer prayer like they say? Anna will not find out until the very end—nearly a century from now.

Raising cattle is hard. Still, it is a contented way of life. But as little Anna grows, she becomes discontented. It had started when her father took her over to the Great Sea coast for the first time. There she saw all the excitement of big city life.

Back home, Anna embroiders a handkerchief with an image of the seacoast. She is good at embroidering. And as she does, she hums. She is both artistic and musical. Her family is proud of her.

Oh, dear Anna, if you only knew what lies ahead of you in the big city where you will move some day. Excitement, yes. But not the kind you have in mind. Riots, spies, invasions, massacres right in the temple. The sacred temple.

Perhaps you shouldn’t go, sweet Anna. You’re too pure and innocent. Are you sure that’s what you want? Can you handle it, little girl with the curls and big dove eyes and quick smile with a tooth missing?

Will you have the past-understanding stubbornness that will be required of you, little Anna with the new pink shawl and necklace made out of daisies? The peace and freedom your family takes for granted will end in a few years. Things will never be the same.

Can you keep the candle of your faith burning for so long?

•  BC 74

 There is a wedding. Yes, it is Anna’s. She is all grown up.

She is a beautiful young woman with a round face, pointed chin and hazel eyes. When she works, she hums. When she walks, she is more likely to skip. When she gets worried, she twirls a strand of her brown hair around two fingers.

Anna has found the man of her dreams. He wants to whisk her off to the bright lights, sprawling synagogues and never-ending markets of the big city.

Candles. Flowers. Wedding veils.

“Here comes the bride… Here comes the groom…”

Parading through the streets back to the bride’s home.

Vows. Smiles. Kisses.

Wedding feast. Gifts.

“My little girl is grown up. That just can’t be.” Her father, Zedakiah, is tall with a receding hairline, and beard trimmed short and precise. He puts a small table and two chairs in the wagon that is being loaded up for the long trip ahead.

“Oh, Father,” Anna replies, her hands on her waist. “I’m not a little girl any longer. I’m sixteen. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

“I’ll take good care of her, sir,” Thomas assures.

Anna gazes at Thomas, tall and clean shaven with black eyes and neatly combed hair. He even has a cloth tucked in his belt that he uses to wipe his hands periodically.

Little by little, Anna’s mother sends things out to the wagon to add to the collection. Finally, the wagon is full with everything Anna’s mother thinks they’ll need to start housekeeping.

Anna’s mother hands her a tote full of wool yarns she has had dyed in different colors. “You’ll want this when you  are in one of your designing moods. You can use part of it to make a tapestry for your wall,” she explains with tears in her eyes.

Anna and Thomas climb into the wagon and Thomas clicks to signal the oxen to move out.

“Send word when you arrive there,” Zedekiah calls after them.

“And write often,” her mother adds. “Oh, Anna. We’ll miss you so.”

Anna is too far away to hear her mother’s whispered last words. Eyes straight ahead, sitting next to her Thomas, she does not see that her mother is now weeping freely in the arms of her father.

I’ll miss you too, Mother and Father. And I’ll wear the mail courier out delivering letters to you.

Anna tries to etch their likeness, their voice and their mannerisms in her memory. But now, just as her mother had done seventeen years earlier, it is Anna’s turn to go out into the exciting world and follow her new husband’s dream.

Hope is aflame in Anna’s heart.

• Jerusalem, Province of Judea

Off the happy couple goes to Jerusalem. The hub of world activity. The spoke in the wheel of justice.

Thomas lands a fantastic job with an exporter. He even gets to travel sometimes.

“He’s getting to know a lot of important people,” Anna tells her new friend as they walk to the market together one morning. “He’s going to be important himself someday. I just know it.”

Anna gets a job too. She is a seamstress at the national temple. Part-time work to keep all the priests’ official garments mended. There’s a large staff. Everyone loves each other. It’s great to be part of the center of holy activity.

Thomas and Anna are so happy. Everything is perfect.

The flame in their hearts is like a torch.

•  BC 67

Something is wrong. Anna’s tears fall like a torrent onto the miniature scroll and her pen.

Thomas was in a terrible accident. He was killed, she writes her parents.

Anna listlessly drops her pen. She cannot see now for the tears. She takes her handkerchief out of her sleeve and once more wipes away her tears, but it does nothing to wipe away the confusion.

She leans back on her stool now, arms hanging at her sides. She raises one hand to her forehead, leans back and groans aloud.

“Thomas,” she whispers. “My dear, dear Thomas.” Then the scream. “Why? Why God?” The groans from deep in her throat mingle with sobs.

After a few moments, she grows quiet. She wipes her face, pulls her hair away from her eyes, and picks up her pen again.

She resumes. He’s gone. He’s never coming back.

But the tears are always near, and once more she stops writing. Once more the pen drops, only this time on the parchment where it smudges her last word. She does not notice. Instead, she turns on her stool, hugs herself, and rocks back and forth, back and forth.

“Oh, my Thomas.” Her words come from deep in her throat and struggle to be released. “Oh, my God.” She puts her head down in her lap. “I can’t stand this.”

Anna rises, looks around her room and notices his robe still on a hook. She picks it up, buries her face in it, absorbs the smells that are her Thomas—were her Thomas—and leans one shoulder on the wall. She sinks to the floor, holding on to Thomas’ robe, and sobs.

With a start, she realizes she has drifted off and awakens to a room with deepened shadows in it. She turns onto her knees, pulls herself up and walks back over to the table with her letter to be sent home. She lays Thomas’ robe across her lap, smooths it gently, and picks up her pen.

Thomas is gone. What am I going to do? I loved him more than life itself. I cannot live without him.

The funeral had been yesterday, the same day as the accident. She had been in such a daze, she’d hardly known it was happening. Her friends at the temple and their husbands had sat with her. She couldn’t remember who handled the expenses. Oh, yes, his employer did.

She imagines her parents worrying over her facing all this alone.

Thomas’s sister lives here, she scribbles quickly while she has some control. And I have a good friend who works at the temple with me. They’ve both said they will stay with me awhile.

Why them? Why can’t it be Thomas staying with me?

She gently puts the pen down, pushes the parchment out of the way and lays her head on the table cradled in her arms.

“Oh, Mamma. Oh, Father,” she whispers. “I can hardly stand it.”

Friends come and go as young Anna, only 23 years old, tries to absorb her grief.

Sometimes she looks at the things Thomas brought for her during his travels and washes them with her tears. Sometimes she re-reads the little tablets of clay where he had scratched notes for her to find whenever he was gone—tablets that she is now so grateful she did not throw away. Sometimes she paces. Or sits with her eyes closed and dreams of happier days. Or just cries into the silence.

_____

“Now that the funeral is over, we’ve got to decide what to do with your house.” Her father tells her.

“Father, I know what you’re thinking. But I can’t leave here.”

Anna’s parents have arrived.

“Thomas is here. Everywhere. I need that. And my work. I need to keep my job. I don’t need any more changes right now.”

They are eating. Her parents had brought cheese, raisin cakes and dates with them. They had bought bread at the market on their way to Anna’s house.

“But, Anna…”

Her eyes aren’t as swollen from the tears as they had been, but there are still tell-tale signs from when she cries in the night. She has learned to control them better during the day.

“Please, Father. Please be patient with me.”

She stands and takes the dirtied bowls and platters out to the well in her yard. She has hardly eaten at all. She is growing alarmingly thin.

“Look at you, Anna,” her mother interjects, almost in tears herself. “Your cheeks are sunken in, you have dark circles under your eyes, and you walk around like you’re half dead yourself.”

“This is what I need to do. Gradually I’ll heal. Somehow.”

“Yes, it takes time to heal,” Zedekiah interjects. “But are you sure you can do it away from your family?”

“This is the family of God, Father. I’ll be fine.”

Has God forsaken Anna? Does she not understand what is going on? Does she actually believe it will all work together like a mosaic? How gullible.

The flame in Anna’s heart is still strong. It will survive.

•  BC 63

 The trumpets blare from atop the watchtowers. The sound they had all dreaded. “He’s just outside our wall. Defend your city!”

Anna knows who is there, just as everyone else does, and her mind gropes and fights, not wanting to admit the inevitable. Roman Commander Pompeii and his army have arrived.

It is the Sabbath and the temple is busy. Undaunted, despite the threat, the priests continue to offer their sacrifices. Pompeii had known they would.

“Look out!”

With a bang that invades Anna’s ears and devastates her soul, mortar from the great stones of the eternal temple break loose and fly across the courtyard.

It has begun.

Again the colliding and banging and crashing of war machines and their targets. Again. Again. And again. The forces of war running wild perpetually.

Anna rushes out of her work room and into the grand courtyard of the temple. Worshippers run in every direction. Most out the front gate and hopefully away from the danger.

Now fragments off the great stone wall. Flying everywhere. Now chunks. Larger and larger.

What to do? Where should she run? Where can she hide? How will she escape?

The priests do not run, as though in oblivion. Their sacrifices continue as though nothing were happening.

Anna remembers that she has a friend who lives near the temple. Can she make it that far before the dreaded Roman legionnaires charge into the city?

Out the gate. Running. Bumping into other people running. All, like Anna, fleeing for their lives.

She arrives at Judith’s street near the temple, and turns, rushing toward hoped-for protection. The enemy legionnaires have not yet broken down the gates of Jerusalem, but it is only a matter of time. Then the invasion. Anna must find an escape.

As soon as she recognizes Judith’s gate, she pounds on it.

“Judith. It’s me. Anna. Are you in there? Judith?”

She hears scraping of wood against wood on the other side of the gate, and it opens.

“Oh, Judith. You’re home,” she says to her friend who is hiding most of her body behind the half-opened gate.

“Come in quickly so I can shut the gate” Judith replies, her eyes flashing.

Anna hurries in and helps her friend bolt it back.

Judith’s hair is in braids and she has flour on her hands and the tip of her broad nose. Anna sees a bowl full of bread dough on a nearby table.

“What’s going on out there?” Judith asks, fear in her eyes. “It’s Pompeii, isn’t it?

From inside her friend’s house, they can hear the noise. The great noise of the indestructible temple. The insufferable noise of what cannot be happening.

Then silence. The rest of the day. The rest of the night.

It is morning. Still the silence. Is it over? Really over? Judith stands on a bench and looks out in the street through the only window facing it.

Roman legionnaires everywhere. A few brave citizens make their way outside their homes as quickly as possible to what they believe is safer quarters. Heads are covered to protect their identity.

Judith steps down off the bench to give Anna a chance to see what is going on during their nightmare.

“They need me. I must return to the temple,” Anna announces stepping down off the bench.

“No, Anna. It’s too dangerous.”

“There will be wounded. They need me.”

“But.”

Stubborn Anna covers her head with her shawl, waits a moment while Judith unbolts the door. She joins the other brave ones in the narrow streets, staying close to the shadows and scurrying like insects, afraid of being discovered.

She stops in front of the grand entrance to the temple grounds. What will she find? Legionnaires there too. But only as guards. She sees a small woman and hurries over to her.

“What’s going on inside?” she inquiries from under her shawl.

“Horrible!” the woman chokes out. “They’re dead. All dead.”

Realizing the woman has already been inside the compound and been able to come back out safely, Anna decides to try. Slowly she walks closer to the entrance. She hesitates and looks at the Roman legionnaires. They are not stopping her, or anyone else.

Then, even more slowly, she creeps in and takes her shawl off her head. She stops and gasps. It is not as horrible as she had envisioned, for it’s far worse. Laying out across the outer courtyard, waiting to be identified, are the priests. Blood saturates their clothing and runs along the cobblestones around them. Their throats have all been cut.

Anna walks among them looking, although she does not want to. Looking into the faces of the forever gone. Her tears protectively fall to obscure the faces of those she has known so long, now distorted with death.

Oh, God. If you are so good, how could you allow this to happen?

Satan is laughing. He has convinced everyone Satan is a figment. So God is all that is left to blame. That is good.

Anna stays at the temple all day. Thoughts of Thomas mingle with the present hideous reality. Her tears come again. She tries to control them. She is needed.

Continually she searches through the bodies, trying to find someone who might have survived the slaughter. Sometimes she does.

As relatives come in, Anna goes over to them, comforting them and walking with them as they search for what remains of their husbands, their fathers, their sons, their brothers.

Whenever the relative finds a loved one, Anna says, “I’m so sorry. I lost my husband in a terrible accident. It is devastating. I’m so sorry.” She says the same thing to them all.

Eventually, Anna must go home. She must face her own reality. Again the shawl over her head to protect her identity.

Alone she walks among the rubble and foreign legionnaires. Alone with Thomas in her heart giving her courage. Alone with God in her soul, giving her hope.

When she arrives at her street, she screams. She doesn’t mean to. It is so unlike her. But she screams. Before her are the hollow remains of what is left of her neighborhood. And her home. Her and Thomas’ home.

It has been burned. All her mementoes. All his clothing that she had saved. All that used to be Thomas. Gone. Forever gone.

Stubborn Anna, 27 years old, and more alone than ever, turns back. She must return to the temple. There are apartments there. Perhaps she can rent one. After it is repaired. After the wounded are cleared out. And the dead.

Now, more than ever, she and the others pray. “Please, God. Send us our Deliverer, our Savior, our Messiah.”

God, is this what you have had in mind for your followers? Are you sure? Her hope continues as a flame. But it is flickering. It flickers a lot these days.

• BC 48

 Roman Caesar and Idumean Prefect Antipater have allowed people to go back to some semblance of normalcy.

Anna, now 42, has gotten to know the latest new high priest fairly well, as well as seamstresses are allowed to get to know important people.

Up the stairs and down the hall, the High Council of Seventy—the Sanhedrin—meets in its chambers. “Gentlemen, it has come to our attention that young Herod, the new lieutenant prefect of the province of Galilee up north, has defied us.”

Holy shock.

“No one is allowed to execute anyone without both the agreement of the civil government and religious government. He knows that.”

Righteous wrath.

“He has defied us. Young Herod has executed several gangs of robbers up in his province. We have ordered him to appear before us in three weeks.”

Lieutenant Prefect Herod actually shows up for the hearing. In his haughty way, he pretends he is sorry. He is not. They will hear from him again later. They will be sorry. He keeps his promises.

God, we’re still looking for your Deliverer. He’s the one we really want to rule over us. God, do you hear us? God, are you there? Anna, where’s your candle?

 BC 40

 Anna is now 50 years old. Caesar has died suddenly. Jerusalem’s Prefect Antipater has died suspiciously. One of his sons, lieutenant prefect of Jerusalem and Perea, has committed suicide.

Chaos. Political chaos.

The high priest is taken out of power. He had been a political appointee, as usual. The appointment is no longer valid. The former high priest-king is brought back to power.

All of Palestine is elated. Praise God!

Anna is delighted. She had liked this man. Everyone had. He made a better leader of religious and state affairs. Now things will really go back to normal.

Daily, as always, she sits in her little room mending or making priestly garments. As she does, she hums. Sometimes she bursts out into song. But mostly she hums.

Normal does not last long. Rome strips the priest-king of his crown. All he has left is his priestly turban. But people are grateful he is at least still their high priest.

Anna creates a new normal. Ruling bodies come and go, priests and Levites come and go. But Anna continues to work on the priestly garments. As she does, she hums.

In her daily prayers, she thanks and praises God. Everyone does. Anna’s candle burns brighter. The flame of hope is stronger now.

It lasts only three years.

Anna prays. “Oh, God. Where is your Deliverer?”

So does a man she will meet soon. His name is Simeon.

 BC 37

 “No! It can’t be. Not again!” Anna cries out, rushing to the courtyard from her work room and apartment. The awful, crashing sound that cannot be mistaken for anything else. The same sound that had whisked away half the city long ago.

Once more the battering rams. Once more the shaking and rocking of the walls of the eternal city. And of the holy temple. And of hope.

This time, it is Herod, son of Antipater. He has been made king of all Palestine by Caesar. Jerusalem has blocked the highways and closed all its gates. Herod is a half breed. Half Jew and half Arab. He cannot be allowed to be their king. Their high priest is supposed to be their king. This cannot be.

Having nowhere else to go, Anna stays at the temple compound. People run in off the street seeking shelter in the holy place. She stands by the front and directs people where to go for greatest safety.

A woman and four children, one in her arms, rushes in. An old couple, both walking with canes. A nearby merchant with a cart of his basket wares, pulling it by hand. Two more with pottery thrown in their cart, pulling it themselves like a team of mules. Three crying children huddled together. A blind beggar being led by a friend, or perhaps a relative. A merchant laded with silk fabric on his back. A woman full of jewelry and make up and her hair partially braided and partially hanging loose. A man carrying a bundle of parchment scrolls. A toddler wandering alone and crying. Two women huddled together.

Once the traffic from outside reduces to a trickle, the gates are closed and Anna joins the crowds huddled together in hope of living through what most do not.

They hear shouting of Herod’s soldiers outside the walls. The defiance of outnumbered Jewish zealots. And the screams.

Clanging of steel against steel. Crashing of rock against rock. And the silent, ravaging fires.

“I’ve been through this before, you know,” She whispers to the three children and toddler she had personally taken to herself at the gate. I was only 27 at the time. I lived through it. God will help us.”

Anna begins to hum. The faster the catapult throws rocks on the compound, the faster she hums. The louder the clash of nearby swords, the louder she hums.

Then the front gates to the temple compound shudder and thunder. A stampede. Soldiers breaking through.

“Quickly! Back here!” she hears a priest shout to the others in the outer women’s courtyard. “This way, everyone!”

And the others in the terrified throng follow him into the elevated courtyard designated only for men. Escape the invading soldiers. Escape the defiance and death. Just like before.

Finally, but gradually, the chaos of death moves away. And it too dies.

Hours later, though perhaps it has only been moments, Anna and some of the other adults gain the courage to walk out to where the fighting had occurred. Again the screams of disbelief. Again the remains of butchery. This time, Anna does not throw up.

The wounded. The dying. The dead. The temple on fire.

Not again. Not here. Not in the temple.

“Come on, men! Let’s put this fire out!”

Simeon, tall with a black beard and large hands, grabs a tapestry and beats the flames with it. Others follow his example.

“Move that furniture out of the way! It’s just fueling the flame!” Simeon barks.

“Wait a moment! Is that someone trapped under there?” He rushes over to the piled stones and quickly moves them out of the way. He sees a hand. Then an arm. Now the face. It is the face of death. If his hands had been more calloused, perhaps he could have gotten to the poor man in time.

He rushes over to the next suspicious pile of rubble, hoping this time he can save a life. His hands are bleeding. They are the hands of a scholar, not a fighter.

After this, Simeon spends more time at the temple with the other volunteers. Doing what he can to help repair it. Through the months that follow, his hands callous and he becomes a more productive worker.

Anna and the other women prepare meals for the men, and make sure drinking water is always nearby.

Anna tells Simeon he reminds her of her little brother. They talk sometimes. Mostly about the Deliverer.

Sometimes Simeon shows his anger. He sets his jaw, purses angry lips, and slams his fist down on whatever is nearby during their talks. Silence. Then a deep breath. Once more he gets control of himself.

“Why?” he so often asks. “Why does God wait so long to keep his promise?”

There never is an answer.

Have they all misunderstood God? Is God what and who they had thought all these years? Anna needs fuel for her flickering candle of hope. Simeon too.

•  BC 36

 “Where are they?” demands the centurion.

“Sir, you need to keep your voice down,” Anna boldly admonishes, her eyebrows lowering and coming together in disapproval. “This is a house of worship,” she adds with a whisper, holding a finger up to her lips.

He draws his sword and points it at her. “The Sanhedrin! The Council of Seventy. Where is their assembly room?”

Startled, Anna does not know what to do. She reaches back and begins to twirl a few strands of her hair around her fingers. Other than that, she does nothing.

Scowling, the centurion marches to the other end of the magnificent courtyard and off to the side where the officiums and apartments are. One by one his men break down the doors along the corridor. Searching. Now up the stairs and those rooms.

The doors to the council chambers are flung open. Swords flash. Without warning blood spills without mercy. In only moments the mission is completed. The entire Council is wiped out. The soldiers retreat in triumph. King Herod has been avenged of the men who had condemned him for killing the robber gangs up in Galilee years before. When will people learn?

The soldiers march back through the courtyards and corridors of the temple. Past the priests, the worshippers, and Anna. Their bloody swords still drawn. A trail of blood mocks the hallowed domain.

Priests run toward the council chambers. Levites run there too. Anna follows. Rome has killed again. But who? In a few moments the word is passed along the crowd and to Anna.

God, surely it is not your will to kill religious leaders. What’s going on, God?

Slaughter once more. The tears of Anna once more. Once more the prayer. “Oh God, send us your Deliverer, our Savior. Please, God.”

Anna is not as young as she used to be. Neither is Simeon.

He has gone back to being his old self. Simeon the book worm. His clothes look like his little house—messy. His hair looks like the scrolls scattered around his study —out of place. But his mind is clear and organized. His goal, like many other pious worshipers, is to memorize the entire Law of Moses and the prophets. He prefers the prophets and currently has memorized most of Isaiah.

Whenever he comes to the temple, he usually has one or two, and sometimes three scripture scroll under his arm. Always looking for someone to have a discussion with about the scriptures. Especially about the prophets. When he cannot find anyone available to have discussions with, he sends word to Anna. She is always willing to discuss the scripture scrolls, and often agrees with his conclusions. That is satisfying.

 BC 35

 New men must be found to head the national religion. Nominations. Hearings. Confusion.

Over in the palace, King Herod is deciding who to appoint as the new high priest. King Herod’s new wife has a favor to ask.

“Sweetheart, my little brother wants to be the high priest.”

Herod does not even look up from the scroll he is reading. “Nonsense. He’s only 17 years old.”

“But darling, sweetie. He looks older. He’d make a good one.”

“Oh, well. What difference does it make? The high priest has to do what I tell him anyway.”

“I knew you’d agree. It will make the people happy.”

The news rushes around the national temple and reaches Anna. She is startled.

“A teenage high priest? The temple will be a laughing stock.”

“Maybe not,” someone replies thoughtfully. “Remember, he’s the grandson of our last high priest-king. He could be good for the country.”

God, things are in a mess. We’re ready for your Deliverer. Could you possibly send him now? God? God?

Aging Anna hopes so. Simeon too. Just keep your candle lit, Anna.

• BC 34

 King Herod always makes it a point to attend annual national services at the temple. This year will be quite interesting, with that kid acting as high priest.

“Wasn’t it just wonderful, the service and all?” he hears someone say.

“Oh yes. And our new high priest was born for this job. It’s in his blood.”

Herod does not like what he hears. That young man has gotten just a little too popular.

There is a swimming accident. There is a grand funeral in the national temple. It had to be.

Anna cries. Simeon cries. The nation cries.

Someone gives King Herod an idea. “Sir, there is a man who seems to be liked, but not too liked. Respected, but not too respected. Understands the letter of the law, but seems to prefer following what he calls the spirit of the law.”

“Sounds good to me. What is his name?”

“Jesus.”

“Excellent. We’ll appoint this Jesus as the next high priest.”

“Fine. Prepare a public declaration.”

“Oh God, this isn’t the Jesus we had in mind. Jesus means deliverer, but he’s the wrong one. God, send your Deliverer.”

Anna and Simeon pray every day. Without fail. Sometimes they talk of it privately. No one else seems to understand the way they do.

• BC 27

 It has been ten years since Anna and Simeon first met. It is barely dawn. Someone knocking on Anna’s apartment door.

“There is a gentleman here to see you. His name is Simeon.”

Anna dresses, throws water on her face, runs a comb through her hair, and hurries to the front of the temple compound. She sees him.

“Anna, it’s about to happen!” Simeon announces, not waiting for her to be close enough for a private conversation.

His hair does not look like it has seen a comb in a week. His clothes look like he has slept in them, which he probably has. His beard has crumbs from no telling how many meals the past few days.

They walk over to a corner of the portico for some privacy.

“Soon, Anna!” Simeon continues. “He’s coming soon.”

“The Deliverer, Simeon? How do you know?”

“God spoke to me last night. The—”

“God did what?” Anna questions, her eyes wide, her mind suspicious.

“God spoke to me last night, Anna. The Deliverer is coming soon.” Simeon is smiling and waving his hands.

Anna tries to share his excitement. She wants to. “When?”

“I don’t know for sure. Some time in my lifetime. God promised I would not die until I saw him with my own eyes.”

Simeon has never exaggerated before. He has always stated the facts as they were, without distortion or embellishment. Anna thinks about what Simeon has just said, eying him and curling a strand of hair around her fingers.

“Simeon,” she finally says with a twinkle in her eyes and a new smile, “I believe you. I hope in my lifetime too.” Anna’s now 63. “God does answer prayer, doesn’t he, Simeon?” It is not really a question.

Come, Deliverer. Come and save us. We’re ready for you. God, you do hear us, don’t you?

The flame of Anna’s hope glows a little brighter.

•  BC 23

 The life-time position of high priest is interrupted again. Herod has his eyes on a beautiful young lady. But she does not come from a family of consequence. No one ever heard of her family, at least no one of any political importance.

That Jesus is ousted as high priest. He’s done a pretty good job and kept out of trouble. Anna likes him. Simeon likes him. Zechariah and the other priests have grown to admire him.

Nevertheless, Jesus is ousted. He is in the way. In the way of progress. Of love. Of King Herod. So Simon is made the new high priest in grand ceremony. Now that Simon is important, the king can marry Simon’s daughter.

“Who is this Simon?” people ask. Some have seen him at services sometimes. Especially the important ones. But he never participated in any temple activities that anyone remembers.

God. It’s been so long. We believed in you. Do you believe in us? We need your Deliverer. Please send him, God. We really need him.

• BC 22
• Nazareth, Province of Galilee

 In the little town of Nazareth, up in the province of Galilee, there is born a little baby girl. Her name is Mary.

Anna has just retired. The temple allows her to continue living in her apartment. She has been there nearly all her life. It’s all she knows any more.

“Will you pray for me, Anna? My child is sick,” someone asks her.

“Anna, remember me in prayer. I need to find a job,” another requests.

Anna prays for the Deliverer to come too. She has waited this long. What’s another ten years or so? Whatever it takes. Anna is learning. In her heart of hearts she knows God will answer her prayer. And his promise to Simeon.

The flame of hope continues to burn. It never goes out.

•  BC 18
• Jerusalem, Province of Judea

 Anna is now 72 years old. Simeon is 62. It has been nearly twenty years since King Herod did so much damage to the national temple. It has since been repaired. The roof put back on and the walls restored. But it is not grand enough for Herod.

“I cannot tolerate having a temple in my city that is so puny. It does not become my greatness,” King Herod declares. So the work is begun. Bit by bit.

“Sorry, Anna. But you’ll have to take everything out of your apartment and move to the other side of the building until they tear down and rebuild this section. You should be able to move back in about three months.”

“Sorry, Anna. But you’ll have to vacate your benevolence room. You will be in one of the store rooms until they can tear down and rebuild this section. You should be able to move back in about ten weeks.” Another move.

King Herod is paying for the whole thing. This should make him very popular with the Jews. It doesn’t.

Oh God, send us your Deliverer. Herod has no right pretending he is so good when he is so bad. They say it’s darkest just before light. Send us some light God. Just so we can know you are out there. Out there somewhere.

Simeon continues to talk with Anna sometimes. About the coming Deliverer. She must keep her flame alive. It flickers sometimes. Anna is growing old.

•  BC 7

 “It’s Zechariah!” Anna explains to Simeon one day. “An angel has appeared to him. Right here in the temple. He told him his wife would have a son by the end of the year, and the son would announce the coming of the Deliverer. Do you think he really did see an angel?”

Simeon believes all right. It confirms what God had told him several years before. Simeon is growing quite old and stooped. It will have to be soon. He is confident it will be soon.

“Yes, Anna. I believe it.”

Oh yes, God! You haven’t forgotten us. You’re still there.

Come, Deliverer. Come! Anna, hang on to your candle.

•  BC 6

 Anna looks at the small clay tablet delivered to her by one of the Levites. It contains only four words.

Today is the day!“Today’s what day?” she asks herself. Anna is now 84 years old.

Her eyes aren’t as bright as they used to be, and she can no longer sew, partly due to her failing eye sight and partly due to the arthritis in her fingers. Her lustrous brown hair is now gray. She has wrinkles on her face and brown spots on her hands. But she still has her pointed chin. The pointed chin her Thomas used to love to kiss.

Anna decides to have breakfast and wait for Simeon. He will arrive soon. Of this she is confident. They have been friends a very long time.

As she waits, she dares to hope. Hope beyond seemingly all hope. Could it be? Could it, God? Her hands quiver and she is unable to hold the spoon.

“He is on his way. The Deliverer!”

She recognizes Simeon’s voice and turns toward him where she has been waiting for him out on Solomon’s portico.

“It’s now?” Anna asks, the flame of her hope about to leap out of her aging heart. Anna has always believed.

A seemingly insignificant threesome is in Jerusalem. They are headed for the temple. They must go through the purification ceremony. Being a first-born, baby Jesus must be presented to the Lord.

Inside the temple grounds, Mary and Joseph stand in awe of its greatness. They walk across the courtyard and toward the grand stairway leading to the altar courtyard. Though they try to be quiet, the click of their heels echoes slightly off the walls.

Someone else hears it too. He is sitting on a bench near the steps. He watches as the young couple goes through their ceremonies. They aren’t particularly noticed by anyone else. They are just an ordinary couple going through a routine ceremony. Lots of parents and babies go through this every year.

The ceremonies over, Mary and Joseph turn to leave. Mary is holding their baby.

Simeon stands just as they turn. He walks toward them. He is insignificant too.

“Please, may I hold him? He’s our Deliverer, our Savior. He is, isn’t he?”

Amazed that the old man understands this, Mary gently hands her precious baby over to him. Old Simeon carefully cradles Jesus. He sings to the Deliverer, softly with a crackly voice. The Deliverer wakens and blinks.

As the reality of the moment sinks in, Simeon’s aged heart bursts with excitement. He sings louder and louder until he is bellowing ecstatically. Baby Jesus once more opens his eyes, wiggles playfully, and smiles.

But what about the others? They’ll want to know about it. He mustn’t keep it to himself, Simeon turns and faces the nearly empty temple courtyard. His eyes glisten and open wide as he makes the glad announcement.

“Everyone!” he shouts. “He’s here at last. Our Deliverer! Here he is. Praise God. He’s here!”

No one much pays attention to the old man. No one except the old lady.

It is Anna. She has been praying in the back. No duties are required of her any more. So she prays for her people. And the Deliverer.

Anna, though a little hard of hearing by now, looks up when she hears Simeon’s familiar voice and sees him up front with a young couple and baby.

This is it, Anna! The moment you’ve been praying for all your life. Yes, Anna, God does answer prayer. Do you want to see for yourself, Anna? Go up there. You can, you know. Go up there and meet him for yourself.

The flame in her heart leaps up nearly out of control.

She makes her way toward them. It is a long way. She progresses as rapidly as she physically can. Her feet scoot and shuffle, but her heart races.

While they wait, Simeon turns to the young couple. “Could I pray for you?”

Mary and Joseph smile in assent.

“At last, God, I can die in peace.” The old man fights to keep back his tears. “You have kept your promise.” Tears of relief. “I’ve seen with my own eyes your Deliverer whom you have sent to rescue all the nations of the world.” Tears of joy.

The prayer over, Simeon hands baby Jesus back to Mary. Anna is moving a little closer. They wait for Anna. Just like Anna has waited for the couple and their baby. Day after day. Year after year. Decade after decade.

Slowly she makes her way toward them.

Your prayers, Anna. God came through. He didn’t let you down after all. God heard you all along. How could you have ever questioned God?

She looks ahead of her. Closer and closer she proceeds to her answer.

Simeon puts his arms around Mary and Joseph and blesses them. “This baby will someday cause many people to rise or to fall throughout the nation. You will know it when people take sides, deciding whether to join him.”

He looks deeply into Mary’s eyes. His own eyes shimmer with sympathy. Should he tell her? He must.

“A sword shall be thrust through your own soul. But, as a result, the true thoughts and motives of those people will be revealed.”

Anna is now a short distance from them. Simeon looks over at her and she smiles back at him knowingly.

No longer able to wait for her, he walks to where she is, takes her arm and escorts her the rest of the way to her Deliverer.

“Yes, Anna. At last it is him,” he whispers. “Our Deliverer. Our Savior. Our prayers all these long years, Anna, have been answered. He is here. At last he is here.”

“We knew all along he’d come, didn’t we, Simeon?” she responds. The last few short steps are made in holy silence. Mary and Joseph smile at Anna.

Her aged eyes glisten. The eyes so wide and bright those many, many years ago. Not so wide and bright any more. But still full of hope. A hope that she now sees for herself.

Anna stops, stands next to Mary and Joseph, and looks into the eyes of God.

“I knew!”

Her voice is halting and squeaky. No matter. It speaks what she must speak. “I knew all along,” she tells the young couple. Mary holds baby Jesus so Anna can see him better. “I knew God answers prayer. I just didn’t know when. But I knew,” she says, stroking the flawless soft cheek of her Deliverer.

Old Anna has actually touched him. He has come into her world so she could.

_____

Finally, everyone leaves. Mary. Joseph. Jesus. Simeon. All but Anna, of course. She will continue to live at the temple. And die soon.

In the months that follow, she tells everyone the story. The priests, their assistants, the Levites, the worshipers, anyone and everyone she can convince to listen.

“The Deliverer has been born!” she tells everyone. They acknowledge her words condescendingly.

Some are more polite. “Where is he?”

“He was here not long ago. I saw him with my own eyes. We are going to be delivered from our enemies at last. God has heard our prayers.”

Some believe her, but do not become very excited. Others do not believe her at all.

He apparently was not born here in Jerusalem the holy. There were no declarations, no ceremonies and no processions. No. Surely Anna is mistaken. Surely God does not answer prayers. At least, not that way

 

5—SHEPHERDS

Glory of the Ordinary

•  BC 6
• Bethlehem, Province of Judea, Palestine

 It is late. Amos, Benjamin, and Jesse head toward town with their sheep.

Their clothes are crusted along the bottom with mud and who knows what else. Because of the precarious places they have to go to find and bring back straying lambs, their clothes are ripped. It is just part of the job.

The three have been shepherding together for seven years and are tight. They need each other. Not so much out in the pasture, but when in town.

People there don’t really like them. They’re inferior and can’t hold a decent job. They’re dirty and smelly. May as well be with other animals that are dirty and smelly. After all, no one makes them live in squalor. They could do better if they wanted to. They just don’t want to.

Low wages is better than no wages, though. Everyone says so. Keeps them off the streets begging in front of the proper people. The educated. The refined. The holy people.

Speaking of holy, you never see them in the temple. When you do, they have to stay in the outer courtyard with the women and Gentiles. They wouldn’t understand what was going on if they did go into the men’s courtyard. But then, they don’t try. Let’s face it. They’re losers. Always have been. Always will be. Just losers.

Amos, Benjamin and Jesse, each in charge of a herd of sheep, stop just before they arrive at the sheep gate into the holy city. There are corrals there for night-time confinement and final count. They’d better deliver the right number of sheep to the temple this time. Last time they were short and their pay was docked.

•  Jerusalem, Province of Judea

 The priest fills the temple courtyard with righteous indignation.

Priest Eli is tall, middle-aged with a little gray at his temples and much grayer in his thick eyebrows and long beard. He holds a clay tablet on which is kept a tally of sheep for slaughter.

“We are low on sheep to sell for sacrifices,” he shouts. “This is twice in as many months!”

His face turns red and the veins in his neck stand out, making his eyes look smaller and piercing.

“Your holiness,” Levite Aharon replies. “They were due to have been brought into Bethlehem just this evening and should be coming through the Jerusalem sheep gate first thing in the morning.”

Aharon is one of the younger Levites and is often seen rushing around the temple grounds on missions assigned to him by various priests.

“If those shepherds want to be employees of the temple,” Eli grumbles, shoving the clay tablet back at the Levite, “they must always put God first. They must set their priorities lest Jehovah rebukes them.”

“Maybe we should pray for them, sir,” Levite Aharon replies.

Eli glares at the young man a moment, turns and walks away.

• Bethlehem, Province of Judea

 “Hey, Benjamin. You got your quota for tomorrow?” Jesse asks.

Each shepherd has his own personality. Jesse, definitely the leader, is stocky, broad nosed, with a receding hairline and big grin on his face most of the time.

Although Dandy Amos would like to be leader of the threesome, Jesse is the real leader. Amos talks too much and loses credibility. Jesse has the common sense needed for leaders. Besides, he outweighs both of them put together.

“I sure hope so,” Benjamin replies briefly, trying to keep track of the number of sheep entering his corral.

Benjamin, on the other hand, is tall with a thin face which is disguised with a bushy beard. He has big feet and often finds himself tripping. However, he is so nimble, he can fit into tight places like small cave openings to drag out stray lambs. He entertains the others sometimes with his flute which also keeps the sheep calm.

Amos joins them. “I lost five just last week. Things are getting bad. Lions got two of them.”

A short muscular man, Amos has curly hair which he loves to flaunt by running his fingers through it, supposedly to push a stray lock off his forehead. No beard for him. He likes to show off his good looks. The other shepherds call him a dandy. That’s okay with him.

“What happened to the other three?” Benjamin asks, tripping over a rock jutting out of the ground but not enough to be seen.

“Robbers. We’re just not getting enough protection.”

“Can’t ever get an appointment to talk to the priests so we can explain how bad things are,” Amos says.

“I managed to get in to see them a few months ago,” Jesse says. “They said that, if I couldn’t handle the job, I should say so and allow someone else to raise God’s sheep. And, besides, they couldn’t believe there were that many lions in such a civilized area.”

His sheep continue to file into the corral, and are nearly all in.

“Man, I’m short two,” Benjamin interjects. “What am I going to do? I can’t afford another pay cut.”

“They’re supposed to be our bosses, but none of them ever comes out to see what kind of working conditions we’re really up against,” Amos says.

“’Well, good-night guys.” Jesse waves to the others and heads for home.

•  Jerusalem, Province of Judea

 As the sun opens its dawn eyes, the temple workers check the pens out in the courtyard holding sacrificial sheep and doves near the main gate. They must have enough for all the travelers who daily come to the temple to worship and sacrifice to God.

Others sit at their tables and count out their temple shekels which they will sell to these same travelers in exchange for their Roman currency.

_____

Amos, Benjamin and Jesse make their way into the capital city through the sheep gate. The one next to the prison house. The one where they keep the debtors. The sight always makes them nervous.

Being full daylight, they are edgy. They have every right to be. They had promised to be there at dawn. They would slip in a back way if there were a back way. But the courtyard with the temple store is right in front.

“Excuse me! Coming through!” the three say sporadically as they maneuver their flocks through the outer courtyard.

“Pardon me! Sheep for the slaughter. Sheep for the slaughter. Excuse me! Coming through!”

The first worshippers of the day hurry out of the way of the hired help. Some are not quick enough, however, and their worship clothes are slightly touched by the beasts.

Some bring out handkerchiefs to put over their nose, and wave their other hand while coughing, “Get away from me, you swine.”

“Where have you been?” Priest Malachi asks as he rushes over to the shepherds, smiling superficially.

“The pasture we were assigned to could not support this many sheep,” Jesse explains. “We had to go out farther.”

“Why wasn’t this reported months ago?”

“We did report it, sir,” Amos explains. “We sent a message to the temple requesting someone come out and look over the land and maybe set aside larger areas for each of us.”

“I’m sure you understand that none of us has time to go running around the hills inspecting the grass supply,” Priest Malachi responds, his smile now gone. “Not with all the responsibilities we have to our worshippers here at God’s temple. Perhaps you should pray about it.”

“But when you hired us,” Amos interjects, “you told us…”

“I would love to stay and chat, but in just a few moments I have to counsel one of our troubled worshipers who habitually breaks one of Moses’ great laws.” He turns to leave, then turns back.

“By the way, we won’t be able to pay you until next week, seeing as your deadline was yesterday. You understand, of course, that we have to keep our budgeting on schedule.”

An hour later, Amos, Benjamin and Jesse make their way back through the crowd. “Excuse me. Coming through. Excuse me.”

A righteous worshipper looks away from her friends, holds her nose in an obvious gesture of displeasure, then turns back to her friends, proud of her show of smugness.

Out through the front gate and past the prison. Out the sheep gate. Down Mount Zion and farther from the eternal city. Across the plain back toward Bethlehem with empty hands, hearts and hopes.

“Probably God doesn’t even notice us anymore,” Benjamin mumbles. “He’s busy with the holy people.”

They must now go home and face their families. Without their pay. What will they do? How will they feed their families? Does anyone care? Does God even?

• Bethlehem, Province of Judea

 Morning of a new day. It starts in a haze of hopelessness. It will end with a burst of glory such as the world has never seen.

For the temple leaders? Not them. The temple worshippers? Not them either. The citizens of Zion, the great Jerusalem, perhaps? A thousand times no. It will be for the overlooked, the neglected and the forgotten. It will be for these smelly, dirty shepherds.

Amos, Benjamin and Jesse, having been assigned their new herd of sheep, head once more out of town. It is mid-afternoon, but they must go ahead and start. People are glad they are leaving. Can’t go soon enough for most. They can take the smells with them. Dirty, smelly sheep. Dirty, smelly men. It’s better they be out of sight. And out of mind.

The three shepherds hope their newly assigned pasture will be better than the last. It will take them four days to arrive there.

Back on the trail. Walking. Circling the sheep to make sure they do not stray. Rescuing the little ones from shallow precipices they do not see. Pulling long thorns out of those that don’t realize the dangers of some bushes. Watching for signs of snakes in the grass. Carrying those too small or too hurt to keep up. Making their way back up into the hills. Slowly. Laboriously.

A few hours later the sun dims and warns them they must stop before night. Although the sheep of each of the three shepherds mingle, in the morning the shepherds will divide them up again. They know how. For now it is better that they all be together. Better for the sheep. Better for the shepherds.

They find a suitable place and drop their tents to the ground. For now, they sit on their tents until they have rested.

Each man goes through his food supply and selects something for an evening meal. Then they settle down to eat and wait for sleep that will not come.

They talk. Amos and Jesse do. Benjamin does not.

“Hey, Benjamin. What’s wrong?” Amos asks while getting out a hand full of dates.

He does not answer.

“Come on. Tell us what’s wrong.” Amos repeats.

“Yeah. You’re among friends. Spill it,” Jesse interjects.

“Well, you know that raise I was supposed to get, the one everyone gets each year?”

“Yeah?”

“They’re not giving it to me. They say they were happy to give me that big chance after I got out of prison. But I’ve made my quota more times than most.” Benjamin throws down an uneaten roll of bread.

“Man, I missed work a month to serve time for not paying the midwife for my last baby. But I got my raise,” Jesse responds, taking a bite of cheese.

“I was depending on it. I need it.” He picks up a rock near his hand and throws it at nothing. “I’ve been here without fail all year without being off sick once.”

“What are you going to do, Benjamin?”

“I don’t know. I just don’t know.”

Silence.

Half way noticing what they are eating. Their ears constantly listening for the sheep. Thinking of families and jobs.

And existing. Only existing.

Amos jumps up. “What was that!”

“What?”

The other two jump up. They look around. A lion on the prowl? A snake? A robber?

They hear shuffling. Shuffling of… The shuffling of…of wings? An eagle? A vulture? But where?

A strange man stands in front of them. Still. Like a rock. Strong. Like the wind. Not a word. Not a word from him.

The shepherds try to hide their fear, knowing deep down that they cannot fight whoever this is with just hand weapons. A standoff begins, one which they know they cannot win. They await their doom.

“Don’t kill us! We have families!” Amos says in a quaking voice. “These sheep aren’t fattened up yet! They wouldn’t be any good to you! Don’t…”

He cannot finish. It’s the light. The man is beginning to glow. Brighter. Flashing. Blazing. They see wings. No, that’s not possible. But indeed is possible.

The glow spreads, shimmering as it goes.

Brighter and brighter.

Larger. Larger.

Now even the shepherds are engulfed in the light. They try to shade their eyes. But if they look down, the light is there. If they look to the left, the light is there. To the right, still, there. Everything in the circle of light bedazzled.

The stranger continues to stand motionless—the one they dare not defy.

The shepherds, too, are motionless.

Then the stranger raises his hand. Does he have a weapon? The shepherds raise their hands protectively in front of their faces. Instead, the stranger speaks. His voice is booming…

“Do not be afraid!”

…yet peaceful.

His voice is thunderous…

“Please! Don’t be afraid!”

…yet believable.

The shepherds slowly lower their hands, lower their puny weapons, and stare at the voice. They’ve never heard a voice quite like it. For a moment, they forget the light and focus on the voice. For now it is laughing!

“I bring you the most joyful news!”

His joviality cannot be contained. He struggles happily between his laughter and ecstatic words.

“The most joyful news ever announced!” he continues excitedly.

Despite efforts to resist, the mood is catching. The shepherds find themselves grinning, despite their determination not to.

“And this news is for everyone. Everyone, I tell you. Everyone. You and you and you. Your families. Your cities. Your nation. The world. The universe. Those who lived before you. Those who will live after you. Celestial news.”

News? What news?

“The Savior—yes, the Deliverer, the Lord…” he continues.

Yes? Yes? What about him? What about the Deliverer?

“…The Lord has been born tonight in Bethlehem, Judea! He’s here. At last he’s here.”

Our Savior and Deliverer has just now been born?

“Do you,” Amos gets the courage to blurt out. “Do you want us to go see him and guard him? Where is he? Just tell us where he is.”

The stranger actually hears. Now he’s answering. The wonderful, glorious, marvelous answer.

“You will find him wrapped up in cotton bands and lying in a feed trough in a barn.”

“Oh, now, wait a moment. Just hold on there,” Jesse, the bravest of the three questions. “What kind of joke is this? This is King Herod’s doing, isn’t it? He’s trying to catch us committing treason.”

As though their doubts serve as a signal, in a flash, the stranger grows even brighter. His light shatters and zooms up into infinite space. And seemingly this one man, if he is a man, multiplies into an army of others just like himself.

Everywhere wings. Everywhere angels. All along the grass. Up over the trees. Hovering closely over the shepherds. Leaning over clouds. Suspended from stars. A stream of holy angels that flash and zoom, flash and zoom up into space and beyond. The light, the blinding light.

As though a star has just been born.

This cannot be.

Oh, but it can be. He has given up everything for you. He has not only entered a human body, but he’s lying in a feed trough—for you.

Then the song.

The ears of the simple men, the dirty men, the smelly men, are now delightfully deluged. Engulfed with the uncompromising chords of a song bursting over the brink of eternity. Rushing like an out-of-control torrent to the hearts of simple shepherds. Though impossible, the song echoes louder and louder, as if gaining potency from the light itself. It is out of control. They’re praising God. It cannot be repressed.

“Glory. Glory to God. Glory to God in the highest heaven,” the angels sing over and over in jubilant triumph.

“Peace on earth!” Yes, singers of God, sing on.

Catapulting. Zooming. Through the corridors of the heavens. Through the hearts of ordinary shepherds. And into the soul of mankind.

“Peace on earth for all those pleasing him,” the angelic choir sings. “…pleasing him… pleasing him…”

The song resounds from galaxy to galaxy. The passion song of the universe. Eternity stops and absorbs itself in melodious divinity.

Then the light begins its return ascent. Slowly at first. Away from the lowly shepherds and the trees above them. The clouds above that. Away from earth’s atmosphere. Past the stars. Higher, higher, smaller and smaller.

Gone.

The light is gone. Exploded in pride.

The heavens once more are black except for the tiny twinklings that have adorned the sky since creation.

The shepherds stare up into the heavens. Then at each other.

“Did you see it?” Benjamin whispers, his eyes still on the heavens.

“Did you hear it?” Amos adds in kind.

“We all did!” Jesse answers for them all. “What are we waiting for?”

“He said tonight. The baby was born tonight,” Amos says, now looking at the other two.

“Come on, let’s go in to Bethlehem.” It’s Jesse. “We’ve got to see him for ourselves.”

“We passed a cave just before stopping,” Benjamin remembers aloud. “We can take the sheep back there.”

The shepherds hurriedly round up their food, their un-erected tents, and their sheep, and rush them back to the spot where the cave is. The sheep are herded in.

“Our tents and supplies,” Jesse instructs. “We can pile them in front of the entrance. The sheep won’t cross over any of this. They’ll be okay.”

“Yeah!” Amos shouts. “We got a personal invitation. We have to go.”

Half an hour later they are on their way back toward Bethlehem. They can travel much faster without the sheep.

“Do you think we’re the first to know?” It’s Benjamin. It’s hard not to talk about it.

“Yup. We’re the first,” Jesse responds.

“Wonder why God chose us? No one even likes us.” Amos tries to brush dirt off his robe.

“Who cares? We have seen the light. Bright as a star. All that’s left is for us to see him for ourselves.” Jesse picks up his pace, glad he hadn’t had a chance to eat much.

They become pensive and concentrate on walking as fast as they can toward town. Two hours later they’re at the city gate. They speak to the guard.

“Let us in!”

“Who are you?” the guard in the tower calls out.

“Amos, Benjamin and Jesse,” Jesse responds. “We work for the temple. We’ve got a matter of great importance to take care of.”

“Having to do with the temple?”

“Yes, it is about worship. Let us in.”

Shortly, the bars are removed and the gate slowly creaks open.

Once inside, they stand wondering which way to go.

Where to start? So many people in town for the census. The crowds have thinned down considerably, though, for it is now past midnight. Only the unlucky ones are unsheltered.

They see a patrol of Roman legionnaires passing the next intersection, but decide against getting their attention. They see a man carrying a torch up ahead. They call out to him.

“Hey, you with the torch. We’re looking for someone. Stop a moment. We’re looking for someone.”

No, he hasn’t heard of any babies born tonight. “And what’s that smell? Get away from me.”

They see a man and woman with three children obviously looking for some place to spend the night. Obviously exhausted, the woman and children stop and slide their backs down the outside wall of a house, apparently unable to go any farther.

They are startled.

“We just want to ask you something, sir. Please, we don’t want to hurt any of you. We just want to know where the baby is—the Deliverer, the Savior.”

“What baby? What Deliverer?” the man replies, half-heartedly. “What Savior? We could sure use a deliverer tonight. There’s no place left to spend the night. Heaven help anyone having a baby in this town.”

They continue looking and asking.

“The town hostel, of course,” Amos exclaims, stopping in his tracks. “Why didn’t we think of that in the first place?”

They resume their search.

In short order they find it, for it is not located too far from the city gate for the convenience of travelers. The three men go inside.

“Hey, get out of here. You been playing in a dung heap or something?” the proprietor demands.

“We just want to know if you heard about a baby being born tonight,” Jesse asks.

The proprietor remembers someone coming by, saying his wife was having a baby. “I have no idea who it was. I didn’t have any room anyway. Maybe someone in the tavern knows something. Now, get out of here!”

They go out into a courtyard where the revelers are. The celebrators. Celebrating the big nothingness that comes out of their liquid courage.

“Is the baby here? Is the Deliverer here? Is that what you’re celebrating?” It’s Jesse again.

“Baby? Deliverer? You King Herod’s spies?” one of the drunks responds.

“What are you talking about? You’re crazy. Get out of here. You stink to high heaven.”

The crowd laughs in derision, some too drunk to notice any smell at all.

“No, it’s true,” Jesse reassures them with his charismatic smile. “The baby, he is the Deliverer. The angel told us!” It doesn’t work.

Derision arises amidst the counterfeit laughter and drowns out the frustrated shepherds.

A hand rests on the shoulder of Amos. He turns.

“There’s no baby here,” the stranger explains half seriously while holding a handkerchief over his nose. “There were a lot of families around town with babies, but none born today that I heard about.”

“Well then, pregnant women.” The shepherds just won’t give up. “Did you see any pregnant women?” Benjamin asks.

“Come to think of it,” a second stranger nearby responds, “I was asked by a young man on the street this afternoon if there was a room anywhere because his wife was about to deliver.”

“That’s the one!” Jesse’s big grin is back. Amos’ too. Can’t see Benjamin’s for his bushy beard, but he’s smiling too. “Where are they?”

“Uh, I think I was over by the market when I saw them.”

“Thanks, man.” they yell almost in unison over their shoulders as they rush out the gate.

Back in the darkened streets, they hurry over to the market place. It is near the middle of the night. Not a single light. Everyone has long ago closed up and gone to bed. All but the unlucky ones. They sleep in the city square or lean against the wall of a stranger’s house.

Frustrated, but not deterred, the three shepherds make their way up and down the streets, though occasionally ducking into dark doorways to avoid questioning by the Roman patrols.

“Look for a sign. Any kind of sign. The angel wouldn’t have told us about the baby if he hadn’t wanted us to go honor him.” It’s Amos.

Up and down the street. Block by block. Nothing. Nothing but darkness.

“We will search all night if that is what it takes,” Benjamin says. “Angels wouldn’t lie.”

“Look! There’s a narrow seam of light, Jesse announces. “Where’s it coming from?” They follow the light. It’s coming from under the wide door of a small barn.

They know. Without a word they know. Their silence envelops their awkward thoughts in holiness. They stop. The rush is over.

One by one, quietly so as to not disturb the neighbors, they walk toward the door. On the other side lies the Deliverer, the Savior of the world, announced by angels. In their heart of hearts they know.

Should they knock? They pause. Should they or shouldn’t they? They’re suddenly aware of jitters.

They whisper.

“Do you really think he’s in there?”

“Do you think he’ll be like us?”

“Think he’ll have a halo and all?”

“Do you think he’ll go directly to the palace and have servants and all?

“The angels came to us, didn’t they?” Jesse reassures them. “Do you see anyone else they went to? He must be like us. He’ll understand us.”

They knock on the gate.

Scuffling. Shuffling. Muffled voices from within.

“Who’s out there?” A man answers. “It’s late. Who are you and what do you want?”

“Uh, sir, we’re just shepherds. But the angels. The angels told us,” Amos calls as quietly as he can through the closed double doors. “Our Deliverer. Is he in there? Please, can we just take one little look? We won’t hurt him.”

“No one else could have known,” comes the muffled reply.

The hinges rattle, the door is unbolted, and brave Joseph opens it a crack, a broken piece of ox yoke in the hand behind his back.

Straw is mingled in his hair. His clothes look like he had slept in them. His eye lids droop in exhaustion.

The three visitors wait while Joseph scrutinizes them.

“Please, sir,” Benjamin whispers.

Joseph opens the door wide enough for the night visitors to enter.

Crude shepherds walk into a rough shelter of holiness. Their hearts beat rapidly, beating with the pulse of the universe. The pulse of divinity.

Joseph picks up a small lamp hanging from a peg by the entrance and leads them over to one of the stalls. There Mary is, lying on the straw with an old smelly blanket over her.

“Sweetheart, wake up. Wake up. There are some people here to see baby Jesus. We must show them. Wake up, sweetheart.”

Mary blinks her eyes, looks up into Joseph’s face, then beyond him.

“Please wake up, sweetheart. They’ve come to see Jesus.”

Mary blinks again and nods.

Joseph helps her sit up. She smiles weakly, yawns, and resumes her smile. Next to her is a feed trough filled with straw.

Inside is a tiny baby. And sure enough, he is all wrapped up in swaddling bands, just as the angels had predicted.

The three smile. God smiles. They’ve found each other. The simple in heart have believed.

Baby Jesus is sleeping, but wakens and looks up at the humble men. Their eyes glisten.

“He did this for us?” Benjamin whispers, not really expecting a reply. “He came down from heaven to this for us? But we’re sinners. He cared this much? He loved—this much?”

Amos nudges Jesse and whispers.

“What do we do now? Do we bow?”

“Yeah. We’re supposed to bow.”

Awkwardly, not used to society’s formalities, they drop to their knees, then bend low until their heads touch the ground in polite humility. They wait.

Mary looks over at Joseph and he picks up her signal. He clears his throat. “You may rise.”

They look up. Another mutters under his breath. “Make a speech, someone.”

“Not me. I flunked out of school.” It’s Amos. “You do it, Benjamin. You were named after the tribe of King Saul—Benjamin.”

Benjamin clears his throat in embarrassment.

“Sir. Ma’am. Baby. God’s angels appeared to us. They told us the Deliverer, the Savior was born tonight. Why’d they do that? All those religious people at the temple. Why didn’t the angels tell them instead? Some of them go to lots of religious feasts. We can barely afford to go to the three required ones. They’re so good.”

Realizing his speech has stalled, he looks at Mary and shifts gears.

“Your baby, ma’am. Your baby is going to save us. Man, oh man! He has heard our prayers. No more soldiers and war chariots and cruel kings like Herod. Peace on earth. That’s what the angels sang. Peace at last. In my lifetime. Praise God for your baby.”

Joseph speaks for both of them. “He’s not just Mary’s baby. He belongs to all of us—me, you, people everywhere—and to God.”

Joseph leans over and carefully puts baby Jesus in his arms. “Come. See God’s Son up close.”

“Oh, well, we’re not really very clean.” Jesse slaps his hands on his robe to wipe off some dirt.

Come, young man with not much education.

Come, you who are not noticed by the important.

Come with dirty hands and shoes with holes in the bottom and hand-me-down clothing.

You who have no importance. No big officium and secretary and name engraved on your door.

All with run-down camels and yards with no flowers in them and beds made only of straw.

Look into the eyes of God.

Once again the baby opens his eyes a moment, stretches in a miniature show of strength, then returns to sleep.

“Look at those long fingers,” Amos comments.” He’ll be able to throw quite a spear.”

“Oh no,” Joseph corrects. “Not a spear. Peace. He will fight war with peace. And he’ll win too. Peace on earth, remember?”

“Look at that jaw. What a man he’ll grow up to be,” Jesse quips. “Determined. Maybe even stubborn.”

They all grin. The baby seems oblivious to all the attention. Or is he?

“He’s pretty tired,” Joseph explains. Half-jokingly, he adds, “He’s had quite a trip.”

_____

Indeed, Lord Jesus, you have.

From throne in heaven to feed trough. From mansions in heaven to a stable. From streets brilliant with gold to a dark narrow street in the middle of somewhere. From bed of heavenly clouds to wrinkled cotton bands and sticky straw.

Oh Son of God. It’s all wrong. Go back and do it again. Unwed mother? Dirty stable? Unwanted? No one told but uncouth, underpaid, unnoticed shepherds?

Where’s the queen? The holy wedding? The temple? The palace? The crowds waving banners? The choirs singing manicured anthems with a world class-orchestra?

It’s all wrong, God. You’ve got it all mixed up.

_____

The shepherds look over once more at Mary.

“You’re so blessed, ma’am, to be the mother of our Deliverer,” Amos says.

“God bless and keep you, ma’am,” Benjamin adds. “God protect you and your family in this wicked world. May he deliver us all.”

Mary nods in tired appreciation

They take a few steps to Joseph, and one by one clasp his hand.

“Well, so long,” they each repeat in almost a whisper, not knowing quite what else to say, and also not wanting to awaken the now sleeping baby.

Joseph leads them to the double doors.

The insignificant men leave. The men holy people hardly ever approve of.

Back out in the dark street, they turn in the direction from whence they had come, and head toward the edge of town. Slowly.

All thinking. All pondering. All absorbing.

It begins to rain. They do not care.

Benjamin hears a stray puppy whimpering as they pass. He pauses, reaches down, and puts the puppy under some trash nearby for protection, but it runs back out, afraid of the unknown.

Rainwater from farther up the street streams down in this direction faster now. Benjamin puts the puppy back, but once again it runs out and in the path of the faster flowing water. It is frightened. It does not understand.

The other men have paused to watch him, but then resume their journey down the street. Benjamin catches up with them and says, “If only I could become a dog just like him. I could show him how to crawl under the shelter so he can be saved. If only I could become just like him…”

The rain ceases as suddenly as it had started.

Amos pauses, then stops all together

“Guys, what are we doing? We can’t keep this a secret. We must tell it! Despite dangers of King Herod’s jealousy, we must tell it.”

“You’re right,” says Jesse. “Let’s go back over to the hostel tavern. People will still be there.”

The men take off in a run through the streets. But this time not quietly. How, indeed, can they be quiet at a time like this?

“He’s here!” they call out as they run. “The Deliverer is here. He came tonight!”

“Hey, be quiet out there. People are trying to sleep, you know.”

They run and shout anyway. Back at the hostel. They pound on the gate. “Let us in, let us in!” Jesse shouts. “We found him. It’s true, it’s true.” The latch to the gate rattles and the gate is opened. “Get in here. You’re going to waken all the guests and attract Herod’s soldiers.

“Then wake the guests and alert the soldiers. They’ll be glad. He’s here.”

The proprietor prods them through the gate and into the soggy courtyard where nearly the same crowd as they had seen an hour earlier is still there, celebrating the world’s nothingness.

“We found him!” Jesse continues. “We found him. Our Deliverer. He was born tonight. We know it was him.”

“Come on, guys. You expect us to believe that? What’s that smell anyway?”

“It’s true,” Amos interjects with the most serious and authoritative voice he can muster. “Angels appeared to us. We saw them with our own eyes. Our Deliverer is here. Right here in our own town. He’s here. He’s come at last. At last.”

“People don’t see angels anymore.”

“We did. It’s true.”

One of the patrons calls out amid the objections. “I know this guy, Amos. He’s never lied to me yet. Amos, you say you actually saw angels?”

“I swear it. We all did. We saw the angels. They announced his birth.”

The discussion continues a little longer. But gradually the people return to the nothingness that entertains them so. Strangely, no one asks where they can find this baby, their Deliverer. What does it have to do with them?

Their divine mission completed, the shepherds leave the little town of Bethlehem through the gate. In silence, they work their way back out through the hills until they arrive where they left their sheep.

The sheep are safe in the cave. There have been no problems in their absence.

It is an hour before dawn. They pull their bed rolls out and try to sleep. But how can they? Angels actually appeared to them tonight. Right on this very spot.

They etch every moment, every word and every gesture in their minds. They must never forget.

“Remember when the first angel appeared?” Benjamin inquires softly but happily. “I nearly jumped out of my skin. What did you guys do?”

“Remember when all the other angels appeared? And the light? I thought the sun must be exploding.”

“Or a star was being born,” Amos adds.

“Remember when we saw him?”

Yes. Remember. Always remember…

Day dawns. Amos, Benjamin and Jesse wake up out of a sleep that did not ever really come. And return to the dream they had lived only hours before. They talk quietly among themselves.

Benjamin gets out his flute and plays a haunting melody that drifts past the sheep onto echoing hills and valleys below.

“Man. The angels appeared to us,” Amos says softly. “No one else tried to see the baby. Why didn’t everyone in Bethlehem go looking for him after we arrived? Everyone knows that’s where the eternal king of the Jews is supposed to be born. Why didn’t people look?”

“Maybe they got the announcement in Jerusalem,” Jesse decides. “We must return.”

“Do you think they’ll believe us?” It’s Benjamin, wiping the tip of his flute on his sleeve.

“We’ve got to try.”

The men return their sheep to Bethlehem and the corrals, then make their way to Jerusalem. In through the sheep gate. Past the prison. Around to the front entrance of the temple.

“Excuse me, sir. Did you see or hear anything unusual during the night? Light or singing?” Jesse asks.

The worshiper scowls, puts a handkerchief over his nose and turns away.

Jesse asks another worshiper.

“Uh, no. Didn’t see or hear a thing. Slept like a baby last night.”

“But the Deliverer. Isn’t he supposed to be born in Bethlehem, Judea, the home town of King David?” Amos adds.

“Hey you, there. Let’s not bother our worshipers. Let’s go along home now. They have important things to take care of today.”

So the unimportant shepherds turn back toward the outer wide-swung gate of the grand temple. The temple where they know they will never really be welcome. Slowly. Confused.

On their way out they hear a scholar. He is making a speech to whoever will listen to him.

“…Yes, God will be our Great Deliverer. He will deliver us some day from our enemies. He will deliver us from wars and rumors of wars. He will bring us the Prince of Peace. Jerusalem will rise again. Holy Jerusalem will reign with the Lord of all lords, the King of all kings.

“No more Herods. No more Caesars. No more soldiers and  legionnaires and swords. Our God will deliver us. God is indeed the Great Deliverer. And when he comes, we will all stand and salute him as our Savior. We will bow and submit to him as our Ruler. All praise to God, our Deliverer!”

“Oh, yes. Praise God.” his listeners declare almost in unison.

Then, as the shepherds leave out the gate, they hear the great choir of the great temple break forth in song.

• He is our Deliverer,
• He is our Deliverer,
• He is our Deliverer.
• Hallelujah,
• Amen.

Shivers up spines. Arms raised to the heavens. Triumph. Glorious triumph.

And in their blind zeal, they missed him.