The traditional "three kings" visiting Jesus are actually "magi," likely Zoroastrian priests from the East, skilled in astronomy. Their journey, guided by a celestial event, led them to Jerusalem, surprising Herod. The gospel highlights their scholarly observation and contrasts it with Herod's political motives, suggesting a harmony between faith and reason in seeking truth.
All around the world today, Christians celebrate what is popularly known as the feast of the “three kings.” Of course Matthew’s gospel—the original source of the “three kings” story—never calls them kings, nor delineates their number as three. Matthew names them as “magi.”
It’s a term we don’t hear much any more, but at the time the gospels were written, “magi” was a word used in the wider Greco-Roman world to refer to the Zoroastrian priestly community in a part of the world we would now know as Iran or Iraq. Their scholarship of the natural world, particularly the stars and planets, was so extensive that they were widely regarded across the Middle East as persons of extraordinary vision and special powers. Indeed our word “magician” can trace its roots back to this community. But rather than think of them as sorcerers, it is probably more accurate to think of them as ancient astronomers—early scientists who dedicated their lives to watching the skies and were curious about what changes in the skies might mean for those of us who live on earth. They were considered “seers” not because they had secret visions others did not have but because they paid such close attention to what is before all of our eyes, yet so few of us take the time to observe.
The gospel account makes me wonder: How long and how closely must these particular magi have watched the skies in order to notice some sort of astronomical phenomenon that everyone else around them seems to have missed? [i] And how curious must they have been that they would travel somewhere in the vicinity of a thousand miles just to find out what that particular “rising star” meant? No cloudy crystal ball resting on a red velvet cushion for these guys. These magi had grit.
It’s interesting that, according to Matthew’s gospel, the magi’s journey takes them first to Jerusalem. If they thought the rising of a new star indicated the birth of a new king, perhaps the palace in Jerusalem seemed the most likely place to find him. Everyone makes hypotheses based on previous experience, don’t they? But it turns out that the palace was not to be their final destination. Their observations and their curiosity could take them so far, but what they still needed was the words of the prophets to point them in the right direction for the last leg of their journey. The magi rely both on science and scripture—working not in competition with each other but in harmony.
Equally interesting, however, is the role that Herod and his crew plays in this story. Theirs is a community that has the scriptures, but seems to lack capacity for observation and curiosity. It is as if they have been gifted with the answer, but have forgotten the question. So while the magi depart from Jerusalem to “go and search diligently for the child,” Herod himself remains seated on his red velvet cushion. The magi continue their thousand-mile trek, but Herod is not curious enough to join them for the final five-miles from Jerusalem to Bethlehem to see for himself. “When you have found him, come back and bring me word,” he commands. Scripture, yes, he has that; but not one ounce the spirit of a scientist. Indeed, he sees their quest as dangerous…as threatening the status quo.
So often in our modern world, when I hear stories in the news, it seems as if scientific pursuit and religious faith are caricatured as opposing options and we are asked to ally with one or the other. Some say it’s impossible nowadays to be a scientist who also is part of a faith community. Some say they’ve never met a religious person who remains curious and open to pursuing tough questions.
If you’ve ever had people say things like this to you, I hope today’s Gospel makes clear that you don’t need to choose either science or faith. You don’t have to pit astronomy and scripture against one another. As Catholics, we recognize that reason and faith complement each other. That close observation of the natural world coupled with rigorous curiosity is a path that we can trust will lead us closer to God, not further away. When we are fearful and are afraid of upsetting the status quo, we will be tempted to perch on our own red velvet cushions and look at others who have travelled different paths with suspicion. But when we love and seek truth, wherever and however it is found, we find all paths merge, eventually leading to the same place.
The gospel of Matthew is clear about who it would have us feasting with today, and it is not Herod, at home in his palace. It is the magi—those seekers from the East—who, upon having their curiosity struck by the rising of a new star, will not stop searching for its meaning, no matter how far they must travel. And, pursuing truth wherever it leads, in whatever form it comes, they arrive at the place genuine seekers always inevitably seem to end up: face-to-face with God.
[i] For a further exegetical introduction to the magi and especially theories about the star and its scant noting in other sources, see Raymond Brown, The Birth of the Messiah (NY: Doubleday, 1979): pp. 166-177
