In C. S. Lewis’s The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, Lucy finds a magical book that tells of a cup, a sword, a tree, and a green hill—the Narnian equivalent to the gospel story. We are told that as the little girl read, “she was living in the story as if it were real, and all the pictures were real too. When she had got to the third page and come to the end, she said, ‘That is the loveliest story I’ve ever read or ever shall read in my whole life. Oh, I wish I could have gone on reading it for ten years.’ ”

That is the way it is with the story of the Incarnation. Though we explore the same short passages year after year, we never tire of hearing the Christmas story. It is the loveliest we shall ever read.

Part of that story, of course, is the adoration of the Magi and the presence of a mysterious star as recorded in Matthew 2:1–11.

The mystery that surrounds the Magi has fueled the imaginations of millions over nearly two thousand Christmases. Not all of these imaginings have been on the mark—the most notable being that the Magi were kings and that they were three in number. The supposition that they were kings comes from an over-reading of Old Testament parallels in Psalm 72:10–11 and Isaiah 60:6, where it speaks of gift-bearing kings bowing down before him. And the idea that there were three comes from the fact that they presented Christ with three gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh.

From these reasonable imaginings, came other “explanations” bordering on or beyond sheer fantasy. In the Western church the Magi were given the names Balthasar, Melchior, and Caspar—and several cathedrals claim to have their remains. The great Cathedral of Cologne even supplies this interesting obituary:

“Having undergone many trials and fatigues for the Gospel the three wise men met at Sewa (Sebaste in Armenia) in A.D. 54 to celebrate the feast of Christmas. Thereupon, after the celebration of Mass, they died; St. Melchior on January 1st, aged 116; St. Balthasar on January 6th, aged 112; and St. Caspar on January 11th, aged 109.”

(Of course, virtually no Protestant or Catholic scholars today believe this obituary or that any of the Magi’s relics survive.)

What we do know of the mysterious Magi is this: They most likely came from Persia or Parthia, and were not crude pagans but religious scholars who, as part of their pursuit, studied the heavens. (We need to remember that astrology was originally connected with man’s search for God, and that astrologers simply tried to find in the heavens the answer to their moral longings. They came with real, but imperfect, messianic expectations.) Philo of Alexandria, a contemporary of Jesus, indicates that he knew of both scientific magi and magi who were charlatans and magicians.

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The magi of our story were probably influenced by expatriate Jews who shared their sacred writings, thus instilling in them the expectation of a coming kingly Jewish figure. New Testament scholar Raymond Brown says, “They represent the best of pagan lore and religious perceptivity which has come to seek Jesus through revelation in nature” and are “the wise and learned among the Gentiles.”

Star In The East

What galvanized these Magi into action was the appearance of what the text calls a “star in the East.” Like the Magi themselves, this star has spawned some brilliant and entertaining theories.

One is that the star was a supernova or “new star”—the explosion of a faint star giving off an extraordinary amount of light. This is only theory as there is no ancient record of such an occurrence before Jesus’ birth.

A second theory is that the star was a comet. Comets move in elliptical paths around the sun—a few bright ones appearing each century. According to calculations, Halley’s comet appeared around 12–11 B.C., a considerable time before Jesus’ birth—and a comet is not a star. Moreover, comets were thought to herald catastrophes, not births.

The third and most popular theory is that the star was an unusual conjunction, or alignment, of planets. Such a positioning took place in 7 B.C., about two years before Christ’s birth. The problem is that there is no contemporary evidence for calling a conjunction a “star.”

But according to verse 9, this “star,” this luminous wonder, “went on before [the Magi], until it came and stood over where the child was.” It moved from north to south, from Jerusalem to Bethlehem. And to rest over the very house that the child lived in, the star would have to have come very low. Unusual cosmic behavior, to be sure.

My opinion is that the star was some phenomenon functioning within the earth’s atmosphere (not unlike the Shekinah glory). Note in support of this that verse 9 seems to indicate that it reappeared to the Magi after the interview with King Herod. Of course, God could have used either natural or supernatural phenomena. The point is, the star was a historical, supernatural provision—which infallibly led the Magi to the Savior.

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Now our Christmas text comes alive:

“Now after Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, magi from the East arrived in Jerusalem, saying, ‘Where is he who has been born King of the Jews? For we saw his star in the East, and have come to worship him’ ” (vv. 1–2; all quotations taken from the NASB).

Whether riding camels or not, they must have been an impressive sight—for they were wealthy, noble Persians, bearing not only their great gifts but the dust of a thousand miles. But what really electrified everyone was that these Gentiles were looking for a newborn Jewish king! They dramatize for our imaginations and hearts what was always implicit in biblical history—the Christ was for Gentiles, too.

What an example, then, the Magi set in seeking Christ. Traveling in ancient times was miserable. The exposure and the danger from criminals shortened many lives. But these men came because they believed. No obstacle was too great.

The Magi And The King

Evidently the Magi’s arrival in Jerusalem was a public event. Matthew describes what happened: “And when Herod the king heard it, he was troubled, and all Jerusalem with him.”

King Herod was “all shook up,” for the literal sense of the word translated “troubled” is “to shake” or “to stir.” The only other place the word is used in Matthew is 14:26, where it describes the fright of the disciples when they see Jesus coming toward them on the sea like a water-walking ghost. The Greek version of the Old Testament uses this word to describe Belshazzar’s fright at seeing the handwriting on the wall (Daniel 5:9). The King James Version says, “his joints were loosed and one knee smote the other.”

Herod, then, did not have a mild case of the jitters—this was theatrical in scope. And Herod’s psychological imbalance further complicated the scene. He was crazy, having previously murdered his own two sons and his wife, Miriamne (she because he couldn’t bear the thought of his dying first and her living without him). No wonder all Jerusalem was “shook up.” No one could guess what cruel extremes he would go to next. Terror reigned in the Holy City.

In his fright, Herod called for the help of the religious establishment:

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“And gathering together all the chief priests and scribes of the people, he began to inquire of them where the Christ was to be born. And they said to him, ‘In Bethlehem of Judea; for so it has been written by the prophet, “And you, Bethlehem, land of Judah; are by no means least among the leaders of Judah; for out of you shall come forth a Ruler, who will shepherd My people Israel” ’ ” (vv. 4–6).

The answer was easy; even the common people knew it (cf. John 7:41–42). Micah 5:2 had predicted some 700 years before that the Messiah would be born in Bethlehem. Here the officials paraphrase the ancient prophecy and add a final line from 2 Samuel 5:2, “who will shepherd my people Israel,” which in its context emphasizes that this one born in Bethlehem will be of the house of David. Everyone knew the answer!

And this fact sets up a supreme irony, which Matthew wants us to see: Though these religious leaders knew exactly where the Christ was to be born, none of them went along with the Magi to see if it was so. They illustrate the amazing apathy to which religious people—those who have it all, have heard it all, and can recite it all—can fall into. The scribes knew the Scripture inside out. They even numbered the letters and lines to insure careful copying. Yet Jesus said of them:

“You search the Scriptures, because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is these that bear witness of me; and you are unwilling to come to me, that you may have life” (John 5:39–40).

It is so easy to become this way. It is a special temptation for preachers. We can be like flight announcers at the airport who, by virtue of the fact that they are constantly announcing destinations, come to believe they have been there themselves. Knowledge and words just don’t do it.

And there is a Christmas danger implicit here. It is that our annual celebration of Christmas can immunize us to its reality (especially if it is our only regular exposure to the gospel). We hear just enough of the story each year to inoculate us against the real thing, so that we never really catch true Christmas fever. The most impenetrable armor against the gospel is a familiar, lifelong knowledge of it.

What are we to do? Old William Law gives the answer: “When the first spark of a desire after God arrives in thy soul, cherish it with all thy care, give all thy heart unto it.… Follow it as gladly as the wise men of the East followed the star from heaven that appeared to them. It will do for thee as the star did for them: it will lead thee to the birth of Jesus, not in a stable at Bethlehem of Judea, but to the birth of Jesus in thine own soul.”

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Let’s go back to Herod. He may have been crazy, but he was sly as a fox. So he dismissed the religious leaders and arranged to see the Magi:

“Then Herod secretly called the magi, and ascertained from them the time the star appeared. And he sent them to Bethlehem, and said, ‘Go and make careful search for the Child; and when you have found him, report to me, that I too may come and worship him’ ” (vv. 7–8).

Nothing could be lower than Herod’s pious pretense masking his murderous intent. No doubt he would have killed them all—the child, the parents, and the unsuspecting Magi—if they had followed through as they planned with his orders.

The Magi And The King

Mercifully, that was not to be: “And having heard the king, they went their way; and lo, the star, which they had seen in the East, went on before them, until it came and stood over where the child was. And when they saw the star, they rejoiced exceedingly, with great joy” (vv. 9–10).

The star reappeared. It stood stationary over a humble home—and then the Magi began to rejoice. We do ourselves a disservice if we limit their rejoicing to prim, restrained smiles. They rejoiced like Middle Easterners—noisy and exuberant! With excitement they dismounted, uncovered their gifts, straightened their robes and turbans, and stepped toward the entrance. I love Luther’s suggestion that the humble dwelling was probably a great trial to the Magi. Had they come thousands of miles to this—a poor peasant’s home outside the big city? It is a credit to their faith that they went in:

“And they came into the house and saw the child with Mary his mother; and they fell down and worshiped him; and opening their treasures they presented to him gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh” (v. 11).

There are three things we must not overlook in this climactic verse:

First, the Magi “fell down”; they did not sit up. They knelt to the ground before the child—perhaps they even lay prone before him, expressing the inward prostration of their hearts. The picture is remarkable, and even more remarkable when we realize that these are Gentiles bowing before a Jew—and a baby at that!

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Second, the picture is intensified by the additional phrase, which says they “worshiped him.” The word literally means “to kiss toward,” as pagans would kiss the ground before their idols. Here it bears the idea of intense adoration. They adored the Lord Jesus! All of their being was extended toward him. Think of how the sight must have affected Joseph and Mary. No doubt they flushed warmly as they watched.

Last, they “presented to him gifts of gold and frankincense and myrrh.” Much has been made of the typology of these gifts, and much of it is sentimental and inaccurate. Matthew simply wants us to see that they gave Jesus highly expensive gifts: gold, which has always been one of the rarest and most expensive of metals; frankincense, a much-valued incense extracted from the bark of trees; and myrrh, a coveted spice and perfume. They were, indeed, gifts fit for a king. The Magi gave the best they had. True worship always involves giving what we have, the very best of ourselves and possessions, to Christ.

The story of the Magi concludes with a beautiful, forthright presentation of the primacy of worship. It will never change. Christmas is a call to worship, to prostrate ourselves before Jesus. To kiss the son, to adore him. To give him our best.

“I urge you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God, which is your spiritual service of worship” (Rom. 12:1).

Kent R. Hughes is pastor of College Church in Wheaton, Illinois, and has authored several books, including Behold the Man (Victor Books, 1984).

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