Caspar was chagrined at the sight of the run down house.
The Baltasar he knew was the most imposing, impassible men he
had ever met; now his home would not withstand a breeze. For
years he had looked forward to this meeting, and now he had
to restrain himself just to keep the walls standing.
Baltasar answered at the first knock. His face looked
more likely to crumble than the shack. Contrast marked the
two. Caspar was white, encrusted with gold, confident while
Baltasar's black face looked sad, cloaked in rags. Still,
they shared a noble bearing, something linked them.
"The star has come."
Hope surged in Caspar's voice, but Baltasar just seemed
sadder. Tears came to his eyes as if his sadness had become
too much to keep within his great body.
The constant jostling bothered Baltasar's old bones. He
had never liked camels and this trip seemed as long any he
had ever taken. Once he would have commanded the caravan,
stopping when he liked. But on this strange journey they just
kept going. The stars were unusual guides and now they were
following their lead. Even when it meant traveling at odd
hours, in the middle of the night and almost sleeping with
the swaying of the camels, they kept after the star.
When they finally stopped for the "night" -- it
was actually midday and the innkeeper had been suspicious --
he unwraped the flask he was carrying. The oil in it was
pungent. His friends had thought it was a gift fit for a
King, the oil of blessing, but that was hardly in Baltasar's
thoughts.
He remembered his son. This oil had been used for his
coronation, but Baltasar remembered it better from the
burial. The crown of gold, the incense were with him both
times, but it was this myrrh that he remembered. When the
familiar aroma came floating to him at the funeral he smelled
the death the kingship had been for his son. The bitter smell
should have warned him.
It was too late to take the gift back now. He had meant
for his son to be a glorious king, but it was not in him. He
had hoped to see the peace continue under him, but there was
no peace in him. It hurt to think how ugly greed had made
him. Kings should die before they see how badly their heirs
can mangle their realm.
Could this help the new king they were seeking? Baltasar
could only hope the bitter smell would keep him close to all
the people whose lives are full of bitterness. Gold and
frankincense were gifts fit for a king, but myrrh could be
the gift that makes him noble. If the stars predicted right,
he might be wise enough to understand its bitter smell.
Anyone can rule among the stars, but on earth pain pierces.
He wrapped the flask and put it back in his pack. His
companions had thought highly of the gift, but they knew
nothing of Baltasar's hopes. They were the only hopes he had
left from his lifetime of despair. There must be someone who
will not be caught off guard by pain.
"Hey, old man."
Baltasar stepped back a minute. It sounded like his own
language. There were many things he expected to find in
Jerusalem, but he never expected to hear street people
speaking in his own language.
"What are you doing here?"
It was his own tongue!
"How do you know my language?"
"I lived in your country for many years. The only thing
left are some pieces of your language. Nothing else has
lasted. So what are you doing here?"
"Friends are inside and I am waiting for them."
"Didn't want to go in yourself? Well I don't blame you.
Those temple folk are a rough bunch. I prefer these people
out here."
Baltasar looked around. These were what he would have
called a rough bunch. The clothes were torn, the faces
absorbed. There were old men and old women, people who should
have had homes with children taking care of them. Out here on
the streets they were castoffs. It bit at his heart to see
these discards. In his own country older people were treated
with honor. It was the least they could do for those who
managed to survive the years.
He grinned. 'I managed to survive the years. No children
will care for me either.' The thought swept through him like
a spear, through his heart and out the other side. His son
should have been the one to take his cares from him, but now
his son was gone. There was only emptiness where his heart
should have been.
And here I am out on this street waiting for two young
dreamers. Their search would lead to nothing. Such searches
generally did. Hopes and dreams lead nowhere. I saw it in my
son, the hopes and dreams that killed him, dashed him to the
ground and shattered him. My own hopes and dreams died with
him I think. Maybe even before he died, when I saw his
cruelty. I wanted him to carry on my work, but he always
wanted things his own way. He hurt so many people.
"Old man!"
" Forgive me. I was lost inside myself. So you think the
people in the temple are worse than these out here?"
"Much worse. You smile and they throw you out. If they
ever let you in. It is a far cry from the days when they
first built this place. They say King David danced and
laughed when they brought the tabernacle here. Such joy is
rare these days. They are not his sons, no matter what they
tell you. These are David's children, here, outside the
walls. They cannot even enter. But then David never could
either."
"Your King never entered your temple?" Baltasar was
surprised. He had had the worship of his people. Here there
was a King who did not demand worship. He wished he could
have been that. He must have been affected by all that
adoration. He had enjoyed it until he saw it devour his son.
"No. David was no Temple dweller. He was one of us, born
in the meadows, raised as a shepherd. Lived his whole life
out here, but then those were days when the Presence was not
locked up behind those walls. Even the Lord God lived out
here with us in those days."
"Nothing?" Baltasar's companions were looking dejected.
They had gotten nowhere inside the Temple or at the Palace.
No one knew anything about the birth of a King.
"They had no idea. They told us that this was the home
of the King and that he would come here if anywhere in
Israel."
"Almost, but not quite, if what I heard on the street is
any indication."
"On the street? you heard there what the royal scribes
and priests do not know?"
"The people I saw were not learned, but they knew. God
may live in the Temple, but the people by the gates have
talked to him. One said he was told he would not die until he
saw the son of man come to Israel."
"Son of man? Aren't we all? Is that what you think we
are looking for, someone who has a man for a father? I expect
someone whose Father can rearrange the stars."
"Did they tell you about David when you met with these
scribes and priests?"
"They said the king was David's son I remember. They
mentioned him with reverence, but there was not much
different from the any other kings. I've had such fables told
about me until I was embarrassed to be seen in my own city.
Do you think David was important?"
"A King who never set foot in their Temple? We have all
known worship, but David never sought it. His son built this
Temple to worship the God of his father, but neither sought
worship for themselves. David did not live his life in the
Temple circles. Did they tell you how he became King?"
"Let me guess. A Virgin birth? Maybe he was a mighty
warrior? Or God came down and raped his mother while she
slept next to her husband? We've heard all the stories
before."
"This was one I had never heard. One of their prophets
went to the house of David's father to find the new king.
David was not brought to him. All the other sons were,
anxiously prepared in fine attire and with majestic bearings.
But David did not come until he was asked. They had to bring
him in from the fields where he was herding the sheep."
"Are you saying that is the kind of King we are looking
for? A common shepherd?"
"It is ridiculous. He is not only King but Priest. If he
never set foot in the Temple, he is not the one we want."
"That is how it is here. God does not stay in the Temple
but walks with the people, talks to them. I found him at the
gates where the people are. You were in the Temple and you
say you did not find him there."
"So we should go look for a shepherd? We'll find plenty
of those. Take our gold and crown the shepherd?"
"I can see us out burning the incense in the middle of
the field, pretending God is there? What a laugh."
"When I first come with you, I expected little. I have
been wealthy, i have sought for wisdom. This sounded like it
would be another wild goose chase, or at least as futile.
Even if we had succeeded, there is little good about a wild
goose. But on the streets here I found something I have not
seen for many years. People were waiting for the King the way
I remember waiting for my son. It brought smiles to their
faces, worn faces smiling at the thought of their God leading
their king to the Temple. Sad lines in their faces only made
their smiles brighter. We came to Jerusalem as you wanted and
asked at the Palace and the Temple. There was nothing here. I
would like to go to the city of David's birth and ask the
shepherds, go to Bethlehem's shepherds. We won't find any
less than we found here. Maybe we will find something there,
some happiness among these people. We have not seen that very
often."
So Caspar, Balthasar and Melchior took their gifts of
gold, frankincense and myrrh and went to Bethlehem. The new
born child was with the sheep in a manger, not even with the
shpherds. When they saw the smiles and joy in that poor
family, they knew this was the King they sought.
These words are part of a larger idea that is sketched on the main page .
I encourage everyone to look there.
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All comments will be read and appreciated.
