Wise men from the East

Wise men from the East

Haiku of adoration

Wise men from the East,

so an old story tells us,

came seeking a king.

A child has been born

who will rule over Judah;

we have seen his star.

In Jerusalem

they make their inquiries.

Herod is alarmed.

Those who have power

become anxious at the thought

that they might lose it.

Calling a meeting

of the chief priests and the scribes,

Herod seeks answers.

Bethlehem, they say.

According to the prophet,

Bethlehem’s the place.

Go to Bethlehem,

and when you do find the child

come, report to me.

They locate the boy,

bow down in adoration,

and give him their gifts.

Gold for a king’s crown

frankincense to worship him,

myrrh for his dying.

Proving their wisdom

the men, having found the child,

choose a new way home.

© Ken Rookes 2018

Tales of wonder

Haiku of uncertain destination.

The tale is dodgy,

its historicity doubtful,

but still we wonder.

Driven by a dream

they seek the child of promise,

born to be a king.

They came from the east,

a vague description, at best;

those men of wisdom.

No maps, GPS,

their star takes them all the way

to Jerusalem.

They call on Herod;

(where else would you find a prince

but in a palace?)

Herod takes advice,

sends them off to Bethlehem;

asks to stay informed.

The child is threatened

by this late development.

God's plans are at risk.

Finding the infant

they offer their gifts: the gold,

frankincense and myrrh.

The gifts are laden

with meaning and importance

for a future king.

Having paid homage,

the pilgrims return eastward,

give Herod a miss.

The nations have seen,

the threat will be overcome;

the story rolls on.

© Ken Rookes 2017

The adult version of the Epiphany

The adult version of Matthew’s nativity moves quickly from the glad moment of the adoration and gifts of the magi to a darker, more ambivalent world of political intrigue, deception, and fear-induced violence. (There’s a reason we read Luke on Christmas Eve!) But if Matthew’s account is more sober, it is also realistic. We live in a world riddled by fear, a world of devastating super-storms and elementary school massacres, a world where innocents die everyday to preventable illness and hunger. In Matthew’s story of the visit of the magi – and the subsequent slaughter of the innocents in the verses to come – Matthew renders an accurate if also difficult picture of the world.

And that is what is at the heart of Matthew’s darker, more adult-oriented story of Jesus’ birth: the promise that is precisely this world that God came to, this people so mastered by fear that we often do the unthinkable to each other and ourselves that God loves, this gaping need that we have and bear that God remedies. Jesus isEmmanuel, God with us, the living, breathing, and vulnerable promise that God chose to come live and die for us, as we are, so that in Christ’s resurrection we, too might experience newness of life.

As Denise Levertov writes in her poem “On the Mystery of the Incarnation”:
It’s when we face for a momentthe worst our kind can do, and shudder to knowthe taint in our own selves, that awecracks the mind’s shell and enters the heart.

 

http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=1509

They came

They came,

according to one ancient story,

looking for a child;

they found one in Bethlehem.

Leaving their gifts with the family

they shot through, back home to the east;

conveniently dropping Jerusalem,

and its palace, from their return itinerary.

They might have guessed that the old king

would get somewhat angry

when he discovered the broken promise.

Still, they’d be out of the country by then;

so would the boy, with a bit of luck,

not to mention some timely dreaming

on the part of his dad.

But for all the other families

in the little town of Bethlehem,

there were no sweet dreams,

just a nightmare.

With the easy wisdom known as hindsight,

it would have been better for everyone

had the men we call wise,

not made the trip at all;

their gifts were of little consequence,

and even yarn-spinner, Matthew,

didn’t manage to weave them

into the rest of his story.

© Ken Rookes 2013