“The Other Wise Man” (FN: MATT 2 16-18.2013) Scripture: Mathew 2:16-18 William Pender First Presbyterian Church, 12/29/13

One of the traditional readings for this Sunday after is the account in the of Matthew often called the “The Massacre of the Innocent.” It is the account of King Herod’s attempt to kill the baby because Jesus was perceived as a threat to his reign. After reading the text, I will shift over into the role of story-teller, using a story written over a hundred years ago by the Presbyterian minister, Henry Van Dyke. Van Dyke served as a minister, an English professor at Princeton University, the moderator of the Presbyterian Church, the ambassador to the Netherlands and Luxemburg, but he probably is most known to us as the author of the hymn, “Joyful, Joyful, We Adore Thee.” Van Dykes’ story will serve as our sermon today. I know of no better treatment of God’s response to the bewildering and troubling massacre of innocent babies than this imaginative story of Henry Van Dyke.

Henry Van Dyke’s story is an act of Christian imagination about the Magi, the wise men who see the light of a star and act upon it. This story has invited Christian imagination for almost 2000 years. Consider our imaginative creations: We speak of three—we do not know if there were three—the text does not say that. We call them “kings,” though nowhere is that indicated that they are royalty. We even have names for them: , , and . And they generally are depicted as representing all the races of humanity with Oriental, African, and Caucasian features—all of humanity coming together to worship the .

Listen now to the Scripture to the concluding part of the story of the account of the Magi or the wise men who had found the baby Jesus but then left by another route rather than return to King Herod, who had given them directions.

Matthew 1:16-18: 16 When Herod saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, he was infuriated, and he sent and killed all the children in and around who were two years old or under, according to the time that he had learned from the wise men. 17 Then was fulfilled what had been spoken through the prophet : 18 “A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation, weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled, because they are no more.”

You know the story of the Three Wise Men, who came to Bethlehem following the star, to bring great treasures to the Christ-child. But do you know the story of the other wise man, who also saw the star and came seeking the Christ-child, the King of the ? Do you know the story of his failed search, of how his quest was denied, of his long seeking and his strange way of finding?

I will tell you his tale as I heard it in fragments in the Hall of Dreams, the palace of the heart of humanity. Artaban was his name, the fourth Wiseman. He, like the other three—Caspar, Balthazzar, and Melchior —had observed the night sky and had seen the star. He, like them, made plans to seek out the King whose birth this star marked.

Artaban was to join his three brethren at the ancient temple of the Seven Spheres at Borsippa in Babylonia. In his home country of Parthia, Artaban, some 40 years old, had sold his house and all his possessions. He sold everything except his horse Vasda. And with the proceeds he purchased three jewels as gifts to the new King. One was a sapphire, blue as a fragment of the night sky. The second 1 SERMON 12-29-2013 - PENDER.DOC was a ruby, redder than a ray of the sunrise. And the third was a pearl, pure as the peak of a snow- covered mountain at twilight.

Artaban set out on the ten-day journey to join his friends at the Temple of the Seven Spheres. It was on the evening of the tenth day that Artaban was passing the city of Babylon and was only a three- hour ride from the Temple of the Seven Spheres. It was all he could do to keep his horse Vasda at a steady pace — both the horse and Artaban wanted to race to meet his friends. But Artaban had time. His friends would wait until midnight before leaving.

Artaban approached a grove of date palms. Vasda, his horse, slackened the pace. The mare scented some difficulty or danger ahead. Artaban approached, careful and wary. Then, in the gloom, Vasda gave a snort of anxiety and dismay before a dark object in the shadow of a tree.

Artaban could make out the form of a man lying across the road — humble in dress and a haggard face. Probably one of the poor Hebrew exiles that inhabited this area outside of Babylon. The man appeared dead.

Then, a long faint and ghostly sigh came from the man. Artaban’s heart leaped to his throat, not with fear but with resentment at the importunity of this blind delay. What right had this man to be lying in the road and sighing? How could Artaban stay to help? What claim did this man have on him? If he delayed more than an hour, he might miss the appointed meeting with his three friends.

If Artaban went on, the man would die. If he stayed, life might be restored. “God of truth and purity,” prayed Artaban, “direct me in the holy path, the way of wisdom which Thou only knowest.” Artaban dismounted from Vasda and began to tend to the sick man. He, one of the educated Magi, knew not only the stars but also the means of tending to the sick. Hours of labor led to the renewal of strength to the sick man.

“Who art thou?” the sick man was finally able to ask.

“Artaban, the Magian, going to in search of the one who is born king of the Jews, a great Prince and Deliverer of all people. I cannot delay any longer—my caravan bound for Jerusalem waits for me and may depart without me. I will leave you my bread and wine.”

“A moment more, kind sir. May the God of and and bless and prosper the journey of the merciful and bring him in peace to his desired haven. Listen a moment longer. I have nothing to give you in return—only this, that I can tell you where the is to be sought. Our prophets have said that he will not be born in Jerusalem but in Bethlehem of . May the Lord bring you safely to that place because you have had pity on the sick.”

Artaban mounted Vasda and they flew like the wind through the dark, though already it was past midnight. Artaban and Vasda reached the Temple of the Seven Spheres as the first rays of light broke through the gloom of night. The place was empty. Only a pile of rocks with a note attached. It read: “We have waited past midnight and can delay no longer. We go to find the king. Follow us across the desert.”

Follow them across the desert? He, Artaban, who had no food, who had a spent horse? He must return to the city of Babylon and form another caravan to cross the desert. He could not catch his friends now. Caravans take time to form and are expensive. Artaban thought: “I must sell my sapphire to fit out a caravan, but at least I will still have two treasures to give to the new King.” 2 SERMON 12-29-2013 - PENDER.DOC

Artaban returned to Babylon and completed his plans. His caravan, days behind his friends, pushed on across the desert, down through Damascus, past Mount Hermon, by the Golan Heights, by the Sea of , down the Jordan valley past Jericho into the high country of Judah. He would go directly to Bethlehem and perhaps meet up with his friends there.

Artaban came three days after his friends had arrived. Several people on the outside of town verified that three strangers—odd foreigners—had come to Bethlehem recently. Artaban, the other wise man, was filled with hope. But the little town of Bethlehem was oddly quiet as he entered. The streets were deserted. There was a stillness in the air.

Through an open door, Artaban heard a woman singing to a baby. He struck up a conversation with her. As they talked the baby reached for his beard. His heart warmed to the touch. He found out that yes, indeed, his friends had been to Bethlehem. But they had left quietly by a different way than they had come, as if they wanted to avoid going to Jerusalem. And the family that they had visited, a man named Joseph and woman named Mary had also left — left with their baby. The word was that they were going to Egypt.

As they talked and the baby continued to coo and giggle at Artaban, he thought: “Might not this child have been the promised Prince? Kings have been born in lowly places before. But the God of wisdom has not seen fit to reward my search so easily.”

From the street, there came the noise of wild confusion. “The soldiers! The soldiers of Herod!” came the cry. “They are killing our children! No! Oh no!” The young mother grabbed her child and ran to the darkest corner in the house. Two soldiers, hands bloody, started to enter the house but Artaban stood in the doorway, blocking their way. The soldiers back away from this strangely dressed foreigner. Their captain approached Artaban.

Artaban reached into the folds of his garments and grasped the ruby that he had brought for the new king. Then he spoke loudly, “I am all alone in this place.” And then more softly in a whisper, he said only to the captain: “I am waiting to give this jewel to the prudent captain who will leave me in peace.” Artaban flashed the ruby for the captain’s eyes alone.

The ruby seemed to glow in Artaban’s hand. The captain eyed it with amazement…with longing…and then ordered: “March on! There is no child here.” And he took the ruby that Artaban extended to him.

“God of truth,” Artaban prayed, “forgive my sin! I have said the thing that is not, to save the life of a child. And two of my gifts are now gone. I have spent for humans what I meant for God. Shall I ever be worthy to see the face of the King?”

The young woman, fearful at first that the soldiers might return, drew courage and spoke to Artaban. “Because you have saved the life of my child, let me give you the blessing of Aaron our first high priest: “’May the Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and the be gracious unto you; the Lord lift up his countenance upon you and give you peace.’”

Page 3 of 5 Artaban, the other wise man, set off to Egypt to seek the man named Joseph, the woman named Mary, and their child. The child who now would only receive one of Artaban’s planned treasures. But the pearl was the most precious of his jewels.

He traveled to the Nile, past the foot of the great pyramids, to the great city of Alexandria. Alexandria—the center of learning for the Empire, the home to some 100,000 Jews. Here Artaban continued his search for the Jewish child born to be king.

A venerable old rabbi counseled Artaban not to look in a palace for this child. “No child of Abraham,” said the rabbi, “will ever rival Joseph with Pharaoh in Egypt or King in Jerusalem. Look for the light for the world—a new light of unconquerable love. Look among the lowly, the powerless, the oppressed.”

Artaban took the advice of this rabbi. He traveled year after year, among the poor, the diseased, the imprisoned. His training and knowledge allowed him to be of service. For nearly 33 years he searched. His hair, once black as coal became like wintry snow. His eyes, once bright as flames, now were embers smoldering in the ashes. His walk, once vigorous and assertive, was slowed to a gentle pace but no less determined.

He was back again in Jerusalem, where he had often come in his journeying. It was the time of the Passover, when from all over the world had returned. It was time of tumult and confusion.

Artaban fell in with a company of Parthian Jews — Parthia, Artaban’s long ago home. They spoke the language of his birthplace. It was comfort to be connected again to a place that he had long ago left.

“Where are you going?” Artaban asked.

“We are going to a place called Golgotha. Two famous robbers and man named Jesus— Jesus of Nazareth—are to be crucified. The story is that this Jesus has done wonderful works and spoken even more wonderful words. The high priests of the Temple and the elders have insisted that he be put to death because he gave himself to be the Son of God. The Roman governor Pilate has even called him the ‘King of the Jews.’”

The words struck Artaban. “King of the Jews!” Could this be the one he sought? Artaban thought: “The ways of God are stranger than the ways of humans; it may be that I will find the King at last . . . in the hands of his enemies and I shall come in time to offer my pearl for his ransom.”

Artaban followed the crowd toward the gate outside the city. But before going out the gate, he came face to face with soldiers leading a young girl—a young girl in a torn dress and disheveled hair.

“Have pity on me!” she cried. She cried out in the Parthian tongue. Speaking to Artaban, she said: “I also am a daughter of the God of purity which is taught by the magi. My father was a merchant of Parthia, but he is dead. I am seized for his debts to be sold as slave. Save me from a fate worst than death!”

Page 4 of 5 Artaban trembled. It was the conflict of his soul that occurred at the grove outside of Babylon, at the cottage in Bethlehem. It was the conflict between the absolute intentions of his faith and the urgent impulse of love. He was faced with a final and irrevocable choice. This was either his greatest opportunity or last temptation. But it was inevitable. And the inevitable, thought Artaban, comes from God.

“One thing is sure,” he thought. “To rescue this helpless girl would be a true deed of love. And is not love the light of the soul?” He drew from the inner folds of his cloak the pearl. It never was so luminous, so radiant, so full of tender luster.

“This is your ransom, daughter. This is the last of my treasures which I kept for the King.” And he gave the pearl to the slave master with the soldiers..

As the slave master took the pearl and released the girl, there came a great earthquake and darkness. Artaban had no fear. His quest was over. He had failed. From a high ledge above him a heavy roof tile broke loose from the earthquake and fell, striking Artaban on the head.

He collapsed to the ground. The young girl, now free, rushed to his side and cradled his head on her knees. Artaban was breathless and pale, near death. The young girl thought she heard a voice through the twilight darkness, like music sounding, but the words were lost. But the words were not lost to Artaban. He shook his head to those unintelligible words.

“Not so, my Lord!” gasped Artaban. “For when saw I thee hungry and fed thee? Or thirsty and gave thee to drink? When saw I thee as stranger and took thee in? Or naked and clothed thee? When saw I thee sick or in prison and come to thee?”

The young girl heard the voice like music again, but this time she could make out the words, though they were faint and far away.

“Verily I say unto thee, Inasmuch as thou hast done it to one of the least of these my brethren, thou has done it unto me.”

With a calm radiance and a breath of relief—his final breath—Artaban, the other wise man, come to his journey’s end. He had found the king.

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