“When Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea,

in the days of King Herod, 

behold, magi from the east arrived in Jerusalem, saying, 

‘Where is the newborn king of the Jews?

We saw his star at its rising

and have come to do him homage.’”

Like eyes that are drawn to a crack in a door, today’s gospel and the feast we celebrate give us a glimpse of what is to come. Both the bad and the unbelievable are seen through the narrow sliver of a view. Entrenched power, oppression, and dominion recognize the true threat of a helpless baby that would be king. The wisdom of the wise, however, sees the true promise contained in a God who has become one of us. It is the demarcation of sides in the long arc of history. The battle lines have been drawn between the power of this world and the true freedom given by love. It is the fundamental conflict in each of our hearts and lives. It is not so obvious as to be evident from the start, but it is the key that unlocks our true humanity. Jesus stands at the door and knocks. Will we let him in? Will we open wide the door?

One of the defining moments of my life happened about the time I was 10 years old. Like a baby born in a manger, I didn’t recognize the significance of the event at the time. The small house I grew up in backed up to a drainage ditch nearly 30 feet wide and 15 feet deep with 20 feet of right of way on each side. As a child, it was great for exploring, shooting my BB gun, and experiencing unsupervised freedom for hours at a time. The far side of the ditch, usually inaccessible because of the water at the bottom, was a wild wood in the suburbs. One day, a friend and I were playing near the ditch when we spotted an ominous and rugged teenage boy on the other side much larger than either of us. With the perceived safety of the man-made barrier for protection, my friend, just a year older than me, for some reason beyond my understanding began taunting the teenager. I don’t recall the specific insults or jabs, but angry words were exchanged between them across the ditch. Then, as if watching a disaster unfold in slow motion, the teenager made his way down and across the water at the bottom. The fear of impending violence gripped my heart. My friend ran back to my house. I didn’t. Something inside of me, hidden until that very moment, steeled my resolve. I had not cast any taunts (although I didn’t know if the menacing teenager knew that) and a sense of justice welled within. If I were to be pummeled by his fists, he would be in the wrong. It wouldn’t be right. I was compelled to stand my ground for truth even as I trembled with fear. 

Our encounter registered no drama. After heading my way and passing within feet, he said, “Hey.” I replied, “Hey.” That was it. He went on his way, but something was born within me. As insignificant as it may have seemed, I was changed (and more than slightly relieved). A newborn baby, born in Bethlehem, with no imaginable claim to the throne, could hardly be less significant. Millions, perhaps billions, of babies, nameless in the history books, have been born and passed their lives in the same way. Herod and the Magi, each in their own way, see past the insignificance and realize something has changed. This baby upends the conventional power system. He embodies a love so great that it will conquer all, even death. Jesus reveals the true origin and destiny of the universe, the origin and destiny of you and me. Herod will stop at nothing to find this child to destroy him. The Magi will stop at nothing to find this child to do him homage. This epiphany sets the choice before us. Hidden until this moment, precisely at this point in the arc of history, what will we do? Slam shut the door or open it wide?