An arrogant re-telling of the slaughter of the
innocents. January 28 is the traditional, liturgical feast-day.
WHO AM I?
The crowd of High Priests
and Scribes cowered in a small group as Herod slipped off his throne and made
his way to them.
“Friends!” he said with
arms out wide, “You know me! I am Herod, your Ruler, The KING of your People
and I ASK, nicely, that you tell me WHERE this boy-child, this so-called KING
of your people, has been born.”
“Oh, Herod, the
scriptures tell us he will be born in
Bethlehem.”
“Beth-le-hem,” said Herod
puzzled. “Are you telling me the truth?” he grew suspicious. “Bethlehem is a
little bump-in-the-road!” Then he grew angry and stepped back to his throne.
“You people have no great
temple in Bethlehem! Not even a decent inn! You are lying to me! The King of
your People would not be born THERE in that poor place! You keep this HIDDEN
FROM ME! You TELL ME or your people suffer the consequences!”
“We know – and fear –
your wrath, oh Herod!” said one.
“You have starved us!
Brutalized us.” said another.
“You put your armies in
our neighborhoods.” said the third.
“We can hide nothing from
you!” said the fourth.
“My spies say, that here,
in Jerusalem are three Magi searching for this King. Where is this King? You
claim to be the leaders of your people, the Chief Priests and Scribes – tell
me! That I may. . . WORSHIP him!”
“We don’t know.” said the
first.
“Ask the Magi.” said the
second.
“Yes, ask the Magi!” said
the lot together.
“Cowards.” Said Herod.
“Get out!”
WHY AM I HERE?
So, Herod sent his men to
bring in the Magi. Three quite different men, clearly of wealth, wisdom and
power appeared.
“Why are you here?” asked
Herod.
“Oh King Herod, we are
here because unto us a star appeared that foretold that the King of his People
would be born.” Said Melchior, the Persian scholar.
“Yes. To each of us the
star appeared.” Said Caspar, the Indian Scholar.
“We have been watching he
heavens for years because this was foretold.” Said Balthasar, the Arabian
Scholar.
“Tell me where I should
go to worship him?” said Herod.
“We are not exactly
sure,” said Melchior. “We follow our charts and our celestial instruments. But,
the heavens are vast and our tools not so precise.”
“We cannot verify the
ancient scriptures.” Said Caspar. “Ancient revelations are subject to
verifications.” Said Balthasar.
“Why not let us go and
find this King and then return and tell you where you may find him.” Said
Melchior.
“Yes! Yes! That’s it. You
go find him and come and tell me!” said Herod. “Be gone! And, don’t try to
betray me! I am watching you.”
The three bowed deeply as
they backed out of the throne room.
WHAT DO I WANT?
The three Magi journeyed
following the star. Then an Angelic being appeared in light and fire and led
them to the stable in Bethlehem where they fell to their knees as the Shepherds
before them had done.
“Greetings to thee, Child
most Rare, I bring thee Myrrh, as to a mortal.” Said the first.
“Greetings to thee, Child
most Sweet, I bring thee Gold as to a King.” Said the second
“Greetings to thee, Child from On High, I bring thee
Frankincense as to a God.” Said the third.
They gave their gifts and kissed the Child.
And the Child’s mother said, “Oh Kings, we thank you.”
“And, Sir,” said Melchior to Joseph, “I also give you the light
of insight: you and we three, must flee because Herod will come to kill the
Child and us as well.”
“We will guide you for a distance, but each of us will leave the
country by a different direction.” Said Balthsar.
And so, the little family
and the three groups of Magi left Judea, each by a different route.
Herod’s spies brought him the news that the Magi had departed.
As soon as he heard, he filled with rage and assembled the
leaders of his armies: “I command that every boy-child two years old or under
in the Bethlehem area be killed IMMEDIATELY!”
And so it is that Innocence is, once again and always, slain by
Power.
“ Then was
fulfilled that which was spoken through Jeremiah the
prophet, saying, 'A voice is heard in Ramah, mourning
and great weeping, Rachel weeping for her children and refusing to be
comforted, because her children are no more.'"[1]
© Copyright
2015, Jean W. Yeager
All Rights Reserved
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