A fourth magi?

“Tatlong Hari” or the Three Kings feast ends the Christmas season this Sunday. Of course, the malls will stretch that into February. “Epiphany” means manifestation. And the gospel read is that of the Magi offering gold, frankincense and myrrh to Child in Bethlehem, as first manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles.

Was there a Fourth Magi? asks Henry Van Dyke in a story re-read every year. Artaban from Persia arrived late and missed the Child. Or did he? Excerpts: Artaban from Persia  saw his “star rising in the East”. He raced to join the other Magi, bearing gifts to the Child: a sapphire, a ruby and a pearl. At a grove of date palms, his exhausted horse reared up before a dark object in the shadow of the last palm tree.

The dim starlight revealed an ill man, probably one of the poor Hebrew exiles. As he remounted, brown, bony fingers closed on the hem of robe. Should he turn aside, if only for a moment, to give a cup of cold water to man—and miss the quest of a lifetime?

He brought water from a nearby canal, and moistened the man’s brow and mouth. Magis were physicians as well as astrologers. He mixed a drink of simple but potent remedy. Hour after hour he labored as only a skillful healer of disease can do. And at last, the man’s strength returned

“Here is all that I have left of bread and wine and here is a potion of healing herbs. When your strength is restored you can find your way home. The Jew raised his trembling hand and whispered: “I have nothing to give you in return. But I can tell you the Messiah must be sought, not in Jerusalem, but in Bethlehem.”

It was dawn when Artaban reached the site. There was no sign of the three Magi. But there was a note on the parchment. It read: “We have waited past the midnight hour and can delay no longer. Follow us across the desert.”

With no food and with a spent horse, Artaban sold one of his jewels in the nearest town, and bought a camel and provisions He arrived weary, but full of hope in Bethlehem, bearing yet his ruby and pearl.  All was eerily quiet.

In a cottage, he found a young mother hushing her baby. She told him of kingly-looking men who appeared in the village three days ago, and how they went to where Joseph lodged with his wife, Mary, and her new-born Child.

“But they disappeared as suddenly as they had come. And the man of Nazareth took the babe and his wife and fled away that same night secretly. And it was whispered that they fled to Egypt.”

Suddenly, there was shrieking of women’s voices and clanging of swords: “The soldiers of Herod are killing our children!” The young mother’s face grew white with terror. She held her child close to her, and crouched motionless.

Artaban quickly stood in the doorway. He showed the centurion the ruby who snatched it, telling his men. “March on! There is no child here.”

“You have saved the life of my little one,” the woman said.  “May the Lord bless you and keep you; the Lord make his face to shine upon you and be gracious unto you; the Lord lift up His face upon you and give you peace.”

And for the next 33 years, the Fourth Magi traveled from place to place. Worn and weary, he had come for the last time to Jerusalem. It was the Passover. The city was teaming with strangers and many languages.

There was an uproar. “We are going,” people said, “to Golgotha, outside the city walls. There is to be an execution. Haven’t you heard? Two thieves are to be crucified, and with them another, called Jesus of Nazareth, a man who has done many wonderful works.

So, the old man limped after the crowd. Just beyond the entrance of the guard-house, soldiers came down the street, dragging a young girl with torn dress and matted hair. As the Magi, still priestly in his bearing, paused to look at her with compassion, she suddenly broke from the hands of her tormentors and threw herself at his feet.

“Have pity on me,” she cried, “and save me, I am seized for debts to be sold as a slave. Save me from this fate worse than death.”  Artaban trembled, then handed her his last jewel. . “This is your ransom, daughter!”

While he spoke, the darkness of the sky thickened, and shuddering tremors ran through the earth. The soldiers fled in terror. Artaban and the girl, whom he had ransomed, crouched helpless, beneath the wall of the Praetorium.

A heavy tile, shaken from the roof, fell and struck the old man on his temple. As she bent over Artaban, came a sound through the dust, small and still, like music sounding from a distance, in which the notes are clear but the words are lost. The girl turned her head to see if someone had spoken from the window above them. But she saw no one.

The old man’s lips began to move, as if in answer. Clearly he had heard the words, and she heard him say: “Not so, my Lord. For when did I see you??”

He stopped talking and that voice came again. This time, the girl heard it, very faint and far away, but now it seemed as though she too understood the words. She heard this: “Verily I say unto you, Inasmuch as you have done it to the least of these, you have done it unto me.” 

Artaban found the Child in the needy but recognized Him only at the end.