Caspar watched that lone twinkling light and sighed. How many times had they discussed this?
“Listen,
brother,” said Melchior, “there are prophecies which forecast His
coming. Hundreds of them, in fact. When you see Him, you will believe.”
Caspar
turned from the window and watched his two adamantly scriptural friends
sitting at the table with stacks of parchment splayed out before them.
He frowned. “That some divine being—whom we don’t even know exists, mind
you—will manifest on Earth as a baby. Perfectly logical. Anyone who
believes that is small-minded.”
Balthasar shook his head as his mouth rose into a crooked smile. “You do not yet understand. There are some things we cannot explain: things of the divine.”
Caspar took his spot at the table, plucked up his quill, and returned to the problem he had been working on. How could light bend and reflect in the sky to appear like a star? “I have thus far been able to explain all things—not with this god of yours—but with science. We are Magi, are we not?”
Melchior shuffled papers until he found the right one and held it out to Caspar, saying, “And as men of wisdom, we should accept that there are some things we cannot explain with numbers. To deny that would be…small-minded.”
Balthasar chuckled as Caspar snatched the paper from Melchior’s hand. “If you’re both so sure about this,” Caspar muttered, “then why are you here helping me disprove it?”
“Because,” came Balthasar’s low treble, “the Good Word teaches to not be afraid of the truth. If we are right, then what have we to fear?”
Caspar huffed. Then, looking over his sheaf of papers, he sighed. “Fine. I wager a trip to Bethlehem with you both that this is some trick of light,” he said, pointing at his friends with his quill.
Balthasar raised an eyebrow at Melchior. “The Good Word also teaches us not to take bets.” Yet he extended his hand toward Caspar and smiled. “This is no bet. You will see.”
Three days later, Caspar had no solution. Even the three of them put together could not explain it. So, despite his better judgment, Caspar packed his things onto a mule and departed toward Bethlehem. The three Magi carried Caspar’s papers through the length of the journey, arguing and brainstorming whenever they had a chance to rest.
But whenever Caspar got close to an answer, the math just didn’t match up. His numbers were either significantly off, or if he got the answer he wanted, it was because he had weighed the calculations in his favor. His conscience wouldn’t allow him such a fraudulent way out.
Frequently, he would peer into the night sky at that sparkling star. It never budged. Even when the night sky shifted, it stayed where it was. How far from earth was it? Or, how powerful was Him who put it there?
They couldn’t be right. There wasn’t a trace of some all-powerful creator reigning over the Earth, especially not with the direction Rome was going. If there were, his wife would not have died believing in Him. Besides, he couldn’t allow Balthasar and Melchior the satisfaction of proving him wrong.
Caspar found himself thumbing his locket, rubbing a finger over its etched face. Ishani had believed, hadn’t she? Where had that gotten his wife in the end? So long as Caspar carried her locket with him, he could live for them both. He couldn’t believe in a world after death. The thought was…too hopeful.
Caspar was a man of science. Not a man of dreams.
Finally, the Magi arrived in the packed city of Bethlehem as the sun fell and the star revealed itself once again. Caspar eyed it, wary. “Where are we going to sleep?” A man with a labored past with what must have been twelve children trailing after him. “There must be three thousand people here!”
His two friends stayed at ease. Balthasar smiled at Caspar and put a hand on his shoulder. “My friend. Such worries will not be on your mind tonight, I assure you that.”
Caspar wasn’t so sure they’d share the same sentiment if the trio found themselves stuffed under the eaves of a barn. Or a street corner. He searched the city for some palace, or castle, but found nothing but low homes and packed inns. Someone brushed past him, and Caspar clutched at his locket. “Let us find this place and be done.”
Caspar’s frustration boiled over when they found that the star hovered over—who could have guessed—a stable. He wouldn’t have been surprised to find a palace, but instead, this strange phenomenon hovered over a nasty, hay and dung-smelling barn.
Yet as they drew closer to the entrance, a flutter started in Caspar’s chest. What if they’re right? What if Ishani was right, and God did exist? Was he ready? Was anyone ready?
Melchior poked his head through the creaky side door. “Is this the newborn king of the Jews? We saw his star rising and have come to do him homage.” Someone beckoned them in with a kindly voice, and Balthasar and Caspar crept in from the shadows. Caspar felt even more embarrassed, the three of them in such finery intruding on such a lowly estate.
But when Caspar entered the cramped room, he saw something impossible. Laid in a feeding trough stuffed with hay with a blanket tucked beneath him was a small baby boy. A woman leaned over the trough, cooing at the child, while a tall, bearded man stood to greet them. He had the strangest smile on his face.
There was no fire. No trick of the light. No reflective pool or lodestone. It was just…this baby.
Caspar took a step forward. What manner was this child that drew him so? What else could the star be pointing to? He walked up to the trough, ignoring the looks of his friends and put his hands on the ledge. The little boy looked up at him, wriggled, and smiled.
A wash of heat bloomed on Caspar’s face. “What?” was all he could say. Could it be? The baby giggled, and through squinting eyes reached for Caspar and touched his finger. A tear fell from the Magi’s face and splashed on his hand.
Suddenly, hundreds of prophecies made sense. There are some things, Ishani had said, that we must simply trust. Others, we get the privilege to see. The whole of the world faded away to make room for this child, this masterpiece.
“It’s…a miracle,” he said.
The boy’s mother looked up at him and smiled. “He is.”
Caspar wanted to ask questions, wanted to get some proof of the boy’s divinity. Instead, he just watched the boy squirm and thought at what an incredible sight He was. He pondered the miracle of life, and how he never had really understood it. How could one so amazing possibly come from nowhere, from nothing?
Reflected in the baby’s eyes was his wife’s gentle face. Caspar clutched at his wife’s locket, sobbing now. “Is He…truly God? Could it be true?”
The woman just smiled, and the man stood next to her, but they said nothing. Caspar stared at the baby in wonder.
His fellow Magi came up beside him and peered at the child. They fell to one knee, bowing their heads, and laid their presents before the Lord in flesh. Caspar traced the ridges of the locket in his hand. This marvel of the human body—this miracle of God—sat spotless before him. Science and divinity paired in perfect harmony.
Caspar closed his eyes, pulled the gold locket over his head, and laid it at the baby’s feet.
And that was Wise Indeed! I wrote this Christmas-themed short story a couple of years ago--I've loved it since. I enjoy giving a more intimate view into a character we don't know so much about in the Bible, and I'd like to think at least one of them was a "man of science", as I have Caspar call himself.
Thank you for reading! I hope you've had a wonderful Christmas, and I'm excited to do more with this blog next year! If I can, I'm going to get to publishing one short story a month, either from my personal projects (as I'll be starting up once I finish Peacemaker), or from my writing group!
Cheers!
