When they observed the bright star, a sign for them of the birth of a king, they were probably surprised to conclude that it was leading them to Israel, a strange, stubborn little land to the west, a place of odd and strict customs.

But that’s where the star seemed to be pointing, so they prepared for the dangerous trip. The most important thing was to take gifts fit for a king: gold—a very expensive symbol of majesty; frankincense—almost as expensive as gold and burned as incense to offer prayers; and, finally, Myrrh, the most precious gift of all—almost seven times as expensive as gold and used to purify, heal, and bury. Gifts fit for a king.

It was a long and dangerous journey, and they were tired and relieved when they got to Jerusalem, but puzzled that they didn’t find great celebrations. On their arduous trip they had looked forward to the torches and feasting and merrymaking and dancing in the streets they would find in Jerusalem. Now, when they found the town going about its usual business, they began to wonder: could they have made a mistake?

They felt even more awkward by the stares they drew. Their clothes and speech and mannerisms screamed, "FOREIGNER," and they knew that the inhabitants thought of them as unclean, as heathens, as damned.

They went to see King Herod the Great, told him their story, and asked where the child was who had been born king of the Jews. They didn’t know that Herod held a tenuous grasp to his claim to be the king of the Jews, that he was constantly afraid of being deposed, that he had already had three of his own sons murdered because he thought they were conspiring against him. The visitors didn’t know all that; they only knew that the news they were sure would be cause for celebration was instead cause for fear.

Herod sent them to Bethlehem with instructions to return when they had found the baby. But they left uneasy, with a vague feeling that they were being used as bloodhounds in a manhunt.

They got to Bethlehem and the star led them to a house. Still no partying. Still, oddly, no celebration. How odd the response to this birth was. Not like any king they had known. But when they realized that they had found the baby, they were overwhelmed with joy.

They went in and saw the child with his mother, and they knelt before him and laid their gifts at his feet. And then, having done what they came to do (although certainly not in the setting they expected to do it in), they left. But they were wise judges of character, these wise men, and each of them had bad dreams about that King Herod. So, at great risk (they were traveling under Herod’s protection), they defied the king and went home another way.

That, of course, is one telling of the story of the visit of the wise men, the magi. Most of us are familiar with it. There is not a nativity scene anywhere that does not have the three wise men in it, dutifully presenting their presents, and every Christmas we all sing, "We Three Kings," as we will in a few minutes.

Over the years we Christians have asked a lot of questions of this story, and when we didn’t have the answers, we just made them up. It is interesting to look again at the text and note what we do not know.

For example, we don’t know how many wise men there were. The text doesn’t say. The tradition has assumed there were three only because there were three kinds of presents. Some early Christians thought there were twelve wise men. We just don’t know.

And we don’t know who they were. Maybe these Magi were Magians, a Persian priestly cast. Maybe they were astrologers. Maybe both. We just don’t know.

We don’t know their names. The tradition gave them names, Melchior, Gaspar, and Balthasar, but the text doesn’t say, and we don’t know. In the late Middle Ages, the tradition was created that they represent the three races of humanity, Caucasian, Asian, and African. I love that tradition, but it’s just made up.

We don’t know where they’re from, except that they are from "the East," which doesn’t really narrow it down all that much.

And, interestingly, we don’t know when they came or precisely where they went when they got to Bethlehem. Although every nativity scene in the world has them in it, the text seems to imply that they did not come right after the birth, but perhaps a year or two later. And they didn’t go to a "stable;" they entered a "house." Maybe Joseph found work and the young family stayed around those parts. Maybe it seemed like a good idea at the time not to go right back to Nazareth with a newborn (who wasn’t Joseph’s!). That view is supported by the fact that (a little later on) when Herod wants to be sure he kills Jesus, he orders the massacre of all baby boys age two years and younger "according to the time that he had learned from the wise men." (Mt. 2:16). So we can’t be sure when they came.

As you can see, there’s lots about this story that we just don’t know. I hope that doesn’t upset you, because none of that matters. It just doesn’t matter how many there were, or what their names were, or what they did for a living, or where they came from, or what address they went to, or when they went there.

None of that really matters, and, in fact, could easily be a distraction. Because the story of the journey of the wise men asks questions of us that, it seems to me, matter a lot more than the questions we ask of it.

So lets ponder some questions the story asks of us. And let’s see if they aren’t more meaningful to our lives than whether somebody was really named "Balthasar" or not.

The wise men were guided by a star. Do you look for God to guide you? Do you ever try to lead, to show the star where to go? What would it take for you to let God lead you?

The wise men were on a journey. Are you on a spiritual journey? Do you crave a deeper, more profound, more loving relationship with God? Are you willing to risk the perils of the journey, to go to foreign lands?

The wise men came for the birth of a king, and instead of being led to a palace, they are led to a humble house. Are you willing to let God surprise you? Are you willing to risk having your convictions challenged? Your beliefs threatened? Are you willing to change?

The wise men brought precious gifts fit for a king. Think of your riches, your talents, your gifts. What gifts do you bring? Why does that question embarrass you? What do you fail to acknowledge? What do you hold back?

The wise men first went to Jerusalem when they needed to go to Bethlehem; no doubt their expectation that the king would be born in the capital got them sidetracked. What preconceived notions, what expectations, act like your own magnet to pull the compass needle off the heading God has for you?

What sidetracks you on your journey? Business? Weariness? Watching too much television? Impatience? Depression? Anxiety? Drugs or Alcohol? (They don’t really sidetrack as much as they hijack.) Cynicism? Wanting things? Striving for perfection? When you are sidetracked and get to Jerusalem and meet Herod, can you recognize that you’ve met the wrong king? What do you do about it?

The wise men were foreigners, outsiders, "unclean." Their visit prefigures that this "king of the Jews" they seek will be a savior for all of humanity, that in this baby the barriers which include some and exclude others are all torn down.

We all have barriers. What barriers are in your mind? Maybe even barriers you wish weren’t there, maybe even barriers you don’t believe in, don’t like, but that you find are mysteriously a part of you, that pop up within you so that you have to tamp them down? Barriers of race? Barriers of gender? Barriers of sexual orientation? How about Afghanistan and Iraq, those lands to the East? When we think of Al Qaeda and Saddam, does God love them, even them, or are they so despicable that they are on the other side of the barrier? What barrier?

The wise men defied King Herod. Are you willing to discern God’s will and, if necessary, defy power? Are you willing to risk being called "unpatriotic"?

We all like to boo Herod in this story. He’s a classic villain, reacting with fear and, later, murder. His reaction is contrasted with that of the wise men, who were overwhelmed with joy.

It’s fun to boo Herod. He was rotten. But how does the contrast between the wise men’s joyful reaction and Herod’s fearful reaction serve to symbolize the contrast between the part of our inner selves that willingly and joyfully accepts the Lordship of Christ, and that darker side of our selves that persistently rejects his right to rule, that doesn’t want to be led, that doesn’t want to change, that withholds gifts, that gets sidetracked and does nothing about it, that builds barriers to God’s love, that reacts with fear? Could it be that we should not scoff at Herod until we have acknowledged the Herod in ourselves?

Throughout Christian history we have asked questions of this story—names, places, times— questions intended to nail down specifics about a particular event at a particular time. We should not be asking questions of the story; we should be pondering the questions it asks of us.

The story of the wise men leaves us, finally, with this question: having found the baby king in our lives, will we be wise?

The Rev. James H. Pritchett, Jr. St. John’s Episcopal Church, College Park, GA