Creekside Church Sermon of December 28, 1997 "The Other Wise Man" Matthew 2:1-11	Rev. David Bibbee
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You know the story of the three wise men and how they traveled from afar to offer gifts at the manger in Bethlehem. But have you heard the story of the other wise man who also saw the star and set out to follow it, but did not arrive with the others? His story is one of great desire and how it was denied, yet accomplished in the denial. Listen and I will tell you.

In the days of Caesar Augustus and Herod, there lived in the city of Ecbatana in Persia a man named Artaban. From the roof of his home he could survey the vista of the city, and down the street he saw a guest he had been expecting in route to his home. He stood at the door and welcomed his nine guests, all adorned in the dress of the ancient magi. They gathered around a black altar and tiny flame and began the ancient chant of Yama. "We have come as faithful scholars of Zoroaster to rekindle our faith in the god of purity. We worship not the fire, but him of whom it is the chosen symbol. "Hear me," said Artaban. "I'll tell you a new truth revealed through the stars which are the thoughts of the Eternal." He then revealed two rolls of linen with writing on them. "There shall come a star out of Israel. It has been shown to me and my three companions, Caspar, Melchoir, and Balthazar. We've computed the time. It falls this year."

We saw the two greatest stars in the sign of the fish, which is the house of the Hebrews. A new star appeared for only one night. Tonight the stars converge again. My three brothers are watching tonight in Babylonia. I am watching here. If the star appears, they will wait for me ten days at the temple and we will leave for Jerusalem. I have sold my home and all my possessions for three jewels...a sapphire, a ruby, and pearl as tribute to the king. I ask you to go with me." "It's a vain dream, Artaban. Too much star gazing," said Tigranes. But the oldest magi said, "Though I cannot go with you, better to follow even the shadow of the best than remain content with the worst. Go in peace." All his guests left, and Artaban gazed upon the western sky. Jupiter and Saturn rolled together, and like an azure spark, it appeared. The sign. "The king is coming!" Artaban then bowed his head in prayer. "I go to meet him."

The provisions were ready; his horse was waiting. Artaban would have to ride wisely and well to make it in ten days. Before dawn till after dark horse hooves beat their music on the road. At nightfall on the tenth day he arrived in Babylon. His horse was spent, but it was yet three hours journey to the Temple of the Seven Spheres, and his friends were leaving at midnight. Artaban pushed his horse Vasna, but the horse halted nervously, sensing some danger or difficulty ahead. She stood stock-still before a dark object in the shadow of a palm tree. It was a man lying in the road.

It was a poor Hebrew exile. He had a severe fever and the chill of death in his hand. He turned with a thought of pity to leave, but the bony fingers of the exile grabbed the hem of Artaban's robe. He felt a wave of resentment. What claim had this fragment of human life put on his compassion? How could he minister to this dying stranger? If he stayed an hour his companions would think he had abandoned the journey. If he went on, the man would die. Should he risk the reward of faith for a single deed of human love? "God of purity and truth," he prayed. "Direct me."

Magi were physicians as well as astrologers. So hour after hour he cared for the man. "Who are you?" the sick man said after he had regained some strength. Artaban shared his story and said, "I must not delay. Here is all my bread and wine and healing potions." The sick man blessed him and said, "I have nothing to give you in return, only this...the Messiah will not be born in Jerusalem but in Bethlehem. May the Lord bring you to that place for your pity to me." Artaban rode fast as he could, but when he reached the temple the other magi were already gone. They had left a parchment note: "We waited past midnight, and can delay no longer. We go to find the king. Follow us across the desert." Artaban fell down in despair. How can I cross the desert with no food and a spent horse? So he returned to Babylon, sold his sapphire and bought a train of camels and provisions. He wouldn't catch up to his friends, but perhaps he would find the king.

Over the vast desert Artaban rode, rocking back and forth like a ship on the waves. Day after day he rode on, the chill of the night followed by the fever of the day. He moved swiftly onward till at long last he arrived at Bethlehem, three days after the others had found the holy family and presented their gifts. Alone he would offer his ruby and pearl. But where? The streets were deserted. He stopped and enquired of the family's whereabouts. Stepping into the cottage of a young mother and her child, she told him she recalled seeing the strangers. But she also heard the family had left abruptly for Egypt. Roman soldiers were coming. Something about a new tax.

The mother laid her child in the cradle and began to prepare Artaban a simple meal. Then suddenly an uproar was heard in the streets. Women's voices screaming and wailing. "The soldiers are killing our children!" The mother seized her baby to her bosom and crouched motionless in the darkest corner of the house. Artaban stood in the doorway. The soldiers hurried down the street with bloody hands and dripping swords. At the sight of Artaban, the captain approached the house to push him aside, but Artaban didn't move. Then in a low voice he said, "I'm alone in this place, and I'm waiting to give this jewel to the prudent captain who will leave me in peace." He showed the ruby like a great drop of blood in his hand. The captain gazed at it and took it. "March on!" he cried. "No child here."

Artaban reentered the cottage and he prayed, "God of truth! Forgive my sin. I have said the thing that is not to save the child. Two of my gifts are gone. I have spent for man what was meant for God." But the woman weeping for joy in the shadows said gently, "Because you have saved the life of my little one, may the Lord bless you and keep you."

Artaban's quest continued, but it was measured in swiftly flowing years. He sought throughout Egypt for the household from Bethlehem. Hear and there he found faint traces, but they vanished before him. He stood at the Pyramids. He sought the counsel of a rabbi in Alexandria who read the prophecies of Isaiah concerning the Messiah who would be despised and rejected. "Remember," he said. "The king you seek will not be found among the rich or powerful. You would do well to look among the poor and lowly." So Artaban went from place to place, searching through countries racked with famine. He made his dwelling in plague-stricken cities where the sick lived in helpless misery. He visited the oppressed and afflicted in prison and slave markets. In all his searching he found no one to worship, but many to help.

The years flew by like the weaver's shuttle, and it seemed at times like he had forgotten his quest. At the gate of a Roman prison, he held in his hand the pearl, the last of his jewels. It almost seemed more luminous and precious the longer he carried it close to his heart. But as every story moves toward an end, so does the story of Artaban.

Thirty-three years of his life had slipped away, and still he was a pilgrim. His once dark hair was now white as snow. His eyes that flashed with fire were now dull as embers. Worn, weary and ready to die, he came for the last time to Jerusalem. He had been there several times before searching for the holy family but something whispered in his ear to try once more.

It was Passover and the city was packed. The crowds seemed agitated, like a secret tide was sweeping them all one way. Artaban joined a group of people from his own country, asked where they were going and what was happening. "We're going to an execution at the place called Golgotha. Haven't you heard? Two crooks will be crucified along with a man named Jesus of Nazareth who has done wonderful works. The people love him, but the priests say he must die because he made himself out to be the Son of God." The king had arisen, but he was denied and cast out. Could it be the same one born in Bethlehem years ago at whose birth the star appeared in heaven?

Artaban's heart began to race. "The ways of God are stranger than the thoughts of men. Maybe I'll find him at last and come in time to offer my pearl as a ransom for his life." So the old man followed the crowds. Coming the other way a troop of Macedonian soldiers came dragging a young girl. Artaban paused to look at her with compassion, then she tore loose from her captors and fell at Artaban's feet. She recognized his white cap and the winged circle on his breast.

"Have pity on me," she cried. "I am the daughter of the true religion taught by the magi. My father was a merchant in Parthia. But he's dead and I am seized for his debts to be sold as a slave. Please save me!" Artaban trembled. The old conflict returned. The palm grove in Babylon. The cottage in Bethlehem. The conflict between the expectation of faith and the impulse of love. The gift for worship drawn into service. This was the third trial of irrevocable choice. The choice became clear to his divided heart. To rescue the girl would be a true deed of love, and isn't love the light of the soul?

Artaban removed the pearl which now appeared all the more radiant, and laid it in the hand of the woman. "This is thy ransom, daughter...the last of my treasures kept for the King." While he spoke, the sky darkened and the ground shook, heaving like the breast of one convulsing in grief. Houses rocked to and fro. Walls crumbled into the street. Soldiers reeled like drunks, while Artaban and the girl crouched by a wall.

What had he to fear or live for? His tribute for the King was gone. His quest was over, a failure. Yet somehow he knew all was well. He had been true to the light given him. If failure was all that came from his life, then that was the best that was possible. One more tremor shook the ground. A roof tile fell striking Artaban in the head. He lay motionless and bleeding. The girl bent over him, fearing he was dead, then came a voice through the twilight, almost like music in the distance. She turned but no one was there.

Then the old man's lips began to move, and as if in answer she heard him say in the Parthian tongue: "Not so, Lord. When did I see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did I see you a stranger and took you in, or naked and clothed you? When did I see you sick or in prison and come to you? Thirty-three years I have looked for you and never seen your face, or ministered to you my King." Again she heard faint words, but now it seemed she understood them..."As you've done it to one of the least, you've done it to me."

A calm radiance of wonder lighted Artaban's face like the first ray of dawn on a snowy peak. One long last breath exhaled gently from his lips. Artaban's journey was ended. His treasures accepted. The other wise man had found the King.

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