Hieromonk Madai before the relics of the Three Holy Magi, Monastery of Sts Peter and Paul, Mt. Athos.
Three Magi walked through the desert, three sages who believed in the fire and light of Ahura Mazda. But the star in the sky led them on a path that was full of painful doubts. Each step was harder and harder, and every day turned into a new inner anguish—a struggle with doubts. Melchior, the eldest of them, with a gray beard and wise eyes, was overcome by these doubts. He was a priest of fire worship who had devoted his whole life to the service of visible light, pure and unshakable. But the star, dim and mysterious, led them further and further west, to the place where, as the prophecies said, the King of the World was to be born.
“How is this possible?” He thought, feeling alarm flare up in his heart. “How can a newborn babe be the Savior of all? We, the keepers of fire, build temples, kindle the light; but what can we understand in this... babe? He is to be a great king, but he lies in a manger. Perhaps we are mistaken?”
Kaspar, the middle in age, was not inclined to keep heavy doubts to himself. His mind was sharp and his heart hungry for knowledge, but he felt a growing emptiness inside. Zarathustra had spoken of the coming of the Savior, but that had been so long ago, and there were questions in his soul for which he had no answer.
“Melchior,” he said one day, when their path became particularly difficult, “we cannot claim to know the truth. We studied the stars, we interpreted the signs, but how can we, Magi of fire, worship a Jewish Babe?”
“Where in Him is our faith? Will we see in Him the power and light that we have served all our lives?”
Balthazar, the youngest of them, with copper-colored skin and a look full of uncertainty, was silent for a long time. But when night fell on their camp and they lit a bonfire, his doubts burst out. “How can we worship someone who can't even keep his head straight? We have come from far away, crossed mountains and deserts, and now we have to bow down to a child who is not even able to speak.” His words, filled with rage and despair, echoed through the night, but none of his companions answered. The fire was their last consolation.
Their doubts grew deeper with each passing day. This was the world they were used to—a world of greatness, abundance and power—but everything inside them screamed that this was not the path they sought.
When, at last, the star had come to a stop and they arrived at the cave where, according to the prophecies, the King was to be born, their hearts were pounding wildly. They stood at the entrance, breathing in the cold air, and each of them felt his soul struggling with what they must do. And yet, despite the pain and their doubts, they entered.
There, in a dark room, in a manger, they saw Him. A babe. Without the splendor of a crown, without the majesty of a kingdom, without even one simple symbol of power. His mother sat next to him, simple and humble, and there was no fear or pride in her eyes—only peace and love. And as they approached, their hearts, despite everything, were filled with light. And it was not the light of fire that they had so long worshipped. It was a soft and forgiving light, a light not of this world.
As Melchior knelt down, his old body trembled like never before. He felt all doubts inside him being extinguished. He knew now that he had been wrong. “It is He,” Melchior whispered, his eyes were full of tears. “It is He.” Kaspar, looking at the baby, felt his heart opening. He could not understand what it meant, but he understood one thing—that in this babe there was neither the power nor the might of the fire. But there was a force in this light, a force that was destroying their old faith, destroying their understanding of the world. “We were wrong,” he said in a whisper, bending low, “This light, this fire is not like the one we knew. He is different, but He is the truth.”
And even Balthazar, the most doubtful of them all, felt his heart overflowing, and the words “I worship” fell from his lips, although a moment ago he was ready to turn away. His hands were shaking, but he still offered myrrh, frankincense and gold as gifts. “You are the light,” he said, and his voice was full of recognition. And thus it was that they, the three Magi, the three sages, the fire worshippers, brought their gifts to a baby, accepting with all their hearts what they could never have imagined. They came with fire, but they left in peace. And the star that led them went out as soon as they found what they were looking for. But this light, the light that came from the babe, lit up in their hearts and stayed with them forever.
To be continued…
