The Magi

In 1916, W.B. Yates penned a poem called The Magi. He wrote,

“Now as at all times I can see in the mind’s eye,

In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones

Appear and disappear in the blue depth of the sky

With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,

And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,

And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,

Being by Calvary’s turbulence unsatisfied,

The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor.”

After Christmas, the uncomfortable mystery of what happened in the manger stays with us. Like the Magi, we think about what the birth means. The magi could see it in their mind’s eye. They were there. We were not. Yet the epiphany that makes life meaningful is that in the incarnation, God, is always with us.