“The Three Kings of Saba,” a children’s book written half a century ago by Alf Evers, opens with the kings of the title arguing over which of them should rule their kingdom. Told by their wise men that the bright star that has appeared in the east marks the advent of a great new prophet and all-powerful king, they decide to find him so that he may settle the dispute—each confident in his own superiority.
Arriving at the destination marked by the star, they enter the building one by one. Each sees someone who looks like himself. The youngest sees a strong young warrior with a sword; the middle-aged man sees a ruler in the flower of his manhood; and the old one sees a greybeard filled with wisdom. Each takes this as a sign that he is the one to rule. Of course, they fall to fighting again once they emerge, each disbelieving the others’ accounts of what they have seen.
It is only when they agree to enter the stable together that they see who is truly there: a newborn infant lying in a manger.
Regardless of one’s mode of belief or unbelief, the Christian story offers a number of striking symbols that are, at the very least, food for meditation. The idea that God should appear on earth as a helpless newborn baby, born in a stable because there is “no room for him in the inn” is surely one of the most thought provoking.
What would a world be like in which an almighty, all-knowing God chose to appear on earth as a helpless infant? And what would be required of us in such a world?
Most obviously, such a thought experiment challenges our ideas of what power is. What if it’s not physical strength? What if it’s not armaments, or economic power, or even moral or theological righteousness? The questions raised by such a train of thought are particularly provocative in the modern world, which has taken the value of competition as its creed: what is important, what we are told we should strive for, is to be bigger, stronger, tougher, better-armed, righter, richer, sexier and smarter than everybody else.
The word “meek” is not often used nowadays, and when it is, it is not a compliment. But what if meekness is power?
If God saw fit to come to earth as a baby, we might have to think about our weaknesses rather than our strengths, our fallibility rather than our righteousness, our ignorance rather than our certainty. We might have to start wondering if, in exalting the importance of being better, we have lost sight of what is good. We might, in short, have to think of ourselves in terms of the great human common denominators of imperfection and vulnerability, rather than in terms of exceptionalism and superiority.
That might make us less likely to strategize as to how to beat each other out, more likely to join forces, to converse rather than to contest. In Matthew 5:25, the adult Jesus tells his listeners, “Agree with thine adversary quickly, whiles thou art in the way with him; lest at any time the adversary deliver thee to the judge, and the judge deliver thee to the officer, and thou be cast into prison.” Work it out together, in other words, before you ask for a judgment of who’s right and who’s wrong. Insist on a winner being declared, and you might not like the results as much as you think.
It is now over 2000 years since the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, and in some ways things haven’t changed all that much. There is plenty of room in the world for the type of God that blusters and bullies and forces compliance at the point of a sword, and not much for the type that would show up as an infant, born in a stable, while more important folk sleep comfortably in their beds. But we might catch a glimpse of such a God if, like the three kings of Saba, we found a moment to stop our squabbling, drop our claims and walk in to see him together.
Dr. Punnybone
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In response to the article about Jim McGinley in your December 6 issue: is it really necessary for Mr. McGinley to tear down other art forms? This is what’s really bad about the art world and needs to go away.
I have spent some time in an art school as well as around “the art world and galleries in New York City,” and I can tell you there are artists and art galleries that paint and show landscapes. Always have been, always will be. In half a page of a newspaper Mr. McGinley failed to tell me anything about his art, why is he now painting water over rocks, what makes him choose one scene over another, does he work on site or from photographs, what are the challenges of working this way, what he wants written on his gravestone, etc. Nope, just negative stuff. I fear that may come out in his work. How does he feel about portraits? I like them.
