I love the marvel of birth. I have often watched newborns, facinated with their every move, and in awe of the power they hold to mold the future. Today I listened to the familiar story of the birth of Jesus once again, this time read by a child. As much as I love babies, I have never worshipped an infant.
I am facinated by what the wisemen (kings?) saw in the stars that made them so certain that this child was worthy of worship. They were motivated to make a very long journey to see him, and did not turn away when they found him a child with a simple family of limited means.
Today, I found myself wondering what they expected from him. I'm sure they had ideas and hopes of what path his life might take. Did they expect a powerful warrior? Did they expect an earthly king? Did they know he was God come to live among us? Could they have expected that he would sacrifice himself for us? Were they disappointed in him? They didn't exactly have CNN back then... Did they even know that he was crucified? If so, did they hear that he rose from the dead?
I do know that they never forgot that amazing day when they saw him. He drew them to himself, just as he draws us. And those whose life paths cross his are never the same again.
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