On 21st December last year (2020), Jupiter and Saturn appeared to almost touch in the sky. The event was called the Great Conjunction and was the closest of the two planets in 397 years. It resulted in an exceptionally bright ‘star’ visible to the naked eye in the sky. Some scholars have suggested that the original Christmas star, known as the Star of Bethlehem, might also have been great conjunction. Other theories aiming to explain this biblical phenomenon include a supernova explosion and a comet. Which, in my humble opinion, are admirable attempts but ultimately bound to fail. Our modern knowledge of the universe makes a literal reading of today’s gospel indefensible. I have no doubt that St Matthew used ‘poetic licence’ to tell the story with far-reaching and controversial consequences.
Let me paint a wider context with a few broad brushstrokes. St Matthew addressed his story of Jesus to the Jewish audience; there are theories that it was originally written in the Aramaic language, the one used by the Jews at the time and then translated into Greek, but we don’t have hard evidence of that. The Chosen People of Israel had become a separate people, closed to non-Jews on religious and cultural grounds. After the Babylonian Exile in the 6th century BC, they weren’t fond of the Babylonians or their pagan culture. It’s highly likely that ‘some wise men [who] came to Jerusalem from the east’ came from that region. Then the star can refer to astrology, a pseudoscience that claims to divine information about human affairs and terrestrial events by studying the movements and relative positions of celestial objects. Nowadays we know there’s no such correlation, but for a very long time, such beliefs were very popular and considered as valid ‘scientific’ knowledge. The wise men were seeking ‘the infant king of the Jews’ following their ‘scientific’ understanding, not divine revelation. St Matthew effectively contrasts their attitude with that of his fellow Jews. To his audience, it was a highly controversial claim. It was his opening salvo that would continue throughout St Matthew’s gospel to its conclusion: ‘Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything that I have commanded you.’ (28:19-20) St Matthew made the case for the opening up of his Jewish audience to accept Jesus as their Messiah and that his message was universal, extending to the whole of humankind, not just one nation. I hope this brief explanation gives a better spiritual understanding of this particular story.
When I was recently meditating on this passage, my attention was drawn to the effort made by the wise men. Massive tourism is a relatively modern invention. These days, thanks to aviation, a network of mostly high-quality roads and railways, even long-distance journeys take a relatively short time. The main danger we face is boredom, quite effectively dealt with by various forms of entertainment while comfortably seated inside the moving vehicle. But for the millennia long-distance travels were the domain of marching armies or merchants. Leisure travel was a rare exception to the rule, affordable only to very wealthy people. Those who embarked on long journeys had to have very good reasons for them. Travel was inevitably arduous, mostly uncomfortable and often dangerous. Practically it meant making genuine sacrifices to achieve something else; something that significantly exceeded the discomfort and danger of a long journey.
In a wider sense, sacrifices made to achieve something else lead to a much greater appreciation of such achievement or gain. I remember how working hard throughout the summer as a teenager helped me to understand that the value of money wasn’t printed on banknotes but measured by sweat and tears produced to earn it. Sadly, it seems there’s a cultural shift happening in our western civilisation. Making sacrifices to gain something valuable is going out of fashion. Even worse, it seems to be paired with self-centeredness. Such a mix produces an attitude of seeking instant gratification, regardless of personal, or domestic, or communal or societal cost. I and my pleasure are at the centre of the universe; everyone and everything else must be sacrificed (excuse the pun) on the altar of my satisfaction, however short-lived. The most recent, but hardly unique example was the inability of many people to abstain from mixing at Christmas and going to parties on Hogmanay as if those two occasions were the last ever. The cultural shift means we (in the general sense) are happy to sacrifice others’ needs but not our own. Consequently, the phrase ‘easy come, easy go’ shows us as on the one hand shallower and on the other craving ever stronger sensations. It’s a vicious and dangerous cycle. This cultural shift didn’t start recently, but it has become more obvious in recent times. I’m not saying that the pandemic happened because of it – that would be a truly daft idea – but perhaps it shone a spotlight on it. In fact, the first lockdown seemed to renew our understanding of making sacrifices for the sake of greater good. We can use the current new wave, however terrifying it is, to learn that the only way forward is the new normal, which actually is ‘the normal’ our predecessors knew and practised: ‘no pain, no gain.’ Happy New Year!