The Wise Men Worshiped Him

The Wise Men Worshiped HimYou have ears to hear? Then come, draw near,And listen to my solo On the greatest event heaven ever sent! (My version’s via Marco Polo) “The three wise men were kings,” says Marco, “In search of the King of Glory!” And I, for one, am going to hear While he unfolds the story: “Gaspar from hoary Tarshish came, Erect of head, with ancient name; He came through dangers; he came afar, Held to his course by a guiding star. His beast swayed under a burdened back With the weight of the gifts and the young king black -A young king, strong and straight as an arrow, No fear in his heart or down to his marrow; Strong, reckless, happy, thrilled, and bold, He sought for the King and he brought royal gold. He slept by day and moved by night (For only then the star gave light); Without the star he might miss the way That led to the Lord of Eternal Day. As the time sped on, he went faster, faster, Fearing that death or some disaster Would rob him of getting that lasting joy His heart had craved since a little boy. In the danger of brigands and bears at night He was warmed by the star and cheered by its light. “A city he saw, and drawing near, Met Belthazar, king of famed Chaldee, Whose feet the wearying miles had trod, His soul athirst for the living God. ‘That I might find Him,’ was his humble cry As he swept a tear from his wind-cut eye; ‘For life without God does not make sense,’ He said as he clutched his frankincense. And though he was king of famed Chaldee, And though he had riches without a peer, And though he could rule with an iron rod, And though he could get his way with a nod, And though men bowed and revered his name, His heart was sinful - just the same As the kings who had feasted at his table, Or the boys who had cleaned his unclean stable. So he sought for the God Who could cleanse from sin And end the curse and chaos within. The two raced on, ignoring all views, Or the innkeeper’s warning and scaring news. As they smoothly moved, without ever a word, They conscious grew of the form of a third. King Gaspar challenged: ‘Your name, good Sire?’ And, trembling with age, he answered, ‘Melchior – ‘And I’m seeking the Gift of gifts most dear; Though I’m lord and king of famed Nubia. I seek the Redeemer, the Sufferer! My humble gift? - just a gift of myrrh.’“And now the kings (and they were three) Moved on to the nativity. The star led on where Mary sat, Caroling her magnificat. ‘My soul doth magnify. . .,’ she sang, Until the very stable rang. They found their Savior, King, and Lord, With gifts they worshiped and adored.”WISE men worshiped! They still do – A lesson, friend, to me and you. Leonard RavenhillThe Wise Men Worshiped Him

Thinking of the author – Leonard Ravenhill – and the yearning of his heart which transcended all that words are capable of transmitting, I look at myself and I look at the church and the question comes, ”Where are we?” Perhaps this is the echo of an eternal question which has resounded in the ether of this creation ever since the words came from God’s lips in the garden. ”Where? ... where? ... where?...” This is a question which can only be answered in relation to things other than ourselves. (We cannot say, ”I am with myself.” We must say, ”I am behind the house,” or ”I am under the oak tree,” etc.) Where are we with regard to the kingdom of God? What are we ”behind” or ”before” or ”within” or ”without” or ”above” or ”below”? My father used to quote, ”Beyond the sacred page, I seek Thee, Lord; my spirit pants for Thee, Thou Living Word.” We live in an age which, like the Greeks, seems to have exalted reason and devalued everything which has to do with the more important inner aspects of being. In doing this we have cast down that which has to do with the true essence of spiritual life. It is not so much that we have become worshipers of the Word as that we have taken the Word of God as if it were a painter’s palette—a base from which we mix and match our own concepts without discerning the true nature of the Spirit speaking the words. We have the words about the Spirit and think that we have the Spirit, and yet we only possess the death of words. The written word has become a substitute for the word spoken by the Spirit, the ”Logos” for the ”Rhema,” with the result that we, as the Jews before us, have become slaves to our interpretations, bound by our own concepts and imprisoned in the darkness of our own fallen understanding. Paul Ravenhill