A first-person retelling of the visit of the Magi.
I was sweeping the corner near the door when I heard the sound of hooves outside. Not the quick clatter of local animals, but the slower stately clop, of large beasts bearing heavy loads.
We had been in Bethlehem for some time. Joseph worked at his carpentry when he could, and Mary cared for the child whose arrival had filled our small house with wonder. People came and went. Some left smiling with joy. Others left in silence, brooding, thoughtful, uneasy. But the men who arrived that day were unlike any I had seen.
Their cloaks were rich and heavy, stitched with bright threads shimmering in the lamplight. When Joseph welcomed them in, they did not pause greet us. They looked at the child in Mary’s arms, and then they knelt and bowed their heads in silence with the kind of reverence I had only seen expressed in temple worship.
One of these great men opened a carved chest. The gleam of gold poured into the room like sunlight. Another lifted a jar of alabaster. When he removed the seal, the air filled with the strange, sweet scent of frankincense. The third man hesitated before revealing his gift. Myrrh. The smell was deep and earthy, and I felt a chill, remembering how it is used for burial.
Mary noticed it too. She drew the child close, though her expression was calm, full of love and something akin to sorrow.
They spoke quietly with Joseph about stars and dreams, about a king who threatened them, and about ancient prophecies they believed were coming to pass. I listened from the shadows, hardly breathing, terrified and entranced. These dignified strangers had travelled farther than I could imagine, only to bow before a carpenter’s baby. It was as though I had stepped into one of the classic tales of old.
They stayed only a short while. Before leaving, each man bowed again – not to Joseph, not even to Mary, but to the child, who blinked at them with quiet curiosity.
When the door closed, the room felt strangely empty. The gifts lay there in the lamplight. Joseph stared at them as if trying to understand what was happening. After a long silence, I whispered, “What does this mean?”
Mary answered softly, gazing at her son.
“It means that God has remembered his promises,” she said. “It means that God is on the move in extraordinary ways, and the future is more open than we could ever imagine.”
That night I was unable to sleep. I tossed and turned, thinking of the strange star, and the gifts, and their relation to Mary’s infant child. There was mystery in the air, and uncertainty. I knew that our world had indeed changed.
Rev Dr Rod Benson is General Secretary of the NSW Ecumenical Council and a minister of the Uniting Church of Australia serving at North Rocks Community Church. © Copyright Rod Benson 2026.
Image source: unknown.
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