Melchior’s Tale

And to think he had almost given up. He had even gone so far as to almost stay in bed that morning. After all, the sun was not even up yet. All that awaited him was the vast, bottomless darkness -- the kind of blackness that entombed the soul and numbed the senses. It was an insurmountable sea that pushed against the elder’s aged body like the pressure of the deep itself, almost so that he could not even breathe.

But, he knew in his heart of hearts that the search must go on. That somehow, he must pull his body out of its grave-like slumber and search for light. That is what he had done since he was a young boy, search for light. But the days just seemed to grow darker and darker with no apparent hope of breaking the light of day.

“This isn’t helping,” sighed Melchior.

There was so much to do, so many preparations to be made. The night sky was waiting and it wouldn’t wait forever. It wasn’t like tomorrow night’s sky would be the same. It was ever-changing, speaking different truths every night.

“No,” he thought trying to convince himself, “I have to be there. I have to see what God himself has to say about the days to come.”

That was all it took. The elder Magus was on his feet, a bit too quickly, probing the dark for his lamp. Then suddenly, light erupted into the room. The looming figure of a man stood towering over Melchior enhanced by a brilliant light. Just for a brief second, he was transfixed there, nearly awestricken. It was like all the stories he had read from the scriptures -- “Thus says the angel of the Lord” and so on. His body almost fell, overwhelmed by the epiphany before him. Then, as anticipated, the figure spoke.

“Master?”

“Othniel,” Melchior answered, pushing past the sudden rush of disappointment.

It was his young confidant, Othniel, who had lived with the magus since his youth (although now a full grown man of thirty-something). The towering young man had become indispensable, acting as Melchior’s eyes, ears, his strength and courage. Without Othniel, the elder would have no way of going on.

“Thank you, my son. Where would I be without you?”

Where indeed?

“Everything is ready, Master. I let you sleep a little late. You seemed tired.” Othniel replied, concern reflected on his lamp-lit face.

“Yes, I was.” Melchior said wearily and then caught a second wind. “But, the night burns quickly and calls to us. We have wasted enough of the night.”

Then, he put his wrinkled hand on the strong shoulder of the young man and finished with conviction, “Let us see what the stars have to say, shall we?”

As the elder began his ascent up the stone staircase leading to the top floor of the observatory, his aged body stopped. Melchior could feel Othniel’s worry staring at him from behind. He had thought long ago that it might have been more prudent for him to live and sleep on the second floor as to not be scaling these treacherous steps every night. But, that was before he had had the ceiling and most of the walls removed so he could see the sky better. Hind sight.

“I must…” is all he told himself and he continued on.

Why? It seemed a nightly question and almost always asked at the foot of these damned stairs. Why? Because of a vision. That's why. A dream. One which this wise old fool had carried with him since childhood. One that had sustained his family as they were driven from their homeland long before his birth. A vision that continually captured his heart as early as his first Passover, his first recollection of ever hearing about God’s promise.

God’s promise. That alone seemed the theme of every holy day and sacred festival that his father had ever presided over. He could still see the tears in his father’s eyes and hear the power in his words as he proclaimed from the high places what God had promised. A savior. A king. God with us. Someone to physically break the overwhelming darkness of this world with a true epiphany of God’s omnipotent and holy light. Someone who would truly change the course of man’s history. Someone to save us all.

But, at the moment, it all seemed as far away as his ancestor’s homeland.

At the top of the stairs, Melchior paused only long enough to find a resting place. The actual observatory was small so everything he needed was usually within arms length. With the absence of the ceiling and certain parts of the walls, one could easily see the whole of the sky over Muza. To the west, one could see the Red Sea and, to the northeast, the faint outline of mountains rose into view. But the terrestrial scenery was nothing compared to the stellar phenomenon arching the sky above.

“Now, this is where God shall reveal the mysteries of the ages, Othniel,” Melchior said without even thinking.

Then, calling out in the tongue of his ancestors, the aged magus vehemently prayed one expectant prayer after another. His cries were so intense that he found it hard to restrain his emotions. Overcome with a sense of sudden urgency, he began to plead with the God of his fathers that some good faith be shown the promises given so many generations before. As his weary voice began to give way under the strain, Melchior fell back into his seat, arms stretched to the heavens, fists clenched, and his whole body shaking. After a short while, his eyes began to reluctantly, fearfully open as though they were afraid of what they might or might not see.

It was then, his eyes straining against an unknown light, that he realized that this morning’s sky was far different than any he had ever encountered before.