The Unexpected King

A dimly lit room greeted Nikolas. He carefully removed his sandals and washed his feet in the basin by the door. The lamps were getting low; Nikolas began hunting for the clay jar that had more oil. Finding it beneath the curtain, it was nearly empty. He’d need to run to the market before evening. 

He made his way up the narrow stairs, where Teacher Melchior was carefully studying the charts that perpetually covered the many tables in the upper room. Nikolas was an apprentice under these learned men; they were teaching him history, astrology, physics, and medicine. It was an honor to be selected for such an opportunity. Nikolas was doing everything in his power to pay attention to everything they had to show him.

“We’re almost out of oil. I’m going to go to the marketplace for more. Do we need anything else while I’m there?” Nikolas asked. Melchior looked up with a jolt, blinking intently until his gaze settled on Nikolas. 

“Oh, hello Nikolas. I didn’t see you there. Come, look at this chart. I’ve been tracking and it’s almost time for us to begin our journey.” Melchior beckoned. Nikolas walked over, empty oil jar still in hand. 

“What journey?” He asked, gazing at the maps of the night sky spread out before Melchior. He had just started to learn the constellations. The stars were very important to the teachers.

“I don’t expect you to understand just yet. But you will journey with us to visit The King.” Melchior responded absentmindedly, his gaze still on the chart in front of him.

“What king?” Nikolas’ head often hurt after talking to the teachers for more than a few minutes.

“The King that the prophecies have long foretold.” Melchior smiled, his eyes finding Nikolas’ once again. Nikolas didn’t understand. 

“Prophecies?” 

“There will be plenty of time to tell you on the journey. But for now, when you go to the market, buy also the largest bottle of myrrh you can find. And frankincense too.” Melchior reached inside the small pouch tied to his waist, pulling out several silver coins.

“Myrrh? But that’s expensive.” 

“Only the best for The King, my child. Here, make haste. We’ve got many preparations to make.”

Myrrh was hard to find. The sun was beginning to set when Nikolas finally returned. He removed his sandals and quickly set about refilling the lamps with the cheaper oil that had been readily available in the marketplace. He could smell supper cooking in the next room. 

“Nikolas, is that you?” Teacher Caspar’s voice asked.

“Yes, teacher.”

“Melchior sent you out for myrrh and frankincense?” He asked, entering the room.

“Right here, sir.” Caspar inspected the vessels, opening up each and smelling their sweet perfumes. 

“Well done, child. Come, eat. We leave at dawn.” Nikolas followed Caspar into the dining room.

“Where are we going?” 

“West. A star is beckoning us from Israel.” Caspar smiled. 

As they ate, the teachers discussed the route, where they would stop, when they would have to camp, and the unusual movements of the stars. Nikolas tried to keep up. Eating made him drowsy. 

“Go to bed,” Melchior instructed him when dinner had been cleared. The teachers were getting ready to go on the roof for their hourly observations of the stars. 

Nikolas had trouble sleeping. He lay awake, listening to the teachers as they talked about the Hebrew prophecies. It seemed that he had scarcely closed his eyes before Teacher Balthazar was gently waking him. 

“Rise up, child. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”

They rode a caravan of camels, the road bumpy and dusty. When they stopped for meals, Nikolas asked questions.

“So we’re following a star. To where?”

“To the land of the Hebrew people, to The King.” Melchior, Balthazar, and Caspar took turns explaining the scriptures to Nikolas. He thought he was starting to understand.

They journeyed through the night most nights, following the brightest star in the western sky. Nikolas felt like a real man, doing something important. As the days bled into one another, he grew increasingly excited. He was going to meet a king. The King. A real King who had been awaited for centuries. 

Finally, one evening, Balthazar announced that they were getting close.

“Tomorrow after midday we should be arriving to the city of Jerusalem. This, Nikolas, is the heart and homeland for the people of Israel.”

The night slipped by, the star getting ever closer, and the next day they approached the outskirts of Jerusalem. From a distance the city’s towering walls summoned them. 

They reached the gates just as the sun left its place in the middle of the sky, beginning its descent towards the horizon. Royal guards seemingly dressed for battle greeted them, inquiring after their business in Jerusalem.

“We are from the East, here to see the king and do him homage.” Melchior explained. 

“Head to the upper city, for further questioning.” The guard said, letting them in the narrow gate. 

When they got to the upper city, a grand palace blocked out part of the sky. Guards with shields and funny hats surrounded the place. Nikolas gazed in wonder at the grandeur of the palace, its gleaming walls and red-tiled roof truly fit for a king. Balthazar explained their business to one of the guards, who let them into the inner garden. It was a long walk across a grand plaza to get to the main palace. There they were met by one of the king’s personal attendants. 

“Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? We have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him,” Caspar explained. The king’s attendant looked greatly troubled.

“Give me a moment.” He returned ten minutes later, other attendants by his side. 

“King Herod will see you now.” The pack of attendants led the way through marbled halls. Nikolas tried to keep up, stopping every few steps to gawk at the detailed frescoes and imported cloths that adored the palace walls. They entered the king’s hall, intricate mosaics telling the story of Rome’s conquering the West along the walls. Massive marble pillars marked the way to the throne where the king was seated, twelve steep steps leading to his gold-sandaled feet. Nikolas was in awe.    

“Tell me, wise men, why do you come?” The king asked, squinting at them. Nikolas began to bow, expecting the teachers to kneel before the king with their lavish gifts. But they stood upright, disappointment on their faces. 

“Where is He who has been born King of the Jews? We have seen His star in the East and have come to worship Him,” Caspar said again. 

“I do not know of this King you speak of.” King Herod frowned. Beneath his displeasure, Nikolas could tell he was afraid. Of what? Of a Jewish King? Perhaps anyone was a threat to Rome’s power and might. King Herod whispered to one of his attendants, who disappeared. 

“You must be weary after your long journey. Come, rest a moment and have something to eat.” Herod’s face twisted into a fake smile. They were led by an attendant to a side room with couches. Sweet berries and fresh meats adorned the table. They rested until they were summoned a little while later.

Returning to the throne room, King Herod was now surrounded by the chief priests and scribes. They were all arguing, some of the long-robed men pacing back and forth. 

“I have been consulting with this counsel. Tell us, where is this Christ to be born?” Herod’s voice thundered above all the other voices, silencing them. All the priests and scribes peered at the wise men with great interest. Melchior spoke:

“In Bethlehem of Judea, for thus it is written by the prophet:

‘But you, Bethlehem, in the land of Judah,

Are not the least among the rulers of Judah;

For out of you shall come a Ruler

Who will shepherd My people Israel.’”

Murmurs swept through the priests and scribes. King Herod looked angry. 

“All of you, out!” He commanded the priests and scribes. They left slowly, discussing amongst themselves. 

“And you out as well.” Herod said to his guards and attendants. Soon it was just the three wise men, Nikolas, and Herod.

“Tell me, Magi, when did this ‘star’ that you claim to have followed first appear?” Herod asked, his body leaned towards them from the throne, his eyes desperate.

“Nine moons ago, but we have journeyed for three,” Balthazar replied.

“Well, I must tell you how grateful I am that you have stopped in Jerusalem on your way. Go and search carefully for this child, and when you have found Him, bring back word to me, that I may come and worship Him also.” Herod twisted his face into a fake smile again. Nikolas didn’t like this king all that much. The wise men gave short bows before quickly departing. Nikolas glanced back as they left the grand pillared room. Herod had his face in his hands. 

“We must go a little further South.” Melchior said when they were outside again, saddling his camel. The evening twilight was settling over the walled city. It was beautiful. They left in haste, making it out of the gate before supper time. 

“You knew from the beginning that the real King was in Bethlehem? Why did we bother stopping in Jerusalem then?” Nikolas asked once they were on the road again. He was exhausted.

“Dear child, the King that we are searching for deserves to reside in a palace far nicer than that one. If the Hebrew people were not so foolish, they would recognize the Christ and He would be found in the Temple of Jerusalem. But His time is to come.” Melchior glanced at the boy before adding, “But not to worry. Bethlehem is close. We should be there by the time all the night stars are out.”

And so they were. As they approached the town, the brightest star seemed to come down to earth. It was the most beautiful thing that Nikolas had ever seen. They followed the star into Bethlehem, its light far brighter than the lamplight in the little homes that dotted the outskirts of the town. They watched the star come down over a small dwelling. Melchior, Balthazar, and Caspar got down from their camels and began jumping and shouting with glee. Balthazar helped Nikolas down from his camel and danced around the boy. 

“Rejoice, child! We’ve found the King!”

Nikolas’ heart pounded in anticipation as they knocked on the door. To Nikolas’ surprise, a young woman, not much older than he, answered the door. She had dark hair and kind eyes, but looked tired. She was surprised by the wise men, their eastern garb far different from her simple tunic and cloak. 

“We are here to adore the King.” Melchior said gently. The woman smiled and nodded, opening the door wider.

“Come and see,” she said, leading them inside the dark and cold abode. Her voice was like music. But Nikolas was confused. Why was a King living in such a shabby place? It looked unfit to house animals, let alone a human King. 

They followed the lovely lady to the corner of the room, where a baby was sleeping. Seeming to sense their presence, the little child opened His eyes. Round and full of wonder, those eyes watched as the wise men fell to their knees, singing songs of praise. The woman, too, watched in wonder. Her and Nikolas both seemed to be pondering what this might mean. 

“I present an offering of gold, for Christ the King,” said Melchior, kneeling before the child and opening a small chest filled to the brim with shiny gold coins. The little Child was captivated by the shimmer of the coins, reaching for one with His little hand. 

“I present an offering of frankincense, for Christ the High Priest,” said Balthazar, kneeling beside Melchior and opening the ornate container with the sweet resin inside, ready to be burned. The little Child smiled, kicking his feet.

“And I present an offering of myrrh, for Christ the Anointed One,” said Caspar, holding up the bottle of dark amber oil. The Child’s face fell from a smile to scrunched up, ready to cry. The woman quickly picked Him up, holding Him close to her heart. 

“Thank you, wise men, for your generous gifts. You will be remembered for ages to come.” The woman said, her voice velvety. Nikolas thought he could fall asleep to a voice like that.

Maybe he did fall asleep because before Nikolas knew it they were back outside, the night air cold. Was it all a dream? He hurried to keep up with the teachers, who were already making their way up the street.

“I don’t understand,” he said, “that child could not have been more than a year old. What use does he have for frankincense and myrrh?” Nikolas couldn’t hide his disappointment. He had wanted a great and mighty king. A warrior prince, someone like the kings his father used to speak of in bedtime stories. But that “king” was just a baby. Smelly and helpless. They had journeyed for months to give expensive gifts to a baby who wouldn’t even remember their coming. This was ridiculous. Nikolas had stopped walking, his fists clenched. He didn’t want to go back to find a place to sleep for the night. He wanted answers. Melchior turned and saw his face.

“Dear boy, you’ve missed the whole lesson. Don’t you see what a marvel this is for Israel? A King, a God-child, of such humble and lowly estate! Boy, the world is about to change dramatically. And you have seen such things with your very own eyes. We must rejoice. Salvation has come into the world.” 

That night they slept in an inn, not far from the Child’s meager dwelling. Nikolas tossed and turned all night. He arose before the Magi and walked the town’s narrow streets, stopping outside the house of the Child. There, he heard singing. A simple lullaby in the sweetest voice. The voice of an angel, Nikolas thought. He still didn’t understand, but inside his heart he felt a surge of love for the Child. So innocent, so hopeful. Nikolas wished he had a gift to offer Him. Gazing about, he found some little blue flowers, weeds really, growing though the stone-lined path. Carefully picking them, he made a small bouquet. 

The sun was just starting to rise over the surrounding rolling hills when Nikolas gently tapped on the door. He was greeted by a man with dark and wavy hair who said nothing at his arrival but opened up the door with a kind nod. Nikolas walked in, finding the Child in His Mother’s lap, the woman still softly singing. Nikolas knelt before the Mother and Child.

“I present an offering of lowly flowers, for Christ the Child of the Poor.” Nikolas laid the flowers at the feet of the woman, who smiled at him. Though she was young, Nikolas felt like she could be his Mother, too. Her gentleness made her presence feel like something permanent, like she was unshakeable. 

Nikolas didn’t want to leave, but somehow he found himself back at the inn, his teachers getting ready to leave.

“Ah, Nikolas, there you are. We must depart and make haste. I have had a dream that we are to go back a different way. We must not return to Herod, for he does not seek to worship the Christ,” Caspar explained. 

They set off, Nikolas pondering all he had seen and done in the depths of his heart.

This short story is imagined from meditating on Matthew 2: 1-12.