THEO PANAYIDES sits down with the wisest men in recorded history to hear their incredible story
It happened quite by chance, actually. I was trawling through social media on a Sunday morning, looking for posts on wombat maintenance (which is one of my hobbies), when I came across a Facebook group called ‘3WM’. ‘This looks promising,’ I thought to myself – but in fact ‘WM’ turned out to stand for ‘Wise Men’, the group being not just devoted to the three Biblical Magi but actually run by them.
Going through the timeline, I soon discovered that the three wise fellows hold a reunion every year for the old gang from the manger in Bethlehem – and this year’s venue was in Cyprus, conveniently close to where it all took place. Despite not being part of the crew, I managed to wangle an invite – and found myself, a few days before Christmas, in the rather dingy back-room of a Paphos taverna where a modest repast had been set, with cakes and mince pies, sitting face-to-face with my first-ever Biblical subjects.
They look good, for 2,000 years old – and of course they’re quite diverse, that’s the part you never read in the Gospels, not just ethnically but also personality-wise. “We get lumped together,” complains Caspar, taking small, careful sips of mulled wine. “We’re ‘the Three Wise Men’, like the Fab Four or the Three Tenors – but we’re all individuals, we all have our own special gifts! Wait, don’t write ‘gifts’, people will think… well, you know.”
He’s the oldest, with a long white beard – and his energy too is an old man’s energy, his wisdom the down-to-earth wisdom that comes from experience; you can’t really picture him doing something as irrational as following a star (more on this later). Melchior is different, looking very hippy-ish with his flowing robes and decidedly mellow vibe; his wisdom has a more spiritual tinge, the wisdom of yoga retreats and spirit animals. Balthazar is something else again, the youngest and most exuberant, his wisdom residing in the freshness of youth. “I sometimes wonder if he’s really a Wise Man,” says Caspar grumpily when his colleague is out of earshot. “Or just a wise guy.”
Their Christmas gifts reflect their personalities – gold, for instance, being a very safe choice, a gift that’ll stand the test of time. “I wasn’t really sure what to expect, you see,” recalls Caspar, nodding vigorously when I point this out. “What’s a good gift for the Son of God? You know when you go to someone’s house, and you don’t really know them very well? You’ll take a bottle of whisky, or a box of expensive chocolates. Gold is like that – just an all-round solid gift. No-one ever says no to gold. Mind you,” he adds, sipping thoughtfully at his wine, “these days I’d probably take Bitcoin. It’s up 155 per cent year-on-year at the moment.”
“I’d take turmeric,” puts in Melchior. “If we were going to Bethlehem now, I mean. I’m sure the baby Jesus would appreciate some turmeric. Actually,” he says, wagging a bony finger at the rest of us, “frankincense is a very underrated gift. Did you know it has an active ingredient that can help relieve arthritis? Look it up, scientists at Cardiff University did a study a couple of years ago! That’s why I’d take turmeric now, it’s the frankincense of the 21st century. Maybe I’d even do a gift pack,” he adds a little dreamily, “with some echinacea and a Vitamin D supplement.”
And Balthazar?
“Oh, I’d still take myrrh! It’s so funny that no-one ever knows what it is. They’re like ‘Welcome Balthazar, you have travelled thousands of miles from the lands of the east, what gift have you brought us?’, and I’m like ‘I got some myrrh here!’… I just love the look on people’s faces.” He laughs uproariously. Caspar rolls his eyes, and pours himself another glass of wine.
There’s a natural pause in the conversation. It occurs to me that – proud though I am of my exclusive interview – talking points are a little thin on the ground when it comes to the Three Wise Men: their role in the whole Christmas narrative is just so limited. They come, they bring gifts, they leave. Was it even worth the journey?
“Oh, absolutely,” says Balthazar. “Absolutely. I mean, following the star, seeing the Messiah in person… Probably the highlight of my life. In the top five, definitely.”
How did it happen, anyway?
“That’s – hard to say,” frowns Caspar. “Very hard to say. I was back home in Tarsus, and I saw the star rising in the east. Not too unusual, it’s happened before – a conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn, happened again a couple of weeks ago – but this one was different, somehow. I felt a compulsion, like I was being guided. Then I met up with these gentlemen…”
“It did feel like a Higher Force was guiding us, definitely.”
“We’d heard about the prophecy, of course. But still, that doesn’t explain why we did it – travelling all that way, and without GPS. We got lost so many times! It’s not easy following a star, especially in December when it gets so cloudy.”
“We turned south by mistake, almost ended up in Saudi Arabia. Then Melchior got food poisoning –”
“I ate some bad falafel from a roadside vendor.”
“And you call yourself a Wise Man.”
“I know, it wasn’t very wise…”
We’re interrupted by a sudden cacophony of animal sounds, getting steadily louder; I’m startled, but the Wise Men seem to take it in their stride. “The shepherds,” sighs Caspar, and the others nod. I go to the window and look outside: there’s an empty lot opposite the restaurant, where some rugged-looking men are using sticks and crooks to wrangle a flock of sheep into an improvised paddock. Their mission accomplished, they leave two of their number behind to watch the bleating beasts while the others head for the reunion.
The shepherds’ arrival triggers a brief consultation, as we try to stay within coronavirus rules; fortunately, only six shepherds join the party, meaning we’re still within the 10-person maximum. (As it happens, the innkeeper and his wife – who usually attend the annual get-together – had to stay behind in Bethlehem due to travel restrictions.) I decide to withdraw for a few minutes, to let them catch up – though, in truth, the atmosphere is a little strained. The Wise Men and shepherds make polite small talk, nibbling mince pies, but it feels very much like a high-school reunion for people who never really kept in touch after high school. Many years ago they shared a profound, life-changing experience together. They’ll always feel a certain connection because of that – but the truth is that time has moved on, and they’re painfully aware of not having much else in common. It’s almost a relief when the shepherds leave after a decent interval, pleading fatigue and the need to get their animals ready for the long trek back to Palestine.
Left to themselves, the wise trio seem to relax. I suspect they were probably slightly dreading the annual encounter with the shepherds; Christmas is an awkward time for everyone, having to socialise with people you never see otherwise. They loosen up, undo the buttons on their robes; Caspar switches from mulled wine to single malt. Toasts are made, bad jokes cracked. “Why wasn’t Jesus born in Cyprus?” I ask. “Why?” they reply, eyes already shining with amusement. “They couldn’t find three wise men!” They roar with laughter – though I’m sure they must’ve heard that one before, in their 2,000 years.
I probe further, taking advantage of the chatty mood. What are they up to nowadays? Have the past two millennia been good to them? “Can’t complain,” shrugs Melchior expansively. He works as a life coach and all-purpose guru these days, teaching clients about wellness and meditation. Balthazar is a DJ and Instagram influencer, sharing his wisdom about where to go and what brands to buy. Only Caspar seems to have stepped down from the wise-man racket; no longer king of Tarsus, he spends his days gardening and following the stock market – and trying to be a wise grandpa to his many grandchildren.
Looking around, I’m suddenly struck by the magnitude of the situation. Here I am, in a room with three of the wisest men in recorded history – at the tail-end of one of the most depressing years in living memory. Can they help, somehow? Can they bring their wisdom to bear? What message do they have for humanity?
“Message?” muses Caspar, tugging at his white beard. “There’s no real message. I don’t know what’s going on – I’m a king, not a social scientist.” He shrugs, trying out a tentative theory: “Maybe people have lost a sense of their own mortality, with the world so transformed by technology; maybe we’re starting to forget who we are. Maybe that’s why fear of death loomed so large in 2020… But the path to happiness is simple enough. Change what you can, accept what you can’t – and look for the wisdom to know the difference. That’s all, really.”
“I’m worried about Gaia,” adds Melchior, ever the hippy. “About the Earth. We have to start treating her better.”
“I think Bill and Ted put it best,” adds Balthazar, citing the metal-loving duo played by Keanu Reeves and Alex Winter. “I think they had the right idea. If you’re looking for 2,000 years of wisdom in five words or less, try this: ‘Be excellent to one another’.”
I’m surprised to hear a dry chuckle behind me, and turn around to see a young man sitting at the table. (I didn’t hear him come in.) He nods in silent greeting, his face oddly sweet and beatific. My three companions look a bit abashed, introducing him only as ‘Mike’; I assume he was also at the manger, back in the day. It’s a bit unnerving, how he suddenly appeared out of nowhere, yet his presence isn’t creepy or unwelcome. He just sits there smiling sweetly, nibbling on a slice of angel-food cake.
I can feel the Wise Men tiring now; I’m almost out of questions, in any case. The one thing I haven’t really asked about, strangely enough, is the story itself – their moment of fame, all those years ago, the Biblical tale of the babe in the manger. How did they feel when the star finally stopped, signalling that they’d reached their destination?
“Mixed feelings,” replies Caspar, tugging at his beard again. “Bit of a whirlwind, to be honest. Relief that the journey was over, obviously. Also, exhaustion – because you have to remember Bethlehem was mad that week, because of the census. Streets packed with oxen, no room at the inn, all that kind of stuff. And then being summoned by Herod – well okay, I wasn’t intimidated, I’m a king myself after all, but it was intense. You could see he was terrified.”
“‘Bring me word when you know where the child is!’,” adds Balthazar in a high-pitched voice, doing what I presume is a Herod impression. “He really got in our face, though he was trying to be cool about it.”
“Right. And then, you know, the star stops – and I must admit I felt a little silly, just for a moment. Here I was, coming all the way from Tarsus in pursuit of a prophecy – following a star, no less! I remember thinking: ‘Caspar, you’re about to find out just how much of a fool you really are’. But then,” he breaks off, shaking his head, “well, we saw the manger from a distance, and started going closer and…”
“There was something,” puts in Balthazar. “There was something. Just a glow around the place. And the shepherds, and the animals… Then we got close enough to see the child, and it was – unforgettable really. You can’t describe it.”
“You really can’t,” adds Melchior, his expression as dreamy as his friends’. “A peace, a serenity, a power…” He shakes his head, defeated: “You can’t describe it”.
From behind us, Mike speaks for the first time – a soft, musical voice, touched with humour and compassion. “If you could,” he points out softly, “there’d be no need for it to exist, would there?” The Wise Men nod, smiling at the memory – then we courteously part ways, wishing each other merry Christmas.