About two years ago, I discovered the idea of a Literary Advent. For each day of Advent, a Christmastide poem or except is read (preferably aloud). It is a rich way to grow closer to Christ and become more familiar with the beautiful literary works of western civilization—little treasures of faith, hope, and love.

One such poem is “Journey of the Magi” by T.S. Eliot. It is a wonderful example of a Christian allegory. Written from the perspective of one of the magi, the poem is divided into three stanzas, almost as if the first is the magus’ pre-Christian state, the second his conversion, and the last his renewal of faith. The poem delivers them from the top of a snow-lined mountain in “the dead of winter” to a “satisfactory place” among a temperate valley. Winter denotes a harsh, frozen mindset of“the old dispensation” from which these wise men—and we—must leave.

We know the need to persevere through difficult times, sometimes even our darkest hours, knowing deep down that we are not on the road of fools but the path of the faithful. Along with the magi, we witness the anxiousness of temporal strife. The camels give up and the hired men, too. We are familiar with lack of shelter, need for safety, and absence of charity. However, we know that the worst of these is when we slip into regret—like the magi—and reminisce about warm, care-free days,victims of nostalgia. It is times such as these that we hear more loudly “the voices singing in our ears, saying/That this was all folly.” Let us not fall into the temptation of listening to those who encourage us to turn away from goodness and truth. Coming down the mountain demonstrates fortitude and humility. It shows our willingness to set aside intellect and let faith step in. Our travels out of the darkness show our awareness that there is truth, and it is truth that we seek beyond the dark times.

At the dawn of the new day, we, like the magi, can arrive at the valley of moderation, with it’s living water that beats the darkness away. We can see the three trees of the horizon, recalling a story of the ultimate sacrifice, an example of humility that we can reject or accept. We can choose to be like the camels who were “galled, sore-footed, refractory, lying down in the melting snow”, clearly defeated. We can choose to be the camel-men who are defeated by vices of ingratitude, gluttony, lust, and sloth.  Or we can choose to be the old, white horse that gallops to the meadow—a beast of burden set free. Of course we chance falling back into our old ways, as the “six hands at an open door” remind us. We might waste time in frivolity and drunkenness, but the vine above the lintel grows, calling us away from sin and towards virtue. Will our actions bear fruit? Do we ask, what will I be doing when my last day comes? 

Ironically, in the end the magus reminisces fondly not about the warm weather and women of the palaces, but about his difficult journey to a humble place. A place not described to us, readers, but a final destination that we can imagine for ourselves. His last words highlight the balance between reason and will:

And I would do it again, but set down

This set down

This: were we led all that way for

Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,

We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,

But had thought they were different; this Birth was

Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.

The true magnificence of this stanza is how Eliot makes this a poem for the modern age.  For one, protagonists throughout western literature have always survived the strife of the journey, developing character and returning home satisfied.  However, Eliot goes further by personifying modern man’s struggle between “shutting off” one’s reliance on intellect to the detriment of faith.  Objectively speaking, the magi know what birth and death look like, but they are perplexed by this experience since it fails to resonant with logic.  Their minds are opened to it’s subjective meaning—to experience faith in Jesus Christ.   The magi acknowledges that it causes “hard and bitter agony for us”, and admittedly it does for the rest of us, Christians.  It is difficult to turn away from our sinful ways, but we must if we want to follow on the path of Christ.

Furthermore, Eliot, again, reflects on modernity when the magi confess their misfit status.  This is relatable to many a modern person, but increasingly, it is Christians who are becoming the misfits in the modern world.  We, like the magi, are surrounded by “alien people clutching their gods”.  People think they are content worshiping intellect, science, materialism, mandates, and even the manifestation of evil.  Collection of magic spells, occult practices, tarot cards and Satanic beliefs have creeped onto bookstore displays across the country.  This normalization of evil is quite alien in my experience.

And yet, in the end, despite his self-proclaimed pariah status, the magnus proclaims his willingness to do it all again—after all this time.  As restrictions on the Christian way of life increase, we need to prepare to “do it again”, to proclaim Christ’s message of salvation, even if we are “no longer at ease here”.

There is a great sense of fortitude and hope in this poem.  It is a powerful poem about how our spiritual journey could end, if we remain steadfast and hopeful.  As we traverse spiritual mountains, be aware of which “gods” you clutch, and remember that, in the end, we must rely on Him.  As the catechism states, “Hope is the ‘sure and steadfast anchor of the soul…that enters…where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf.’ Hope is also a weapon that protects us in the struggle of salvation: ‘Let us…put on the breastplate of faith and charity, and for a helmet the hope of salvation” (CCC 1820). The celebration of the Nativity is a reminder of the Word made flesh, but can also be understood as hope made flesh and dwelling among us.  Christ, through the Holy Spirit, is the forerunner of our salvation.  May this season of hope help us to die to our fruitless ways so we can finish our last, great journey successfully, our day of judgment.