Mirth and Myrrh

There they were again --- Mary, Joseph, the baby, the Big Angel with the little ones, shepherds --- in awed and hushed silence around a manger situated in a stall, because, according to the ancient text, "there was no room in the…" (It's hard to know just how to translate Luke's next word.) Then, a lone spotlight, craning heads, and down the aisle began the procession of three regal figures toward their pre-assigned places in an already crowded scene.

I loved it, as I always have. Every time I watch a Christmas Pageant, I get drawn to different characters and to different thoughts about God's power, nearness, and vulnerability. This year, it was the arrival of the Magi that got my attention, especially the third one.

As we have come to expect, the three were decked out royally, two with gifts clearly beyond the ability of poor shepherds to supply. As the prophet of old had predicted, nothing less than the wealth of nations would be brought to the new-born Messiah, gold and frankincense in particular (Isaiah 60:5-6). I guess it was okay for the early church to add the visit of wise men from the East to its documentation of Jesus' divine origins. Sometimes, though, I can't help wondering why the shepherds' "astonishing" testimony to the holy family in the stall wasn't enough glorification. After their words about being visited in the fields by "a multitude of the heavenly host," was there really a need for gifts like the Magis'?

Especially the gift of myrrh. Some gift that was. To be sure, it had its own aromatic fragrance, as the frankincense did. But it is also what would be mixed into perfume with which a woman at Bethany would anoint Jesus for death (Mark 14:3), into drugged wine Jesus would be offered at Golgotha (15:22), and even into spices with which he would be buried (John 19:39). A reminder, tradition offers, of the suffering yet to come. But why spring the reminder on us this way? Just at what was supposed to be a time of great rejoicing. God rest you, merry gentle --- people, and all that.

Apparently, Mary gave no thought to it when the myrrh first showed up; it took a later warning-dream of her husband to arouse the idea in her that something might be going wrong (Matthew 2:11,13-15). Luke put things in much the same way. During her pregnancy and for six weeks or so afterward, Mary got only good news about her first-born son. Eventually, though, there came Simeon the spoiler, telling her right on the Temple grounds themselves that her son would be rejected, and that she, too, "will be pierced to the heart." (Luke 2:34-35).

In a way, I am glad that Isaiah spoke only of the rejoicing to come at the Messiah's birth. The "suffering servant" theme he introduced separately. For the most part, Christmas Pageants have followed his lead. They help us to sing cheerfully to the Lord, and to serve him "with mirth." They keep at bay for a little while at least, the terrible truth that his son's gift of life to us comes at the cost of his own. Remember that somber, dread-full fourth verse of "We Three Kings"? "Myrrh is mine; its bitter perfume breathes a life of gathering gloom; sorrowing, sighing, bleeding, dying, sealed in the stone cold tomb." Hang back a while, your eminences; we promise to get ready for the myrrh, but in due time.

But if you still insist on showing up at next year's pageants, here's a little something I'd like for you to consider. Next time, put the dark-skinned guy among you first, not last. How about letting Balthazar carry the gold, instead of the myrrh? I know that you've been happy doing it your way since at least the sixth century, but leaving the myrrh only in the hands of a Magus whose skin color is very different from ours is really rather appalling. Not to mention always having him bring up the rear of the procession. At the risk of displeasing you even more, honorable sirs: "wise" men should know better.

For now though, I really am glad you came. And for telling everybody what you saw and heard when you got back home. It has made a big difference to your fellow Gentiles, particularly when we get to thinking that the light of the world has come only for the sake of comfort, and not also of sacrifice.