And then, without any effort on my part, Emmanuel showed me that he was with me still in the muck and dirt of the stable of my life. And it happened through the very unlikely Little Drummer Boy.
Until now, that's been one of a few Christmas songs that I think the border on just dumb. Do You Hear What I Hear is another. Neither song gets the facts right about the Christmas story. King Herod was a mighty king, but he definitely didn't tell the people to "pray for peace everywhere". There wasn't a drummer at the manager, and after all, drumming isn't a good lullaby for a newborn. Those songs aren't on my Christmas playlist, and when they come on the radio, I just skip them in my mind.
Erin McCarley's recording of Little Drummer Boy had caught my attention this year, though. (You can hear it here at Reverb Nation. I had run across randomly: I downloaded Tenn Out of Tenn's christmas album, which had showed up on Swackett, a new weather app my son had showed me.) I think I was listening to the song mostly because it was recorded by a woman. I liked the twist that a woman was the drummer boy. I also liked the quiet, slow arrangement. There wasn't any mind-numbing snare drumming thankfully.
When I was driving on Christmas Eve, the line in the song, "and then he smiled at me" really hit me for the first time ever. I've listened to that song for almost 50 years, and I never really thought about how Jesus's smile has made all the difference. I would have missed it again this year except for how Erin's version lingered on "he smiled at me," repeating it three times toward the end of the song. The gentleness of the repetition got my attention, and then my Advent happened. I was expecting nothing from Christmas, and I found myself crying as I drove when I realized how Jesus has smiled at me. He sees me. He loves me. His care for me has made all the difference in my life.
You see, I am the little drummer boy. I'm the guy who would show up at the manager with a drum. I'm the kind of guy who writes books about teaching evolution. That's a definite drum. Drums are all I have; I don't have anything appropriate to bring with me to Jesus. In fact, much that I bring is not even appropriate. My sin and brokenness should startle the Baby Jesus, like snare drum at a crib side. The scary parts of me should make him cry. Mary, Joseph, the Wise Men, and all the other good people at the manger should tell me to take my drum away and leave the Baby in peace.
And then he smiled at me. At my drum. At my brokenness. And his smile becomes the only thing I know. I'm no longer the odd little boy who showed up at the manger with a drum. I am simply lost in the love of that smile. And Christmas has come again.
