A Different Drummer

It does not seem that thirty years have passed. I can still remember that silent, holy night. One shining star set the dead of winter afire and a child was born. To look upon the scene through earthly eyes, you would not have thought much of it. A poor, unfortunate couple, unable to find lodging for the evening; and she very much with child, offered a dusty stable in which to lie alongside unclean beasts of burden. And yet, that one burning star watched over them like the eye of God.

The shepherds came running over the hills, crying aloud that this babe in a manger was the Messiah come to bring peace on earth and goodwill to all. I stood just outside. Joseph and Mary held each other close and trembled. I shouldered my way into his presence and gazed all at once upon the beginning and the end of the world. Here was the great I AM, come as a child. Having sought only to see him, I met his gaze and he smiled at me. I could see in his eyes that he knew me and claimed me as his own. I would have made a gift of the world to him, but it was already his.

A tattered drum hung from a roughened leather strip around my shoulders. I had learned the whirling dance of the marketplace and the steady march of Roman soldiers up-and-down the city streets. These songs were my only gifts; the only things in this world that belonged to me. Slowly, quietly, I played my drum for him. At first I was afraid and my hands shook. But I found strength in the joy of my Lord and laid my life at his feet.

And now, thirty years later, we are grown. I stand in the crowd watching Jesus of Nazareth bear his cross toward the Hill of Skulls. This is what you see now, as then, if you look only through earthly eyes. The master has taught me better and I see what is truly happening. The infant king, now a man – the Lamb of God – is taking away the sins of the world. Truly God has given us His only begotten Son. His love has met his laws demand.

I press forward, closer to the street. What will people think, I wonder, to see a man play his drum before such a somber procession? Forgetting them, forgetting myself, I play only for him. Unlike the child that played timidly before, my hand is steady. He slows as he passes. I can barely see his face through the tears that fill my eyes, yet I know that he sees me and smiles. Were I blind I would see his smile. It fills and comforts me. Jesus turns and marches on. Yes, he is afraid and his heart is heavy. But, the joy of the Lord is his strength also and his Father is well pleased.