The festive season was fast approaching and we knew that many of our young charges in a church children’s club had never acted out the true story of Christmas.
The leader suggested that props be made, a pageant rehearsed and parents be invited to the gala presentation.
On performance night, I found myself in a tiny room of the church basement surrounded by a mountain of old bath towels, tangled neckties and oversized housecoats. The youngsters were not the most promising group of actors in the world but reports of our magnificent production had infiltrated the community and strange little faces kept appearing in the dressing room, all pleading for last-minute parts in the performance.
Read Also
Nutritious pork packed with vitamins, essential minerals
Recipes for pork
Hard-pressed to distinguish between stars and stand-ins, I asked a curly-haired young fellow who he was supposed to be.
“I’m a character,” he snapped back.
Subsequent misbehavior proved him right.
He was not alone. Aggressive shepherds challenged each other with their crooks. One of the wise men tried to stab his peers with a stray safety pin.
Should all other aspects of the production fail to earn top ratings, I was sure the local drama critics would be impressed on at least one count. An ingenious teenager had rigged a wire-and-pulley system to transport the glorious star across the darkened sanctuary and bring it to rest over the manger scene in a grand finale to the pageant.
As the organist began to play O Little Town of Bethlehem, the lights dimmed and the narrator began to read.
Temporarily forgetting her delicate condition, Mary bounded up the stairs to the stage two at a time, only to be restrained by Joseph’s loud admonition, “Slow down, stupid, and wait for me.”
The innkeeper banged the door in the couple’s face and they resorted to the stable, amid a great deal of crowing and mooing and bleating from the “livestock” backstage.
The spotlight shifted to the ragged shepherds keeping watch over their cardboard sheep by night. Suddenly a troop of angels with halos all askew stormed onto the scene, tripping over bed sheet robes and bumping wings as they jostled for the limelight.
The shepherds then went thundering across the stage to the manger scene, most of them forgetting to gaze in adoration at the infant Jesus, squinting and waving at their parents instead.
The hope for redemption lay in the visit of the magi. And there they were, coming up the aisle from the back of the church. High overhead, the splendid tinfoil star started its long journey across the sanctuary; “Star of wonder, star of night….”
The clothesline pulley was inching the star along its path, a tad jerky but “westward leading, still proceeding” all the same. The wise men followed suit, their eyes glued to their guiding light.
Suddenly the star came to a premature standstill, short of its goal and swaying back and forth in one place as if attacked by opposing forces of magnetism. Intrigued by this unexpected phenomenon, the magi craned their necks, then ceased their journeying altogether.
A flashlight focused on the source of the problem. A crude splice in the clothesline had refused to negotiate the pulley at the back of the church. The embarrassed teenager was teetering on a stepladder, trying to coax the reluctant star toward its destination with one hand while waving the magi on with the other.
Wanting to oblige but determined not to take their eyes off the star, the wise men compromised by walking backward down the aisle. Clutching their gold and frankincense and myrrh, they tried to steady their cardboard crowns while repeatedly tripping over the tails of their bathrobes. Eventually, they bumped into the foot of the stage and turned around. Unconcerned that he was dealing with men of superior status, Joseph instructed them to “use the steps, stupid, and make it fast.”
Peering over their shoulders one last time at the star, the wise men plodded up the steps to present their gifts of homage. An awkward shepherd placed a bent lamb at the foot of the manger. Angels adjusted precarious halos. Joseph and Mary gazed down at their little offspring with appropriate awe as the organ began to play, “Silent Night.” An almost holy hush descended.
Suddenly, amid a series of squeaks and squawks, the natal star careened across the sanctuary and swung to a magnificent stop right over where the young child lay. And there it hung by one point, its brilliant tinfoil reflecting the spotlight and all but blinding those who gazed too steadily upon its glory.
As the Bible says, when the wise men “saw the star, they rejoiced with exceedingly great joy.” In this case, they were jumping up and down, pointing and shouting in excitement.
Whether from relief or rapture, the audience was on its feet, whistling and clapping. Atop his rickety ladder, the embarrassed teenager made a self-conscious bow.
I found nothing at all irreverent about the moment. It served instead to reinforce the fact that the greatest tribute of all belongs to that One behind the scenes of life who keeps the stars in orbit yet stoops to redeem our inadequate endeavours here on Earth.
