Never heard a Christmas carol I didn't like. If they're played all day long from November 1 to December 25, that's fine with me. When else are you going to hear those beautiful old songs that speak profoundly of Jesus' birth? After December 25 that's it — no more carols until next year, except maybe for one or two that carry on until Epiphany.
Epiphany reminds me of the carol I love most — We Three Kings. An odd choice, perhaps, when one could choose It Came upon a Midnight Clear (my second favourite, especially the third verse) and innumerable others. Despite those other lovely songs, it's still We Three Kings that pops into my head when asked to name my favourite.
Why? Well, it's so visual and the tune and tempo gloriously grand. Ever since I was a little girl singing in Sunday school, mental pictures captured my imagination as those three regal wise men traversed mile upon lonely mile through desert storms, over wild moors and rocky mountains, always guided by the star of wonder. Those three kings, with their caravans laden with royal provisions and gifts piled on bedecked camels who with their ungainly swinging gait slowly made their way to Bethlehem.
We attended a concert in London, Ontario, where a brass ensemble performed Christmas music. We Three Kings was on the program, the highlight of my evening. The music began softly, far off in the distance, a tiny bell tinkling on a swaying camel. Closer and closer the entourage approached, the brass instruments swelling to crescendo as the noble party passed right before us and then moved on slowly, the stately music fading away until the tinkling of that tiny bell vanished into the ether. A performance I'll never forget, and one that brought back the visions from my childhood.
Oh, those Christmas concerts! Shepherds and angels and small boy-kings trying to look dignified as they tripped on their dads' brocade housecoats and squinted out from under lopsided cardboard crowns secured by their mothers' tea towels. Singing in whispery grave voices, they presented their gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh wrapped in fancy tinfoil boxes entwined with bright strings of old beads.
At one concert, a tiny king trailed along behind the others, obviously on his last wobbly legs. The hour was late; he had traversed far down that long frightening church aisle and was tuckered out. Arriving at his destination, he slumped on the chancel steps, peered at the sleeping baby Jesus, sighed, poked a hole in his scratchy grey beard and sucked his thumb! Safe at last! He had followed the star, completed the journey.
Christmas reminds us to keep our eyes on the star, to continue the awesome journey, difficult and long as it may sometimes be, believing that we too will one day arrive at the place of perfect light presenting our gifts, praising the risen King. Hallelujah!
