[Adapted from my Once for a Shining Hour book, available through amazon.com.]
The birth of Jesus stirs the imagination of storytellers and musicians. So let’s use our imagination with “The Little Drummer Boy” in the song that arrived at the manger in the 1950s and became a fast favorite.
The story mustn't get lost in the “rum-a-pum-pum” of the drumbeats. The little drummer at the manger is almost hidden from view by the regal Kings from the East. He is self-conscious as they place their gold, frankincense, and myrrh on the ground before the Baby.
His drum is strapped around his neck, as it always is when he goes about. But he has absolutely nothing to place alongside the costly gifts from the Kings to the little Baby King.
As the boy thinks it over, he feels relieved that he has nothing. Anything he has ever owned in his whole life would look shoddy by comparison.
He wonders what led him here in the first place. Just then, the woman looks his way. He doesn’t know her thoughts, but he feels he is no more out of place than those ragged, dirty, smelly shepherds who have gathered around, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, looking at the Baby and His parents. It’s the Kings who make the drummer uneasy — and the Baby they call King.
Earlier, he heard the shepherds talking among themselves — about angels and bright lights on the hillside beyond the little town of Bethlehem, how the angels told them to come to town and hunt this Baby whose coming is good news to everyone, for shepherds and, perhaps, he thought, even for a boy with a drum.
With all the to-do of the Kings, dressed in their elaborate robes as they bring expensive presents, the lad isn’t sure what he should do or could do. Maybe he ought to slip away quietly and play his drum to himself as he heads for home.
He loves to play his drum, and he’s been told, lots of times, that he’s good with it. Oh, sometimes his mother gets on him for playing so loudly while she’s cooking and doing housework. When that happens, he drifts out along the dirt road of the village, playing his drum as he goes. That’s when he gets lots of compliments.
An old man down the street has helped him learn different rhythms. A couple of times, the old man even let him keep time on his drum when some other men were playing their lyres and pipes. That helped him gain confidence.
At the manger, as he’s wondering whether he should leave, a thought flashes through his mind: He does have one thing he could offer the Little King. He could play his drum. But then, he thinks; the woman and man might frown and tell him to stop the noise and get out of their way, just like his mother when she wants some peace and quiet.
Well, should he offer to play, or not?
Yes.
No.
Yes.
No.
Yes!
The man and woman look up at the shepherds and the Kings and then right at him.
Now’s his chance. So he asks, hurriedly: “Shall-I-play-for-you-and-your-little-boy? On-my-drum-I-mean.”
The man smiles. The woman nods her head, as if to say, “Go ahead.”
So he starts playing, playing with all his might. One or two of the shepherds join him, slapping their knees and bellies as he does some special licks he learned from the old man down the street. He plays and plays, giving it his very best. Everybody in the stable seems to be in rhythm. A passerby stops to look in, then starts snapping his fingers, trying to keep up with the drummer. Feet are tapping. Even one of the Kings is patting his hands together.
For moments, the boy forgets where he is as he pours himself into his rhythms. Then he happens to glance down at the Baby. “He’s looking at me! He’s looking at me!” the boy thinks. “Can you believe it? He’s smiling! The Little King is smiling. He’s smiling at me! He likes my drum!”
Then he stops playing. Everyone is silent. Nobody moves or says anything for several seconds. Then he hears applause. People gather around him, patting him on the back.
“Great rhythm.”
“Good show.”
“How long you been playin’?” one of the shepherds asks.
The drummer is speechless. He feels almost outside himself as he continues looking at the Little King and His parents. As the others drift into the night, the Drummer still stands, still looking in awe at the family in the stable.
Finally, he puts his sticks in his belt and turns to go. But then, he feels a firm hand on his shoulder. He looks up into the kind, steady eyes of the man. “Thank you, young man. Thank you very much.”
“Oh, no,” the boy says. “Thank you, sir. Thank you for letting me play for your little boy.”
As the woman begins wrapping the Baby more securely in the wide bands of cloth, she, too, thanks the drummer. “That was so special. Thank you for coming to see us tonight. When he’s old enough to understand, we will tell our son what you did.”
“I wish I had something I could leave with you.”
“Oh, you do. You do. You gave us a memory we will long cherish. The sound of your rhythms will linger in our minds longer than you imagine. You gave him a truly unique gift, something only you could give.”
Those words ring in the drummer’s ears as he starts for home.
His fingers tap rhythms almost silently on the drumhead as he walks briskly through the chill night air. He smiles to himself as he says over and over, “The Little Baby King smiled at me. He smiled at me. He smiled at me and my drum.”
Can we let our imaginations run wild as we think what we can offer that would bring a smile from the Newborn King?
Whether we have the wealth of the Three Kings, the simple possessions of the shepherds, or nothing but the inner resources of the Little Drummer Boy, if we offer our best, we will see the smile of the King.
