by Kevin Wiley 

I was channel surfing one day when I came across a stand-up comedian telling a story. He was describing a children’s Christmas pageant. The young Joseph and Mary are in their customary positions in the cardboard stable, the baby Jesus doll nestled in a bit of straw in a rough wooden box between them. The little-boy shepherds have just shuffled off into the darkness, and right on cue three more bath-robed boys appear on stage: the three wise men from the East.   

The first boy strides forward. It’s obvious he understands the role he’s been called to play. He reverently offers his beautifully gift-wrapped package to Joseph and says profoundly, “Gold!”   

The second boy, also in his finest bathrobe, has a towel turban wrapped around his head. Though less sure of himself than the first boy, he resolutely steps forward. Bowing self-consciously, he offers his brightly wrapped gift to Mary. “Myrrh,” he says carefully, almost quizzically, following instructions but apparently not quite sure what myrrh is.   

After a slightly-too-long pause, the third boy enters the spotlight. He is also wearing his bathrobe, but he has made no attempt to conceal his blue jeans and tennis shoes underneath. He traipses up to the crib, unceremoniously tosses a gift-wrapped box onto the Baby Jesus doll, and mumbles, “Frank sent this.”   

The comedian got the laugh, but I’m not sure he or his audience got the point. The story is about more than a child blowing his line in a school play.   

Gold. Myrrh. Frankincense. The first Christmas gifts? Maybe.   

Gold? That’s great! I wouldn’t mind if someone gave me gold for Christmas. Myrrh? Honestly, I don’t know what myrrh is, but it sounds smooth and soft. Frankincense? Frankin-what? It might as well be fruitcake—the gift of obligation that everybody gives but nobody wants. 

The story, though, is about more than Christmas gifts—wanted or unwanted. Through the laughter, we may hear the echoes of a human reality. In each of these boys, we can see a little bit of ourselves; in each of their gifts, we can learn a little bit about our relationship with God.   

The third boy is indifferent to the gift and its recipient. In fact, he isn’t even the giver; he’s only delivering a package—“Frank sent this.” He doesn’t know who he’s giving it to, or even what it is. He’s only fulfilling an obligation with which someone has saddled him.   

Some of us “worship” God this way. We go to church because our parents or our grandparents or nameless members of society somehow have always expected us to. We may not know why. There is little of ourselves in our worship because we’re only carrying on the tradition that’s been handed to us. We don’t know the God we are supposedly worshiping.   

The second boy brings his gift of myrrh. He seems to sense there is significance to what he is doing. Unlike the Frank-sent-this boy, he knows he’s giving a gift to a special baby, though he doesn’t actually know the family or understand why it’s important to give the gift. But at least he’s giving it willingly. some of us worship God this way. As we follow the traditions we’ve been taught, we know who it is that we are worshiping. We may not actually know Him or understand why we’re worshiping Him, but we’ll probably keep going to church and singing the hymns and giving offerings for the rest of our lives, because we are convinced it is the right thing to do.   

Surely you’ve guessed by now that the first boy, with his gift of gold, is the one who’s got it right. He knows who he is, he knows who the baby is, and he gives the best he has.   

Some do worship God this way. We know God personally, so we know why He is to be worshipped. We understand that Jesus is much more than just a poor baby born into poverty. We understand that Jesus is God become a baby so He can be human with us in our humanity. We understand, and we respond with everything we’ve got. We bring gold.   

Yet, even for the gold-givers, there is the realization that the message of the Christ child is more profound than anyone has fully grasped. When we truly worship, we praise God for the great gift He has given. Our worship is deep; it’s real; we give our very lives to Him. But we continue to seek an ever richer understanding, knowing we still merely “see through a glass, darkly” (1 Corinthians 13:12). This spirit of humble, accepting worship is our gift of gold. 

Kevin Wiley writes from Berrien Springs, Michigan. When he's not writing or reading, he works in the School of Education at Andrews University.