December 14, 2025

Bit-Players in the Nativity: #3 – The Shepherd Boy

Seventy-four years ago, NBC-TV presented the first opera written for television.  Menotti’s “Amal and the Night Visitors” became a Christmas classic.  In this opera for children, Amahl, who was once a shepherd boy is now disabled and can walk only with a crutch.  He and his mother are visited by three kings who are on their way see the miracle child that was born in Bethlehem.  In the course of their interactions, Amahl is miraculously healed and leaves with the kings to see the Holy child and take him his crutch as a gift since he no longer needs it.  But this wonderful opera is only one in a long string of images, hunches, songs, legends and notions about the question: where were the children when Jesus was born?  We instinctively assume that there must have been children somehow connected to the story of the manger in Bethlehem.  Maybe it’s because Christmas has always seemed to be such a joyous and consuming time for children.  Whatever the reason, we do want to put at least one child in the manger scene — other than the one in the manger, that is.

Usually, it’s a little shepherd boy.  And usually, our focus is on what gift he might give to the holy infant.  There is something fitting about that.  Because children, I think, have a special issue around the notion of giving.  We all hear at this time of year about children’s fixation on “getting.”  We know they want the latest action figure, or video game, or music CD, or interactive toy, but do we ever stop to think about how they struggle with the concept of giving?  It all has to do with self-image, you know.  The child who doesn’t think he or she has much to offer doesn’t take the notion of giving very seriously.  The child who doesn’t feel capable of giving something that will be truly treasured can be too embarrassed to take the gesture to heart.

Garrison Keillor said that Christmas is “a holiday fraught with peril.”¹ The whole “gift giving” and “gift getting” ritual is full of land mines.  He says that a Christmas gift often tells us very little about who we are.  But it tells us a great deal about who some other person thinks we are, or wants us to be.  It’s no wonder children are often overwhelmed by the task of selecting a gift for someone.

But something beautiful happens in all our Christmas legends about the little shepherd, or drummer boy, or boy king.  The child always fails to come up with what he considers an adequate gift, and so ends up, even unintentionally, giving something of himself.  And, wonder of all wonders, it turns out to be just the right thing to bring a smile to the holy countenance.

I think there has to be a child in the manger story because children have something to teach all of us about giving, and about receiving.  In the end, a child will scribble a few lines on a piece of construction paper with a crayon, fold over one end and stick a staple in it or a sticker on it, glue a couple of cotton balls on for a snowman, and scratch the words “I love you” in the corner with a pencil.  And somehow, of all the treasures under the tree, it’s the gift that brings a tear to the corner of a parent’s eye.  And a child receives gifts unrestrainedly, with wonder and unbridled enthusiasm, tearing into the wrappings, and looking for that which is to be theirs.

This can be “a sign unto us” – to keep us from giving out of a sense of duty or the burden of obligation, and from receiving with embarrassment or only half a heart.  This is critically important because giving of ourselves, and receiving the blessings of grace lie at the very heart of our faith.  And a half a heart is not nearly enough.

No, there’s no little shepherd boy in the Biblical account of the nativity, no earnest child with a drum.  But there should be.  Among those shepherds on the hillside who were swept up in the wonder of a mysterious light and swore they heard the beating of angels’ wings there must have a been a boy.  And if not, then the men who heard it must have been transformed into children themselves, tearing full bore down the hill toward the sleepy little town, frightened, awed, expectant, jubilant.

Christmas is for children.  Because at this time of year every one of us is, at some level and with any luck, reduced to the wide-eyed, awe-struck, hopeful, little ones who Jesus said we must be in order to enter the kingdom.  Every one of us comes to the Christ-child, uncertain, hopeful, bringing only what we have.  Every one of us figuratively puts on a bathrobe and a paper crown, or cuddles a toy lamb, and in trepidation and wonder shuffles up to the manger.

Dadgie and I had a habit of smiling and even sharing a loving chuckle whenever we saw a little one in the grocery store or on the street.  We frequently saw a parade of little ones walking in downtown Athol connected by each holding on to some kind of chord — out, it seems with their teachers on an exploration of the town.  Whenever we saw them, we couldn’t help smiling and laughing.  It warmed and brightened our day.  Just the other day in the grocery store, we encountered a mother with a little one in her shopping cart. I smiled and waved, and the child smiled back.  I asked the mother what isle you find those on.  Children give us a gift.  It is a gift of the soul – a gift of self.  They give us their smiles, their voices, and their abounding, joyous presence.  Day in and day out, they give us more than hope, they give us confidence about the future.  When you see them, give them an eager grin, and a warm “hello.”

Yes, I think there must have been a child at the manger.  Maybe even one with a drum:

Baby Jesus, pa rum pum pum pum,

I am a poor boy too, pa rum pum pum pum.

 

I have no gift to bring, pa rum pum pum pum,

that’s fit to give the King, pa rum pum pum pum,

rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

shall I play for you, pa rum pum pum pum,

On my drum?

 

Mary nodded, pa rum pum pum pum,

the ox and lamb kept time, pa rum pum pum pum.

 

I played my drum for Him, pa rum pum pum pum,

I played my best for Him, pa rum pum pum pum,

rum pum pum pum, rum pum pum pum,

then He smiled at me, pa rum pum pum pum,

me and my drum.

¹ Garrison Keillor, A Prairie Home Companion, date unknown.