Throughout Advent, two lines of a song echoed in my ears. If the song they came from was playing, those two would stand out - as if they were played louder than the rest of the music. Silence found those two phrases echoing through my head, a far away drumbeat sending a message across the miles.
I played my drum for Him, pa rum pa pum pum.
I played my best for Him, pa rum pa pum pum.
In my journey of relationship with Jesus, there is so much focus on the friendship quality of that relationship that I forget about the Kingly quality of my Savior. I forget that he introduced us to a whole new type of Kingdom. The people of Israel were not expecting a Messiah who would save them from themselves - they were expecting a Savior who would save them from Rome. The Kingdom they expected was an earthly kingdom to overtake their oppressors and set up Israel as a political might in its own right. But Messiah they got was anything but expected. The Kingdom that was established that day of Jesus' birth, the Kingdom that continues to grow in strength and power, just as a pinch of yeast grows the bread dough from the inside-out - it is a whole different kind of Kingdom than what we experience in our past, or present governmental systems.
So I forget. I don't focus on the honor deserved by that little baby who turned into a Rabbi, a healer, a miracle-worker, a forgiver of sins. I think of Jesus as a grown-up, itinerant preacher who talked about the Kingdom of God with stories of servants and masters, of soil, seeds, and birds. He used the things people knew about to talk about things people couldn't understand. And I forget that he was the King proclaimed by angels and stars - introduced first to unworthy shepherds and areligious foreign astrologers. A king worthy of the best gifts.
The magi brought gold, frankincense and myrrh to this new king. It was a common practice in the Ancient Near East (ANE) for foreign rulers to present gifts to a newborn king of their neighboring lands. So it's not all that strange that these star-watchers from the east (probably Babylon, maybe Persia) brought along such gifts when they came to see the new king. What was unusual was that instead of meeting him in the capital city in a palace, lying in a gilt cradle, surrounded by nursemaids and servants - they found him in a no-name town, in a house just like every other house, cradled in his mother's arms. How they must have questioned the star as they approached the door to that home. Really? A king? Here? But on they strode, confident that the heavens would not steer them wrong. There was nothing "normal" about this king from the start.
But still I forget: my Jesus is a King.
As those two lines from The Little Drummer Boy drummed themselves into my soul over Advent, I asked myself this question: "Am I offering my best to the king? Or am I offering what is left after all the other needs around me are met?" Like the little drummer boy, I don't have a gift to give that is suitable for a King. I daily try to offer what I have, but I forget that He deserves my best.
Today I offer my best to the King.
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