God is always with us, behind us, supporting us, loving us, ever-present – even if not seen. John Callanan SJ tells us a Christmas story that illustrates this.
Recently, a friend of mine, a religious sister, came back to Ireland from Africa. She may have left Africa but it certainly hasn’t left her. Many of her conversations are littered with anecdotes about the people she lived with and the way they touched her life. She is, by training, a primary school teacher and many of her memories are about the children she taught and some of the escapades they got up to.
It’s one of her school memories that really touched a chord in me. Last Christmas she taught the African junior infants’ class, and, as the school was putting on a Nativity play, she and her group were asked to begin the evening’s activity with a choral song. The group members, even though they were only four or five years of age, were also asked to bring the proceedings to a close with some suitable musical choice of their own.
After some discussion, the class decided they should finish with a simple and well-known number, ‘The Drummer Boy’. You’ll remember the piece. It has a good steady rhythm and simple words – perfect for the age group she worked with. The class would sing as a group and could easily remember the words. As an added attraction it was decided that the smallest lad in the class – a four-year-old boy who couldn’t sing, but who looked like an angel – would be the star of the piece. He would be placed in front of the others and beat out the song’s tempo on a drum.
The plan looked simple enough to execute. As rehearsals got under way, my friend stayed out of the limelight but honed the performance to perfection. She explained to one and all what she was looking for. Only their very best would be good enough. Mothers and fathers would be present. Each child was reminded that they were showcasing the school’s talents and reputation. They were also reminded that, as junior ‘professionals’, they should keep their minds on the job and not become distracted. Despite the fact that relatives would be present, these were not to be waved at – or even noticed – whilst the performance was going on. At length, the night of the great event arrived.
Excitement was intense. From early in the evening, relatives came by car, bicycle, and even by foot. No one wanted to miss the presentation. The school hall got more and more crowded and extra seating had to be called for.
All sorts of dignitaries sat in the front row. The Reverend Mother and local political figures were much in evidence. Even the Bishop put in an appearance. Everything went exactly as planned and the Nativity Play was a roaring success. The finale of the evening was almost at hand and its climax – at least in my friend’s mind – was near. Her young choir hopped from foot to foot in the wings with excitement. The announcer informed the audience that they had one final treat to experience. The moment for her group to perform had arrived. With grace and pride she ushered them out onto the stage.
At first quietly, but then with greater insistence, the small boy and his drum began to pound out its beat. All was going perfectly but as they say in the trade, it’s wise never to work on stage with children or animals. Without warning or explanation, her leading light – the little drummer boy – lost his concentration. His drumming began to fade.
As she looked on from the wings, she noticed his demeanour had changed. The small lad had clearly forgotten where he was, and was beginning to peer out from the brightly-lit stage into the darkened hall. He shielded his eyes from the lights as he swept them from left to right. With increasing desperation, he tried to pick out his mother from the many dimly-lit figures in front of him. He could make out very little in the semi-darkness. He certainly couldn’t see any sign of his mother.
His eyes and his demeanour became more desperate. He took a step forward and made one last effort to spot his mother amid the gloom. Great big tears began to run down his face. At that exact moment, the singing behind him stopped. The choir had done its duty and the song was finished, but our four-year-old drummer boy was completely oblivious to this fact.
From above, the stage curtain began to descend and signified that the show had come to an end. As the wave of applause began, that same curtain neatly came down in front of the rest of the choir as they made their bow. Alone before the drape, our hero was left there in front, tears running down his face, completely abandoned. In his eyes, his mother had failed to turn up.
As my friend, the religious sister, tells it, she had a completely different view of events. Her class had performed heroically, but as she stood looking on from the wings during that last act, the stage lights had not dazzled her. From her vantage point, she could make out figures in the hall more clearly. Right at the back, a woman was going frantic. The young drummer boy’s mother was waving with all her might. It was as if she was crying out, ‘I’m here, I’m here’, and trying to let him know she was present. With everything she had, she was demonstrating that she was there for him. She would always be there for him. He need have no worries.
As a final postscript, the sister said to me that, for her, it was a bit like God’s action in the world. Almost a representation of how God works with us. Behind us, supporting us, loving us, ever-present – even if not seen.
This article first appeared in The Messenger (December 2008), a publication of the Irish Jesuits.
