Epiphany: Gifts for a King
When I was a child in the suburbs of Chicago, there was a vacant field behind our house. Back then parents did not supervise their kids as minutely as they do today, and my sister and I and our friends could play in that empty field, free and parentless, for hours, as long as we were home in time for dinner.
Sometimes we scooped up bouquets of dandelions, or wove them into garlands and daisy chains. Our mothers were often the recipients of these wilted ornaments, and they smiled and said, “How nice!” and placed them in glasses of water on the windowsill.
One day when I was eight, I brought my mother a bouquet of dandelions and she told me she did not want it. “Dandelions are a weed,” she said. “You are too old to bring me weeds.”
That was a hard moment for me. I don’t know that I was particularly hurt that she did want my dandelions – after all, I didn’t really want them either – but I had absorbed the notion that mothers must be sentimental about their child’s every offering. My mother was supposed to think everything I did was wonderful. Wasn’t I the center of her world?
My mother, however, has never really followed the party line on sentiment and unfailing affirmation. She did not save my baby teeth or locks of baby hair. She did not croon over how quickly we grew. She was a busy, working mother of four who loved me, but on that particular day was a little tired of finding space for dandelions.
Now that I am a mother, I can understand how my mother felt. I have certainly tossed an awful lot of my daughters’ Sunday School papers in the trash (Why do the teachers send those things home? Do I not have enough clutter around my house?). I have not saved locks of baby hair. I don’t plan on saving teeth. There will be no bronzed baby booties. I have not yet been tested with the gift that makes me screech inside oh my word do I have to find a place for another one of THOSE? but I eventually will be.
Today is Epiphany, the day on which Christians remember the wise men who brought gifts to the baby Jesus. We do not know how many wise men there were, but their gifts are listed as three: gold, frankincense and myrrh. Frankincense and myrrh are two expensive aromatic tree resins, used in incense burned during temple worship. The wise men’s gifts were costly presents for a king.
Everyone who goes under the name Christian also offers gifts to that king. Our gifts may be the worship of a full heart, a flower plucked in full beauty and presented in its prime, or our gift may be the afterthought of a mind worn out by computer use (ouch), the wilted leftovers of an afternoon spent amusing ourselves. We are unsteady creatures and our gifts are unreliable, but unlike my mother and I, the king to whom we give them is steady and sure. He looks on the heart and knows our intent. He cherishes the gift of our whole hearts and minds, and saves his scorn only for gifts of hypocritical pretense.
Come, let us worship the king.
Steph @ Diapers and Divinity
Isn’t it so cool that even when He was born, there was “no room” for him at the inn, and throughout His life, most people had no room for Him in their hearts, but HE makes room for anything we have to offer, and makes room when we need a place to hide and be held? What a great lesson.
Happy Geek
“He cherishes the gift of our whole hearts and minds, and saves his scorn only for gifts of hypocritical pretense.”
And now I am going to log off my computer and use these last few minutes of nap-time to praise Him for He is steady and sure.
Thank-you for the reminder.
ukmom
Thanks for this. Better than many a sermon I have heard on the subject!
Heather of the EO
So many of the gifts I offer up are dandelions. I’m so glad He wants them. I love this post. I don’t have words other than those. I just love it.
bea
I thought you were going in quite a different direction with this, since I perceive it as almost a defining trait of God’s that He reserves the right to reject our gifts or (less harshly) to be the one who determines the form those gifts take. And we characteristically feel aggrieved at this – or at least Cain did, and I’ve always found that response rather easy to relate to. God’s rejection of Cain’s gift has always seemed rather instructive to me, somewhat like your mother’s no-nonsense, pull-up-your-socks response to your dandelions. And in Christ God is in some ways continuing to exercise that prerogative. We are not allowed simply to worship the God of our own invention, some amorphous concept like “the universe” or “spirituality.” We worship the God who came at the particular time and that particular place, and who warns us that He’s willing to be a little bit picky about demanding that we recognize that.
Veronica Mitchell
Bea – ooh, excellent point. Yes, that is EXACTLY the direction I should have taken the story. Next time I tell it, I will. Thank you. You have improved a future sermon or Sunday School lesson.
Emily
Isn’t it wonderful to know that in our flailings and stumblings, he knows our heart? And though it is deceitful, He binds it up in Christ when we come confessing our sin and weakness. I think THAT was Cain’s failure–he wanted to please by the work of his hands, which was actually fruit watered by Him who gives all good gifts. Let us worship by acknowledging that it is He who gives gifts, and He who sustains us in periods of blurred vision, for it is He who makes us to grow; only then can we truly offer our whole heart and mind.
Thanks for celebrating Epiphany on your blog.
Kimberly
I am reminded of the line in the Christmas carol that says “if I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb….but what can I give Him? Give my heart.”
The song kindof drives me a little crazy for all sorts of reasons, not the least of which is that I think few people (and I include myself in the many, not the few) have any grasp on what it means to give our hearts totally to Christ.
And Bea is right, He wants the “first fruits”, not the leftover dregs. And He probably is disappointed when He gets those second and third and fourth fruits. But I suspect that what you meant about Him being happy with our dreggy gifts is that He knows that sometimes we fail, even when we want to give our first fruits. And therein lies grace. And it is the knowledge of that grace, and the unconditional love that goes along with it, that gives us the ability to re-assess our gifts. And perhaps give Him less of the dregs and more of the first fruit, the next time.
I look forward to all of your posts.
Beck
You know what? Reading things like this illustrates EXACTLY what the shortfalls are of my liberal Protestant background. Either that or I’m just a dope. And/or.
Lisa writes...
Beautifully written. Indeed our King knows our hearts, the thoughts and intentions. Who may stand before Him? It is he (she) with clean hands and pure heart…
From one non-sentimental mom to another…
pam at beyondjustmom
Okay, so I’m cringing because I have been guilty of turning away the 342nd bouquet of dandelions. . . and you still remember the pain. Ouch!
Seriously, though, I have enjoyed your perspective on the twelve days and epiphany. Thank you.
edj
Sorry I’m late with this comment. I had two things to say but Bea already said one of them so I can skip that (I”m glad I read other’s comments; I don’t always).
I remember being about 5 or 6 and noticing that my mother always praised my artwork, whether I tried very hard or not. So I told a friend, “She ALWAYS likes my work!” and she and I spent some time scribbling all over a piece of paper before I presented it for my mother’s approval. Shockingly, she did not approve! Like you with your gift of dandelions, I was not especially bothered by it, but it was a educational moment on the giving of true compliments and true gifts.
Dana~Are We There Yet?
I don’t save stuff, and I’ve about convinced myself that it makes me the worst mother ever to give birth. Thanks for a new perspective.