This anonymous story comes from a black township in South Africa, where the weary parish priest found that he had to attend the final part of a school play during the last week of Advent.
AFTER the Wise Men had come and gone, I noticed the arrival of three more strange characters — one was dressed in rags, hobbling along with the aid of a stick. The second was naked except for a tattered pair of shorts, and was bound in chains. The third was the most weird — he had a whitened face, an unkempt grey wig, and sported an Afro shirt.
As they approached, a chorus of men and women cried out: “Close the door, Joseph, they are thieves and vagabonds coming to steal all we have.”
But Joseph said: “Everyone has a right to his child — the poor, the rich, the unhappy, the untrustworthy. We cannot keep this child to ourselves. Let them enter.”
The men entered, and stood staring at the child. Joseph picked up the gifts that the Wise Men had left. To the first strange man, he said: “You are poor: take this gold, and buy what you need. We will not go hungry.”
To the second, he said: “You are in chains, and I don’t know how to release you. Take this myrrh — it will heal your wounds on your wrists and ankles.”
And to the third, he said: “Your mind is in anguish. I cannot heal you. Maybe the aroma of this frankincense will soothe your trouble soul.”
Then the first man spoke to Joseph. “Do not give me this gift. Anyone who finds me with gold will think that I’ve stolen it. And, sadly, in a few years, this child will end up as a criminal, too.”
The second man said: “Do not give me this ointment. Keep it for the child. One day he will be wearing chains like these.”
And the third man said: “I am lost. I have no faith at all. In the country of my mind there is no God. Let the child keep the incense. He will lose his faith in his father, too.”
While Mary and Joseph covered their faces, the three men addressed the child. “Little one, you are not from the land of gold and frankincense. You belong to the country of want and disease. You belong to our world. Let us share our things with you.”
The first man took off his ragged shirt. “Take these rags. One day, you will need them when they tear the garments off your back and you walk naked.”
The second man said: “When I remove these chains, I will put them at your side. One day, you will wear them, and then you will really know the pain of humanity.”
The third man said: “I give you my depression, my loss of faith in God, and in everything else. I can’t carry it any longer. Carry my grief and loss with your own.”
The three men then walked back out into the night. But the darkness was different. Something had happened in the stable. Their blind pain was diminishing. There had been a kind of epiphany.
They were noticing the stars now.
This is an extract from Unmasking God by Daniel J. O’Leary (Columba, 2011).