My hiking buddy and I were walking along the beach, one behind another. Our packs were heavy; our spirits light. The sand was soft. I played with the placement of my steps - sometimes in her footprints, other times making my own. It reminded me of one of my (many) favourite carols: Good King Wenceslas.
You've probably heard it a hundred times in shopping malls and carol services. If you've ever tried to learn an instrument, it was likely one of your first cohesive tunes, along with Ode to Joy and Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. But I'll bet you're not familiar with the lyrics - or the message - though its one we so desperately need to hear.
It was my old high school music teacher who enlightened me - and our whole year 9 cohort - to the story. I still remember her standing at the front of the stage, explaining the old English, line by line, blow by blow. Most girls probably giggled or dozed. I was fixated, the story etched on my (primitive) teenage brain.
It tells of the Good King Wenceslas looking out, one cold night after Christmas, spotting a peasant gathering wood. He summons his page boy, demanding to know who the man is and where he lives. Learning of his dwelling at the forest edge, he decides to pay a visit. The page brings his master wine and flesh (of an animal, not his wife or slave...), and forth they go together, into bitter weather.
As was the custom, the page went first. But though his heart is big, his feet are small; he begins to freeze and fade. The king's solution is not to carry on status quo, nor abandon mission. But, switching places, he proceeds first, bearing the brunt of the winter's rage, shielding the child with his body. The boy finds heat in the very footprints of his master - though I'm sure it was not just the warmth of his soles but the warmth of his soul that kept him going.
We're not told if the pair made it to the peasant, if the page succumbed to hypothermia or any other ending to the story. Instead, the carol addresses Christians of all social classes, urging them to show kindness to the poor, with blessing promised in return.
I think its a fitting call. But pondering the carol further as we hiked - and wishing we bore wine and meat rather than dirty clothes and dehydrated pea packets - I thought there were much deeper meanings to draw.
If we are - indeed in order - to 'bless the poor', we should first understand the blessings extended to us from above. See, we, too, are yonder peasants. I know with our paychecks and Playstations it doesn't seem so - but how far from our true home we are, how distant from God, how we roam around picking up sticks to make meaning of our lives. And Jesus the King doesn't just view us from afar. He laces up his boots and comes down into our cold, dark world, to our edge of the forest. He gives us his flesh - eventually nailed to a cross - as atonement. His blood pours out like wine. And if I could extend this analogy - he doesn't just dine and dwell with us - he intends to take us home, back to the palace, to live in his presence, under his good reign.
And when we are there - gratefully and joyfully serving him, our every need provided for - perhaps like the page boy we are sent out on missions not for the meek. Ones where we aren't sure how we will survive, where we can't see what is in front, for the storm. And it's then we find our Good King is there - not by our side, not behind, but in front of us: shielding us with his body, warming our souls as he speaks.
He bids us follow.
Won't you journey behind?
~J.M Neale
