The Perfect Christmas

But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of woman, born under the law, 5 to redeem those who were under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons.Galatians 4:4-5

In the movie, A Christmas Story, Gene Shepherd says that Christmas is the holiday around which the whole kid year revolved. He said that in 1983--thirty years ago and long before it became the movie that revolved around the whole day. I saw A Christmas Story for the first time in at the Appalachian movie theater in Boone while at ASU. My hall mates were attempting any diversion to escape studying for exams. I thought it was one of the funniest movies I had ever seen; I thought so because it was my family.

Like Ralphie’s dad, my Old Man was an Oldsmobile man of sorts: we had a trouble-making Oldsmobile 98 Royal Brougham diesel and our our garage was held hostage to a multi-decade rehabilitation project in the form of a 1953 88 Rocket. To be honest, he was really a Pontiac man at heart. In high school he had 1940 Silver Streak Business Coupe with a flathead 4 , as a young married man, he and my mother drove a 1964 Catalina convertible, and as a family man he graduated to a 1968 and 1969 Safari Station Wagons. And he had entertained other cars too: a Model A coupe, a 51 Studebaker Commander, and a 1966 Corvair Monza convertible. He had impeccable taste--and a soft heart for auto underdogs. He was a champion and an artist. His cars and their parts had been liberated from junkyards, curbsides, and police impound garages over four states. Unlike Ralphie’s dad in A Christmas Story, my Old Man’s passion for cars wasn’t in tire changing, it was in entire rehabilitation.

Growing up in Columbus, Ohio was great for a Christmas lover such as myself. Though not a given, it was probable that there would be a white Christmas or at least snow sometime around Christmas. I grew up in an age and in a place where the biggest threats which floated just beyond the boundary of my understanding were evil and clandestined organizations which threatened life as I knew it. There were, in ascending order: 3. the Mafia, 2. the Soviet Union, and 1. the University of Michigan. Michigan was no doubt the most important because the Ohio State Michigan game was the week before Thanksgiving and marked the beginning of the Holiday Season. It also set the tone of expectation through New Years Day.

The narratives of Christmases past fill the the anthology of my family’s stories. One that was often recounted was the story of when, in 1944, Santa Claus phoned my mother at home. In 1944 my mother was a preschooler, and as a part of a WTVN’s radio programming, they invited parents to submit names and phone numbers of their children who, if selected, would receive a call from Santa. My mom’s name and number (University 6800) was one of those picked. When Santa got around to asking my mother what she wanted for Christmas, she said, “I want my daddy.” There was silence on the other end of the line. As the radio Santa composed himself, he agreed and assured my mother that having her daddy, and all the other daddy’s and sons and brothers was what they all wanted for Christmas. If that Christmas wish could be had it would make the perfect Christmas in spite of the rationing and austerity measures many endured.

At the time of that phone call, my grandfather was in eastern France serving in an Army field hospital southwest of the Bulge as they came to call it. As was the case with many veterans, my grandfather did not talk about his experience in the War. I believe it was especially difficult for him because he was oldest to be eligible for the draft. Being 31 years old at the time, he had lived a bit. He had seen the Great Depression through adult eyes, and he had served with the Civilian Conservation Corps. He now had a wife and child, and he could see what price was being paid by individuals and families --especially as Technician in an Army field hospital. While my mother was talking to a radio Santa, the European front was in danger of collapsing, and they were were putting weapons in the hands of any able-bodied GI and sending him to the front. My grandfather’s favorite Christmas song was “White Christmas”. I think that song as well as “I’ll be Home for Christmas” came to vocalize the hope and longing he had to be reunited with his family on a perfect Christmas.

The first Christmas I clearly recall was about 1970; that Christmas I received my first record player and my own records. I got recordings of the Sesame Street album along with a Mr Rogers’ Neighborhood. It was then that I began my lifelong endeavor to memorize lines and stories and songs. You never know when you are going to need to sing, “Abekedfkjecklmnoqrstewitzes” or “Sing a Song” or “Going for a Ride”. I awoke my parents at 3 am Christmas morning playing those records under the tree. Merry Christmas Mom and Dad!

On Christmas Eve, my family would regularly gather at my grandparent’s house, a 1 ½ story post-war home off North Broadway in Columbus. My father worked a swing shift at a manufacturing plant, and as luck would have it, he would get second shift on Christmas Eve. We would gather at my grandparents in the afternoon; prepare for dinner around 7pm when my father would get his dinner break and come to the house, eat, and head back to work for the remainder of his shift. Then we would have to wait until he got off work to open presents--this meant we had a good four more hours of waiting. It was perfect torture. I was the oldest grandchild which meant that there were no cousins to entertain me, and of course there was no cable, no game consoles, no social media. My only social media entertainment was adults talking. Taaalking!

Exasperated by my begging to open a present and complaining of my boredom, my parents would say, “Go downstairs!” Ha! we all knew there was a monster down there. My uncle told me so himself, he showed me the footprint in the concrete floor. I had even heard noises. Now you were safe in the basement as long as the lights were on, but the light switch was at the bottom of the basement steps. If you were leaving, you had to be quite the athlete because you had to flip the light switch usually having already begun to run so that you could climb steps two at a time in order to make to the top in time. Anyway, who puts a basement light switch at the bottom of the basement steps? Who does that? “Go downstairs?” was my reply. “No. thank you. I’ll listen to you adults talk.”

My Uncle Bob was ten years younger than my mother, which oftentimes happened to families who endured separation during WWII. Though he wasn’t a kid anymore, it didn’t mean that he didn’t know how to be one. Sometimes he was perfectly awful. With the authority of an adult, he would mercilessly bait us kids with, “So, do you want to open one present to tide you over until Uncle Dave gets here?” “Really? Yes, yes!” we’d cry. Finally some relief! Uncles are heroes! Finally something to do! Finally, we’re getting down to business! But then he’d pull up and he would pause and say, “Nahhhhh.” The blackguard. It didn’t matter what we said either. It was equally satisfying for him, if we said, No. Because then He would say, “Well, I was going to let you open one, but since you don’t want to….” For him it was hours of entertaining pleasure, during which the time flew by. For us kids? It was just more talk. Exhausting, unending, unbearable, drawn out, waiting….

One year I realized that the kitchen held potential relief from the begging or baiting that went on in the Family Room. What I needed to make the time pass was to keep busy--to keep my mind off of the waiting and and the torture of stacks of presents what I need to do was wash dishes. And so for several years on Christmas Eve, I stood beside my grandfather and washed and dried the evening’s dishes: the oyster dressing bowl, the congealed salad bowl, the dinner roll pan which had burnt the rolls because my grandmother insisted on buttering the pan even though the directions said she wasn’t supposed to. During those hours, he would talk, sometimes of growing up, sometimes of the War, but he always managed to say something just a little off color that would have me half-shocked or laughing. I didn’t realize it then. But that was perfect.

Some Christmas memories stand out as exceptional. There was the year that I got the GI Joe winter rescue kit together with the helicopter, AND submarine. In 1976, my friends and I helped coordinate, make, and deliver hundreds of luminaria for our our street. And though the Christmas was dry, it turned in January and culminated with the Blizzard of 77 when because of record snowfall, freezing temperatures, and a natural gas shortage we got a month off from school. Now that was a Christmas present!

Then there was the first Christmas after moving to NC when Woody Hayes punched the Clemson player in the Gator Bowl--that made life for an Ohioan in the South and this one in particular hard for years. “Yea, Randy’s from Ohio. Hey, Randy didn’t Woody Hayes….” Oh great. Perfect. But hope springs eternal for a Buckeye in South Town, whose team is playing in a nationally televised bowl game. Whenever I get misty-eyed and am about to be overcome by glory and hope, I do what any good Ohioan does. I speak the word which restores him to sobriety, humility, and sanity: Cleveland.

There are other Christmas memories. There were meltdowns and separations. There was the Christmas my father spent on a garage floor trying fix our Ford LTD wagon’s blown head gasket or the Christmas that the family caught the flu and spent the week quarantined or the year my grandmother died. There was the Christmas that the family was recovering from the double-punch of violent crime and metastasized cancer. Most recently, a Christmas reeling from and trying to learn how to manage blood sugar.

You have memories like these too. They have shaped and grown your expectations of Christmas--they become the benchmarks and are codified in the collection of family folktales. They become stories which give meaning and hope. And now you are here this Christmas wondering if this year will be the perfect Christmas. Will you get what we asked for? Will the adults just keep talking? Will peace be maintained and will family get along? Will anyone be sick? Is anyone missing? Will anyone be missing next year? Time and time again we look forward to and hope in this being the perfect Christmas.

As I think about my perfect Christmas and as you think about yours, let us be mindful that the Perfect Christmas has already happened. This Perfect Christmas is not one to be lived up to or sentimentalized in our memories. It is not one which exerts a pressure of expectation of a human’s flawless preparation and execution. The perfect Christmas happened at just the right time 2000 years, ago.

At the time, it seemed all but perfect. Think about it: an unexpected pregnancy of a betrothed, young girl. Her husband having to explain that he had neither illegitimately enjoyed what was to be left until after marriage nor that though he was not the father of this child, neither had his wife been unfaithful. Think about that after-dinner conversation. How much work would it take to repress that inconvenient truth around a Perfect Christmas dinner table? Raised eyebrows, whispers, the awkward silence as one enters a room and the topic of conversation changes from the unfortunate circumstances to the weather.

Having had to bear scrutiny of knowing looks and helpful counsel, Joseph and Mary were forced to travel to their ancestral home, and when they arrived there was no place for them. No extended family would take them in. No hospitality would be shown or offered except what was leftover and unwanted: a stable. In all the places you would want to see your childs face and hear their first cries--it would not be in a stable. This first Christmas scene which we speak of with such familiarity and sweetness is not the idilic climax of any hostesses’ perfect Christmas plan; it was a flooding confluence of desperate necessity. Joseph is there trying to get everything settled, trying to scrounge up food, trying to do assuage his young bride’s fear, trying to just keep it together. And then, having to beg the Innkeeper for a room, some shelter… something… anything. Time was urgent. And then imagine as Mary’s time came. Her water breaks, and her labor comes full on; collapsing to the barn floor screaming out. What might Joseph have been thinking? “Really? Now? it’s time, NOW? In.a.barn? PERFECT!”

And then the rush of guests. What was with those shepherds? Who seeks out a homeless couple recovering from the most grueling of emotional, psychological, and physical challenges? Does anyone stop to ask, “Do they really need visitors at this time?” Really, is this some sort of spectator event? And people keep coming to find them. This shell-shocked young couple just trying to come to grips with what has happened to them--angels suddenly appearing announcing things that were to be done through them...to them--without their counsel or conference regarding their own plans. Perfectly confounding.

Mary and Joseph though, had this: they received what had been brought to them. Joseph was already a just and kind man, and Mary was already willing to play whatever part God would ask of her. There was no way for her to know that this helpless child she now held and whom God had given her would one day be hopeless forsaken by government justice and held in contempt; betrayed by national allegiance, forsaken by religious devotion, abandoned by familial obligation, and rejected of personal love. There was nothing about this first Christmas--the events which preceded it and the consequences which would later play out, that would lead any of us to place at any time any of these circumstances on our perfect Christmas list, but it was, nevertheless, perfect.

This first Christmas was perfectly loving. No treasure is greater than the gift of an only child, no social elevation is lower than a baby, no humility is more meek than an infant. The One who was hidden in cloud and in unapproachable light is now swaddled in the scraps of throwaway cloths. He who was infinitely above and beyond all grasping is drawn close in the arms of his mother, and is irresistibly inviting. In the first creation the Creator first breathed life into the man. In this second Creation, the Creator breaths as a man first as a baby. The One who Commanded and spoke his creation into being now speaks in coo-ings and cries of a creature in need. The Father’s Son from whom all men: fathers and sons derive their names and who makes them his own children and brothers becomes the adopted first son of a man named Joseph.

This Christmas we are freed from it having to be the perfect Christmas. We are free from having to produce the memories which will make it into the mythology of our collective Christmas memories. And we are free from being oppressed by what our hearts and grief can never make it be what we would want it to be. Why? Because the Perfect Christmas has come--and it folds our stories into the swaddling cloths of His story.

Christmas is your wildest wish coming true--that you are infinitely loved in spite of your faults and imperfections--that you are bought back from all treasons and rebellions and sins.

Christmas is winsomely hilarious and fun because it was announced with the revealing of joy and gladness that all our cynicism, sarcasm, doubt, fear, and incompetence has been shouted down and put in its place by an infant’s cry and an angel choir.

Christmas is meditative and thoughtful, reflective and quiet as the mother who treasured all of what was said and done in her heart. It is sad and mournful--because of ALL that was missed --ALL WHO WAS MISSED --by Creation and creature as their Maker had come to visit them.

Christmas is a little exasperated and angry because he came to that which was HIS--TO THOSE WHOM HE MADE, but they did not welcome him nor make room for him.

And Christmas is light and easy because he came to bear away all the heaviness and sorrow and pain AND SIN--and he did so perfectly, in love, and just in time--he did so that we might not have to climb under the weight of our own self-interested performance and pride.

Tonight, we come together to remember, remind, rejoice, and rest in the news that the Perfect Christmas has come.

Will you make room for him this Christmas? Will you open the door and welcome the Infant King even though what you have and what you aspire to be is so much less than perfect? Will you lay what you’re holding onto down here, at the feet of his cradle. And will you be taken up into the arms of the Father of the Heavenly Lights--who has sent his son like the rising of the Dawn into the darkness in order to give them salvation through the forgiveness of their sins. He has done this because of his perfect. tender. mercy. Will you?

It is time.

The Night is O'er, A Christmas Story

Over the past several years, rather than preaching an expositional sermon, I offer a Christmas message in the form of a story. Using fiction to communicate the gospel does not mean I believe the gospel is fiction. Rather I believe the gospel is true, and even though fictional stories are made up, made up stories can be true as well. Jesus, himself did this. They were called parables. Here is this years Christmas parable. Please forgive the poor editing. It is is Christmas after all.

[He came] to give his people the knowledge of salvation
            through the forgiveness of their sins,
because of the tender mercy of our God,
            by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
to shine on those living in darkness
            and in the shadow of death,
                        to guide our feet into the path of peace.”                                                                         

Luke 1:77-79

I.

Lucy and Thom and the Old Man, Photius were chained to the Dusk-Pillar, and they awaited the coming of what they knew would be the Judgment of Day. For the Light-Light would come, and all would be laid bare before the Great Eye of the Upper World. Though they had heard the songs and the prophecies from the Old Man to whom they were bound, Lucy and Thom had never been Upside when the Light-Light came.

The children did not know a time when anyone had lived above the world in the Land of the Light and Night. As long as they could remember they had lived under the Blue Mountains in the cave-kingdom of the Silver Queen.

The Upper World was a brutal place to live. There was the oppressive heat of the summer and the freezing cold of winter and there was the terror of darkness and the stark brightness of day. You know how hard it can be, and at this time and during this age in the world, it was hard and harsh and cruel. Kings came and went, and armies conquered and were driven out, and life in the Upper World took its toll on the people who lived in hope of The Day when things would be made right by the Sun-King. But the waiting became difficult.

The cruelty of evil oppressors and tyrants was not the only darkness they battled. Each person in the Kingdom themselves was given to a lightness and darkness in their heart. Like the moon, the people’s hope in THE HOPE and their love for one another and their zeal to do the will of the Father of Lights waxed and waned in phases from devotion to indifference, to betrayal, to despair and on and on and round and round.

In this way, the people were relieved by the darkness of the Night-Night because in the Night-Night they could not see nor could they be seen. And if one was clever enough, one could not see themself. Some believe in the comfort of ignorance, and in the Night-Night they could not see the terrible things that their enemies did to their loved ones, and they could not see the disappointing things that their friends did that hurt them so, but most of all they could not see the awful things that they themselves did which surprised and saddened them so greatly that they could not sleep. All this light they thought, meant heavy hearts. It seemed to the people that it was better to live in comfortable ignorance rather than live in the un-filtered heaviness of the Light and the interminable waiting for the Ever-Day when the Sun King would come. That was about the time that She came.

Moons ago the Silver Queen came to the people. And what with the people’s willingness to be ignorant and together with the heaviness in their hearts about their own darkness, the Silver Queen was able to enchant the people with the spell of a song by which she sung them into a waking-sleep.

When Night-Night is o’er and yellow is east,
Flee to the Great Door to find your relief.
The Great-Light sees all, his arrow flies true
And pierces the heart, and changes the hue
Of dull to bright, of secret to fright
All lies in the open, at the end of Night-night.
First comes the thrum of dindle and drum.
Next cuts the scissor sword of light and heat
With the ray his eye your judgment comes
To drive you to the dust in defeat.
In the Light do not stand
Seek the Silver Queen’s relief
Submit to her hand
And to the darkness retreat.

And that is how they came to follow her up into the caves of the Blue Mountains, past the Pillar of Dusk and through the Great Door into her Dark Kingdom. The Great Door kept the Light out, and it did. But as is often the case with doors that keep things out, they also serve to keep other things in. And so, the people became the Silver Queen’s slaves, and they served her blindly and ignorantly.

The enchantment of the cave hung like a foggy dream, and it was eerily silent except for the drip, drip, drip of water falling from stalactites hundreds of feet above. There was no laughter nor sounds of children playing nor of neighbors talking, and there was no music except the kind that made you drowsy. Even though the people were enchanted, all this dampness had an even greater effect their outlook. You know people, I do not doubt who are a wet blanket because their view of things is rather dreary and damp. Well the people who lived with the Silver Queen, were just that—all wet.

Now as much as one might want to live without light, one cannot live in a complete darkness of ignorance. And so, the Silver Queen taught the people how to mine and light moonstone. The moonstone glowed a silvery-blue and served to provide light for the World by which the people would be able to see, but not too much. At her command, the people dug mines deep into the mountains in order to find moonstones for the light-bearers who were called Lunatars. Each month, the Lunatars would take the mined moonstone out beyond the Great Gate to the Pillar of Dusk and leave the stones exposed to the Light of The Day. When they returned the next night, the moonstones glowed a bright silvery blue. The Lunatars would put the stones in lamps and mount them on staffs, and In this way they provided the people with a light to see as they mined more moonstone.

 (Now, you must remember that in the Queen’s realm, the night was day and the day was night. So, when it was light in the Upper World, it was time to be asleep below. But each evening of the Upper World, was the time that the people arose and went about their dreary work, until just before Great Light came up over the Eastern Sea.)

When time allowed, Lunatars would spend time studying the lights that shone on the ceiling of the Upper Land during the Night. They learned all the shapes these lights made and they watched wandering stars as they appeared each night and disappeared for a season. The Lunatars became experts in the meanings of the stars and the signs they foretold.

Every now and then, a Lunatar would go light-headed. After having learned so much about the lights of the Great Ceiling, they would begin to be curious about the Day, and the Light-Light, and they would ask whether someone could really live in the Light-Light. This sort of talk was very dangerous and was considered treason. If news of this sort of talk reached the others, the offending Lunatar would be cast out of the realm, and taken and tied to the Pillar of Dusk, where they would await the Judgment of The Day when at The Dawn all the secrets of the heart would be exposed, and they would see themselves and the world in all its hard reality.

The Old Man, Master Photius was an aged Lunatar to whom Lucy and Thom were apprenticed. Mostly they spent their days learning about the different kinds of rocks and soils and gems, where moonstone was likely to be found and which minerals were good for making tools and which were best for jewelry. But at the end of their day, after Thom and Lucy had cleaned up from supper, Master Photius would sit in his study and smoke his pipe. Seated in his chair he would tell them of the stories of the Upper Lands.

Master Photius would tell them about the Ceiling Lights which shone each night out beyond the cover of the Misty Valley. He described their shapes and order and recalled their names, He also told them how some believed in a Ruler greater than the Silver Queen, the Father, who made all the Lights of Heaven above and set them in place and called them by name. Photius told them that the Father of the Heavenly Lights had made a promise that he would bless the world and call his children out of the darkness. And late in the Night when the smoke-cloud of his pipe hung low in the room and the sweet smell of the pipe smoke swirled and drifted up toward the ceiling, Master Photius would sing parts of a forbidden song about how the Father of Lights would send His Son, the Sun-King, in a chariot with sword and bow to break all the enchantments of all the world’s Enchanters.

When you see the star on the Lion’s brow
In the heavens of Darkest Night
The Father above, Lord of all Renown
Shall send His Beloved Son of Light
Who shall come with the thrum of thundering drum
In a chariot of golden-bright beam.
From the east he shall rise riding the road of the sun
To vanquish the Silver Queen.

II.

Lucy was the first to discover the transformation. While up tending to the moonstones with Thom and Master Photius, Lucy misplaced her silver apprentice bracelet which, being the fidgety girl she was, was not surprising. While re-visiting one of the collections of moonstone after the Light Light had shown on them, Lucy found her bracelet. She also found that it was no longer silver, but that it had been transformed into sunstone (what you or I would call gold). Sunstone was the most precious of metals in the Underland.

When Lucy realized what had occurred and that she was wealthy beyond all her imagining (which for an orphan is like a dream come true), she felt both a great relief and a growing fear. She was relieved because now she would not be at the mercy of limited resources but would always have enough to take care of herself and not need to depend on others. For her she felt that she was, now safe. But with the relief came fear, for safety finally won, can be just as soon lost. However, in the excitement of her new security, she shared the news with her brother, Thom.

Thom was very excited too. For Thom the news of this discovery meant that he would no longer be looked down upon by the other apprentices, that they would now respect him, and that he could finally have the sorts of things he thought he had deserved. But he was more pleased to see himself as the envy of the other apprentices.

Later, Lucy and Thom shared their discovery with Master Photius. When he saw the sunstone bracelet, he saw in it a breakthrough into the recognition and honor of all the other Masters. Many had come who had spent their lives trying to make sunstone. This was the secret of all secrets, and not only would it make him rich, but it would make him the master of all the Masters. Photius warned them that the should tell no one, and he reminded them of the Silver Queen’s song and of the punishment of those who became light-headed.

Sometimes the temptation to tell a secret overwhelms the value of the secret one is keeping. Many kingdoms, friends, and families have found their end in the making public of a private word. In a wavering moment, Thom boasted of the sunstone he and Lucy had acquired in order to impress some of the older and more popular students. And when Lucy, tried to stop him from revealing their secret, he said, “You don’t know about grown up things. Stop being such a baby.” The telling of the secret was terrible, but Thom’s superior tone and mocking voice hurt Lucy more deeply. Even as he was speaking the words, Thom’s conscience noted his betrayal, and he felt things change between he and his sister.

Over several phases, Thom distanced himself from Lucy. He ignored her questions, and avoided her company. Thom found himself more interesting to the others, and they plied him with questions about the sunstone. Being noticed and listened to and liked and popular was a ‘dizzying’ drink that Thom could no longer resist, and he finally gave in to the pressure and told the other apprentices how the silver had turned into sunstone.

Because people are always seeking to find a way further in--into the center of power and popularity and success and approval, the center from which they have always imagined themselves excluded, each used the knowledge of the bracelet’s transformation to impress others. And so just as this was true of Thom it was true of the apprentices and of their Masters. What had previously been a secret to keep, became the most important news to share. And so an apprentice jealous of Thom and Lucy told on them to their Master, and a Master jealous of Master Photius told on him to the chief of the Lunatars who in turn took the news to the Silver Queen herself.

III.

Lucy and Thom and old Master Photius were accused and tried for high treason against the Silver Queen and the laws of the Underland. Bound with silver cords made by the Queen, and drowsy from their enchantment, the three were paraded through the moonstone lit city, up the winding road out the Great Door to the Pillar of Dusk to which they were bound to await the Judgment of The Day.

All were there to watch their drumming out and punishment. They mocked the three in their punishment and rejoiced in their being shamed. After pronouncing the judgment and sentence, the Chief Lunatar read the inscription on the Pillar:

In the Light do not stand
Seek the Silver Queen’s relief
Submit to her hand
And to the darkness retreat. 

In their exhaustion and sadness, a fitful sleep overtook the three. Each dreamed of the coming of The Day and what secrets the Light would expose.

Master Photius began to see the entitlement of age in his heart—how having lived long and having worked hard, he had come to presume honors and comforts and deference. The sad side of his entitlement lay in the change in his heart--that he had lost a sense of wonder and gratitude in the beauty around him and above him and in the music and promises.

Thom saw in his dream the ugliness of a heart which would betray a devoted sister for the scraps of approval of a few others whose company he didn’t even like. Having scurried around in order to try an get in, he found himself shut out.

And while Lucy dreamed, she saw that her fear of being without had led her to keep and manage all that she had: not only what she owned but her time and kindness. Having been so caught up by what she owned, she was owned by what she had. She meted out attention and rations with scrupulous exactness. And in so doing the security that wealth afforded only made her more fearful and petty.

Now with the coming of the Light Light, would the heaviness of their hearts and guilt crush them? Would the Father of the Heavenly Lights hear their cry for mercy and forgive? If even now it was not too late to cry such a cry. In that moment, something welled up in Lucy’s heart. Maybe it was the realization that ignorance and darkness and words spun to sound true did not make for joy or seeing or truth. Maybe it was the admission of the truth about the darkness in her own heart that it was better dealt with than managed. Lucy felt she was thinking clearly the first time, and she began to sing,

He shall come with the thrum of thundering drum
In a chariot of golden-bright beam.
From the east he shall rise riding the road of the sun
To vanquish the Silver Queen.

In turn Thom and their the Master joined Lucy and though each was afraid of the changed the Light Light would inevitably bring, they were bolstered by the song’s hope of deliverance. What would become of them? Could there be such a thing as too much light? Too much sight? Would the coming of the Sun-King and his just reality mean their own unmaking? Would they be crushed? Would the beauty of sight only expose their dingy ugliness?

IV.

At the darkest moment of the Night-Night, the breeze changed. All evening the damp and heavy air of the Misty Valley flowed down to the Pillar like an enchantment, but now the breeze turned and came from the East, dry and warm. The cloudy night sky began to break and the Ceiling Lights came into view. After a while the ceiling was cloudless and the stars shone bright and clear. There, high above the three, was the Lion and the bright new star on his brow.

Photius had told them of the lights of the Higher Lands, but they had never actually seen the great expanse of stars in the Night-Night sky. Because of this they did not know what to think of the stars which seemed to move from one part of the sky to another and then more and more moved from every direction across the sky towards them. Dozens and dozens became hundreds, and then became thousands and thousands of thousands of stars appeared and moved. And suddenly with the warm breeze came the faint sound of a song. “Listen,” Lucy whispered.

“What’s that?” said Thom?

“Shhh, listen. Don’t you hear the music?”

Master Photius, spoke for the first time, “It’s the Sky People.”

“Who?” said Thom

“The people from above the world. The Sky People,” explained their Master. And then they all could see them, and the song rang clear like bells.

The Sky People sang the Greatest Song, a song of joy and triumph and hope and promise. As the Sky People drew nearer, their song became louder and louder and the weight of their glorious song fell upon their hearts in tingling joy.

The night is over the day has come.
Awake and rise with the morning sun.
You weary and sad lift up your heads.
The Light arises and darkness has fled.

Look not for the Light in Palace or Hall
The King awaits in a stable’s stall
He comes not in anger to punish or condemn
But in love to drive darkness away from them

And so follow the star, it shall lead the way
To the Sun-King swaddled in manger and hay
The King of all kings comes humble and mild
The Commander now speaks in the cries of child.

For the promise He has kept, He has come as He said
To deliver the fearful and raise the dead.
Highest praise to Father, Spirit, and Son.
And Glory to God--the Three in One. 

The song seemed to clear their heads. Their fear of the coming of the Light-Light and Charioted Sun-King did now not seem so dreadful.

Photius saw the folly of hisentitlement—that he had never gotten what he really deserved, for it he had, his friends (and these children) would’ve long ago stopped offering forgiveness for his short-temper and impatience.

Thom saw the ugliness of his vanity and the betrayal of his dearest friend for what they were: a dark marring in the heart of his heart. “Oh, he thought, if I could only be changed.”

And Lucy too saw the greediness of her heart and the self-centered pre-eminence of her own concerns over those of others, “As if were not already wealthy in friends and companionship.” The pressure and weight of their guilt bore down on each in the same way the Sky People’s song had raised their spirits.

The sky glowed orange and gold in the east.
First comes the thrum of dindle and drum.
Next cuts the scissor sword of light and heat
With the ray his eye your judgment comes
To drive you to the dust in defeat.
Where bone is broken
And heart is cloven
Unclouded, undone, and un-Queened. 

And though they hadn’t noticed, the first rays of the dawn struck the hill on which they were standing. They heard the thundering noise and for the first time heard the prophecy in its right meaning. Each in turn, apologized for their brokenness and the wounding of the other, and through the tears of their apologies, they began to see. As the first rays of the Dawn fell upon them, the enchanted silver chords which had bound them to the Pillar evaporated, and their hearts were filled with the broadening peace of freedom and joy as they forgave and were forgiven. Noting the direction in which the star had shown, they went in search of the One of whom the song spoke, saying, “Let us go and see.”

V.

Since the Dawn of that Day many moons have waxed and waned, and on one day when the moon was full, the darkness seemed to overtake the sunlit world as the Sun-King was led on a meandering journey through a city and out it’s gate. Mocked by his peers and betrayed by his brothers, this King, was marched to a hill outside the gate, where he was hung on tree. Some believed that the darkness had overtaken him, but rather as he was shut behind a great stone door, he took into himself all of the darkness of all our pride and self-deceit and sin, for he was not a reflection of the Light, but he was himself the Light, and one dawn a few dawns later, he burst forth from darkness to shine on our darkness and lead us to peace. This was the end of the beginning, but tonight we remember the day when the first rays of the Dawn of this Sun-King brought to light the secret motives of the heart of God. For in the darkness of a stable in the edge of a province far from the lighted center of imperial power the Light Light came to announce the tender mercy of the Father of the Heavenly Lights.

A Christmas Story: Joy Comes to Greyton

Each Christmas Eve I take the opportunity to present the Christmas Eve message using a genre other than the usual expository sermon. This Christmas Eve, I shared a fictional story. Now using fiction to tell the gospel does not mean I have a low regard for the authority of the Scriptures. On the contrary, there are many fictional stories in the Scriptures that are true stories. They are called parables. And so, we wish you a Merry Christmas, with this Christmas parable.

I

Once upon a time in a very distant land near the town of Greyton there lived a brother and a sister named John and April Mayfield. Being orphans, John and April had to look out for themselves. And being alone in the world, they were considered Outcasts, and had to live as shepherds in the wide open spaces beyond the town.

This night, John Mayfield sat on the cold, hard ground beside the unconscious body of his now sleeping sister, April, and he wept. He cried because he was afraid, but most of all he cried because he was ashamed that he had done nothing to help.

Earlier that evening, John, April and the other shepherds were moving their flocks closer to the town. The severity of the winter-Winter had set in and food was scarce. For the past few nights, packs of desperately hungry wolves were drawing closer to the flocks. Their howls grew louder, and the shepherds knew that at some point the wolves’ hunger would overcome their fear, and they would attack. When the attack came, even the older shepherds were surprised by its ferocity and speed .

When the wolves rushed in among the flocks, April moved to protect the ewe lambs. Swinging wildly with her staff, two of the wolves turned on her. John also had rushed in, and he saw the wolves turn to attack his sister. John tripped on the uneven ground, and the spectacles he was wearing fell from his face. Lying on the ground and frozen in fear, he trembled as he lay helpless. In the commotion, another shepherd, named Gabe, rushed to April’s defense. As Gabe ran past John, he looked down at John. John knew Gabe saw him, and John believed Gabe saw his fear and shame of powerlessness. Gabe drove the attackers away from April and pursued them into the wood. The howls and cries of battle continued out of sight and became more distant and more faint. Even though Gabe was an experienced shepherd and a strong man, it had been several hours, and Gabe had not returned. So, it seemed that though Gabe had saved April’s life and the flock, John was afraid that he was unable to save his himself.

John had seen the evening’s events, unspectacled, and he saw them for what they were. Now that he had put the spectacles back on, he saw himself for what he was: a coward. Yes, he had fallen, and yes, he was still a young lad, but he knew. He knew that he did not get up though he could have; he knew that he didn’t even try. Instead, paralyzed by fear, he laid there and watched another shepherd – an Outsider, save his flock. But most importantly, he saw him save the life of the only other person in his life who cared about him. And now, he sat beside her alone in the empty and icy hardness of Winter thinking himself the most unfortunate boy who had ever lived.

II

Things had not always been unfortunate for John and April. Seven years ago, before the goblin, Glubglot was made Governor by the Old Steward, the Mayfields had lived with their mother and father along the banks of the Wandering River in the town Greyton. Though their means were modest, they lived a comfortable and happy life.  But then The Age came, and the endless Winter began and the River froze hard and sickness and hunger descended on the land, and the wolves came down from the distant mountain wilderness.

The Age took its toll on the Kingdom and on the Old Steward who himself gave way under the weight of its melancholy. Just as the Age made the land hard, it made the people hard. Even in the small town of Greyton where people had been friends for time out of mind, the people grew cold to one another. They envied and grew suspicious and spied on each other and were harsh. The Steward, bent over with the burden of governing, began to look for help from anyone who would offer, and it was in this way that the he began to give his ear to the goblin.

Globglot was an ugly goblin. (Now, if you’ve known goblins you know that being an ugly goblin is very ugly, and Globglot’s ugliness was inside and out). As goblins go, he was a clever goblin, and he used the hardness of The Age to his advantage. The scarcity caused by the Unending Winter made the Steward desperate to have more. Glubglot used the Steward’s fear to gain power, and he promised to increase the kingdom’s productivity and make more efficient, its use of resources. And so, in this way, the Steward turned from trusting the Promise-Maker’s promises to getting what he wanted by other means. The Age produced a good measure of misery which Glubglot enjoyed immensely. But the genius of his wickedness he demonstrated in the Lead Glasses he made for the people.

Glubglot called the glasses, Suspectacles which, when worn, would give the wearer the ability to see through things. Anyone wearing suspectacles would be able, so they thought, to see things the way they really were. Through their lenses, no one saw the wonder of creation, any sincerity in motives, and no beauty in sacrifice. They only saw: efficiency or not, utility or not, profit or not. And so, as you or I would surely realize, being able to see through everything only means that your are unable to see anything, and in the end, though the Steward and the people thought they were growing in knowledge and insight, they were really being blinded, and the longer the people wore the heavy lead framed suspectacles, the more their heads dropped, and the more miserable they became.

There were others among the Kingdom who would not wear the glasses; they were the Outcasts. Because they would not submit to wearing the suspectacles, they were sent to work as shepherds out beyond the security of the town. The Outcasts believed the Promise-Maker’s Promises and the Stories of the promises, and they lived in the hope that the King would come and that he would end the Age of the Unending Winter and that sitting on his throne the Forever-Joy would begin.

Gabe was an Outcast, and he was called Good Gabe by all who new him. At first, John and April did not trust him. Seeing him through their suspectacles, they thought that this big, strong, loud man with red cheeks and a hearty laugh was really out to take advantage of them. But over the months, he had shown himself a light-hearted and merry kind of fellow. “He may be a fool,” April would say, “but an honest and jolly fool is better company than a clever goblin.” And so, John and April kept company with Gabe around the campfire in the evening, and sometimes they forgot themselves and laughed with him, but this night, there was no laughter around the fire, John was alone full of shame and regret.

III.

Maybe it was because his spectacles had been knocked from his eyes during the attack by the wolves, but John saw in Gabe’s courage and desperation as he fought for April a beauty that he could not explain. No doubt, if he had seen things through the lead glasses, he would’ve seen a fool-hearty and reckless act. Gabe’s sheep were not at risk. Both John and April offered no real advantage to him or the other shepherds. Their ignorance of shepherding and their youth made them more a liability than an advantage to the company of shepherds, and yet the bravery with which Gabe had saved April and John and their flock began to work in John’s heart. In that moment, a possible hope and even a little fear, began to stir in John, that maybe there was something heavier—something more real through which one could not see but was that which all looking hoped to see.

Sitting beside the resting body of his sister, John remembered the many campfire talks they had with Gabe. John recalled how Gabe’s unspectacled eyes twinkled kindness and warmth—even if he was, by all accounts, just a jovial fool. Gabe told them about how life had been before Glubglot had deceived the Steward, and that there was still a hope in which to hope. Long ago, the Promise had been made that a new King would come and that he would bear away all the heaviness of life and speak wise words and turn things from the way they are to the way they ought to be and that his ageless reign would not grow old but would be new every day. During the King’s reign the Winter would give way to summer and anger to reconciliation and wrongs to forgiveness and sadness to joy. He thought of the song he often heard Gabe sing,

The door that was closed shall be opened.

The lingering cold shall give way.

The power of winter shall be broken,

And night shall give rise to New Day.

But of course, John suspected that that was only wishful thinking. April had been inclined to believe, but John could not…would not, and even more so now, as the weight of his sadness and weariness pressed down on him. There beside her, he groped for some explanation of the weakness of his heart and the beauty of Gabe’s selflessness.

IV.

April awoke in the next hour, and though she was still shaken, she sensed the silence of his mood and having lost her glasses in the struggle, she saw more clearly the resignation and defeat in her brother.

That evening as they sat up to watch the sheep, the heaviness of John’s sadness and regret hung over him. The events of the night and of the preceding seven years as well seemed to wash over him in a deafening, silent darkness. April reached out and took his hand and said, “I wonder…”

And from behind, a voice laughed and said, “I wonder, indeed.” Startled, John and April turned to see Gabe – Good ol’ Gabe -- standing behind them. Jumping up, they each rushed to embrace him, but John drew up short and lowered his head. Gabe caught his eye and said, “Come now, John. Do not hang back but welcome and be welcomed,” and he reached and took John in his arms and said,

“The door that was closed has been opened.

The cold that has lingered gives way

The power of winter is broken

And night gives rise to New Day.”

And suddenly, Good Gabe glowed with all his goodness as if a fire had ignited from within him. Unmasked, he showed his true quality as one of the Bright Messengers of the Promise-Maker. He glowed with a brightness that pushed down harder than any burden, and in his revealed presence, John and April trembled before the glowing reality. In the presence of this light, the lead suspectacles which John wore evaporated in a wisp like a fog before a spring morning. And now John really saw. He saw his refusal to enter into joy, his cynicism and sadness, his cowardice and fear, and even his shame for what they were: a denial. All his life, John had lived in fear of being taken in by an unreal happiness. But now, being really un-happy, would he step into the uncertainty of a future grace?

In the presence of that glory John’s doubt shook, and his pettiness cracked. Gabe, glowing ever brighter, said, “Do not be afraid because I have great and joyful news. Today, the long-awaited King has come to Greyton. And so that you will believe that what I say is true, hear this:

The Great King has come as a baby.

Draw near as you would any child.

He is swaddled in the arms of lady

The Majestic come meek and mild.

He sits not in castle or throne room

But lies in a manger with straw

Infinity wrapped as an infant

The Joy who is offered to all.

Go now to His side and there greet him.

The Joy that the Promise has made

Eternity has entered our Grey Town

The Promise has come as a babe.”

And at that moment the clouded-night winter skies were ripped open and thousands upon thousands of Bright Ones appeared in the now starry sky; the weight of their glory was joy, and it fell in huge blocks of light. They sang the song of the Good News, and of  highest praise to the Promise-Maker who had kept his promise to all those who’s hope is in Him.

And to all this John and April listened and received and welcomed. And as they received, they were changed. For no matter what had happened to them, and what sadness and brokenness they had born, this news meant that they were not alone and that it was not all for nothing. It meant that the great, lumbering distance to the end was not their walk to make, but rather, the Blessed One who awaits at the end has made his way to them.

John, April, and the other shepherds rushed to the town and found the baby King just as Gabe had told them, and in that moment, their belief hardened; it did not callous, but rather, as in a sad song, it resolved into a major key and they too shown with the light of his glory. John and April told the parents of the baby King all that had happened and of the beauty and glory and music and light, and the baby’s mother seemed to specially take it all to heart.

Now, though everything changed that night, it would be many years before the beginning was finished and the end begun. And even though The King had come, Glubglot still deceived the people, and many still wore their lead suspectacles and thought it very foolish of those who did not.

And since the beginning of the end, more goblins have continued to come and bring with them other devices which they promise will help people to really see. Yet for those who lay down their real unhappiness before the King and step into the light of the news of his coming, unending winter passes, and he bears them into the cosmic summer of his unshakeable joy.

A Christmas Story: The Knakers and the Kwakers

Each Christmas Eve I do something along the lines of a narrative sermon. Here's last year's story.

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Revel there lived a young, orphan  girl named Linny. Linny was an orphan who worked in the castle where the King had once lived and where the Enchanter lived now. It had been a long time since the King had gone away over the sea, and it had been a long time since he had sent the portraits which were to be hung in the castle but had been long since been discarded or destroyed or at least left unattended in forgotten halls and rooms in the great castle. At least no one thought they needed the portraits as long as they had the Mirror.

Linny’s mother had been a Knaker. The Knakers were a fun-loving people who lived in the center of the great city. The part of town from which Linny’s mother came was, of course, loud and boisterous and fun. The Knakers there always traveled in groups, and if you were to live among them, you would have the feeling that everyday begins with a parade and ends with a party. The Knakers were always talking loudly and singly loudly and were excited about everything social.

Linny’s father had been a Kwakers. (Now, this being a story about a long time ago in a  land far way these Kwakers have nothing to do with those friends you may have whom are called the same--though I am informed that some of them enjoyed their oats). The part of town in which Linny’s father grew up was a full of libraries, and parks with benches overlooking ponds and stroll ways for walking. Just as there were parades and parties among the Knakers, there was quiet and solitude with Kwakers.

The mirror, the Great Mirror as it had been called, was made by the King for the people of Revel. It was a wonder. Overlaid with gold, ornate and inset with jewels, the King made the mirror so that the people could always see him even though he was away. The day the King left, he brought out the mirror and set it on the dais near the large window behind his throne which overlooked the sea, and he told them that if ever they were discouraged or afraid or needed wisdom all they need do was to turn the mirror so that it faced across the sea. And if they looked intently and patiently, they would see him in the mirror in all his kingly justice, wisdom, and splendor, and they would be reminded of his love for them, his mercy and compassion, and his promise to return. Afterward, the King boarded his ship and traveled across the sea.

Long after, but not long enough, the Knakers and Kwakers were deceived by the enchantment of THE Enchanter—though none thought of themselves as having been enchanted. The Enchanter showed the people of Revel that they could look into the mirror and see themselves. It was fascinating, for up to that time, no one in Revell had nor had want of a mirror. The Enchanter taught them that if they looked into the Great Mirror they could see themselves, and the could see how others saw them. Looking into the mirror was such a help because by it they could see whether they were a good Knaker or Kwaker. Sadly, the Enchanter helped them forget for what the mirror was made and used the mirror for what it wasn’t made. After much use, the Knakers and Kwakers grew to depend upon the mirror and soon forgot about the King and his promise. “If only,” they thought, “one could take the mirror with them…then he would not need to make the daily journey to the castle and instead could spend the time in more profitable business such as reading and thinking or talking and having parties.

Having jumped into the Enchanter’s trap, they made their wish to have their own mirrors to the Enchanter, and so the Enchanter made small mirrors for the Knakers and the Kwakers to wear about their necks which he called, Vanities. The Knakers carried vanities so that they could see themselves whenever they wanted and the Kwakers carried vanities for the same reason. The Knakers liked to see themselves at the center of gatherings and parties--being recognized and enjoyed and showing that they knew this person or that person and that they knew what everyone had been doing. The Kwakers liked to see themselves too, but they liked to see themselves thinking or reading with profound and knowing expressions and answering complex questions with correct, thoughtful and profound answers. All of this mirror watching did not make either Knaker or Kwaker merry, though many of them thought themselves happy.

Increasingly the Knakers grew noisier, their busy-ness turned them into busy-bodies, and their love for conversation turned to talking about one another. As they spent more time looking into their Vanities, they grew suspicious of how other’s Vanities reflected their image, and so they were always looking over each other’s shoulders to look into everyone else’s mirrors to see what they looked like.

Now, the worst of the Knakers were called Rotters, not because they were ‘rotten’ which is true, but because they were rioters -- they started fights wherever they went and they broke furniture whenever they visited; they were terrors every last one of them. Most of the Knakers knew that being a Rotter did not make one look good, and so they forced the Rotters outside of the city where they could be as rotten as they liked and the Knakers could keep their stuff from being burnt or broken.

As the Knakers stole glances into other’s vanities, their suspicions were confirmed by what they saw. And just so, their friendships broke, their parties became stuffy, their conversation, cliché. They found that the only way to combat all of their bad feelings was to make more noise. And so they talked louder, had more parties, spoke more words, sang thoughtless jingles, and of course looked into their Vanities.

The Kwakers, too, loved their vanities. They watched themselves thinking and reading and speaking big words, and the more they did, the more brooding they became. They thought of what their friends thought of them, and when they found out that their friends did not think much about them, they became more fearful that they were unappreciated and more sad that no one visited them.

Some Kwakers lived in foreign lands and were called Watchers. Not having been given Vanities they were able to spend more time thinking about the King rather than themselves, and they grew rich in the lore about the King and about the Great Mirror. Sometimes they would come visit, but they found their Kwaker brothers and sisters did not seem to enjoy their company, and so they returned to their homes far away.

In time, as the Kwakers used their Vanities more and more, they grew resentful at the thoughtlessness of their friends, and they harbored bitterness in their hearts. These people who were so careful about what they thought and did and said became care worn with worry and fretting. The enjoyment of quiet conversations and thoughtful strolls and thinking retreats gave way to the noise of thoughts about what others thought of them and what they thought of themselves thinking about what other’s said and whether anything they did, let alone their thinking about it, mattered.

One thing that bound all Knakers together and all Kwakers together was how foolish and shallow and dull and boring the other was. Sometimes however, Knakers and Kwakers would become friends. A Knaker would find a Kwaker to be a good listener and so one would talk while the other listened, and, sometimes they fell in love an married just as Linny’s parents did. Linny’s mother and father, both enjoyed and was infuriated by the other. One was a party pooper and the other bossy. One was superficial and the other did not know how to have fun. They each argued and made up so many times, that, as is often the case in such friendships, they married so that they could continue for the rest of their lives. But sadly, they were not able to for as long as they had imagined, and they left Linny alone as an orphan in the city of Revel.

Alone in the world and in need of food, Linny worked as a scullery maid in the castle which means, as I’m sure you know, that she had the hardest and dirtiest job. Her duties were the most thankless yet most often complained against.

The Enchanter had now lived in the castle for many years, and it had been long since the sun shone in a bright blue spring morning. Day after day, the grey clouds hung like lead over the kingdom. And what with all the noise of the Knaker’s chatter and the Kwaker’s brooding, Revel was a busy but joyless place, and for Linny it was more so.

Everyday, all she saw was the grey of the stone floor which she washed with dingy water. Everyday she gathered the used up fireplace ashes. And everyday she faced the darkness of her future, for she knew that the constant burden of always being on her knees in the dirt and soot with no hope would squeeze the joy and love from her heart. She had seen it in the older staff and she new it was in her as well. She was impatient with the children who tracked across her clean floors and she was resentful at the children who had time and toys to do what they pleased. She had even taken out her frustration on the kitchen cat whose tail she pulled. She was hurt by the name calling and fun that others had at her expense when the called her “Skinny Linny” with that mocking, sing-song voice, and made fun of her by singing,

Skinny Linny do your chores.
Skinny Linny wash the floors.
Skinny Linny, such a biddy.
Skinny Linny what a bore. 

One day while she was in the throne room, washing the floor in front of a large piece of furniture, she noticed a red stone on the floor under the cover. The red stone against the grey of the slate floor caught her eyes. I would even say it hurt because she had not seen something so colorful in what seemed many months. Thinking that the stone came from the covered furniture, she thought to place it back -- she was after all, an honest young girl.

Pulling back the cover, she discovered the Great Mirror. Linny took the cover off completely, and as she looked into the mirror she saw her reflection. She remembered her father’s thoughtfulness and her mother’s mirth. She remembered the green grass and the blue sky; the stars at night and the lightening bugs that swarmed on warm summer evenings. She remembered winter nights that weren’t grey and cold but were warm and cozy with fire and friends and stories. She remembered the city before the King had gone away -- how bright and full of ease and just it was then. And she saw herself -- the scullery maid, Skinny Linny, alone and forgotten. And as would’ve been true for you or I, if we had been left alone in a sad place, she began to cry.

Almost inaudibly while she cried, she began to speak in between the breaths and quiet sobs, “Why, oh why? Where have you gone? And why won’t you come back? Make things right. Make me right.”

And as she stood before that mirror she heard the King speak. Whether she heard with her ears or just with her heart she could not tell. This is what heard,

When night is the darkest
And the winter cold
The King shall come meekly
The universe, to hold.
He shall be:
Homeless or those without home,
A gift for the giftless
Weak for those without strength,
And a kind word for the speechless
When I return from across the sea
Many will deny nor welcome nor receive
But you go this night by the sea and wait
For the return I promise, I now will make.

And so Linny who after not a little thinking and worrying and complaining, replaced the cover and did just as she was told. And speaking with a friend about what had been said, she went to the beach beyond the castle, where they found the little boat in which was wrapped a baby boy. Doing what she could and with the help of her friend, she saw that the baby was fed and warmed. The baby cried when he was hungry and he fussed when his diaper needed changing. For this was not the King looking like a baby, this was the baby King, and he needed all the help and care that every baby needs.

Not long after she found the baby, a great group of Rotters came to see Linny and the baby King. They said that Sky People had appeared to them with a great sound and light -- a light brighter than any burning and a song greater than any jeering -- it was heavy sound and light, and the terrors themselves were terrified. The Sky People told them that the son of the King, the King of Joy and Light and Love and Glory had come to Revel and that if they came they would share THE JOY of the King and find his son which of course, they had and did.

Linny kept the boy with her friend and they cared for him. Several days latter, some Watchers came from far away to see the baby King and to honor him with gifts, for they had seen signs in the sky that foretold his coming. Each of the gifts they brought honored what they understood to be how he would deliver the Kingdom of Revel from the enchantment of the Enchanter: Gold pure and bright enough for a King’s crown, Incense to veil his glory and majesty that he might walk among them as a sweet smelling fragrance, and Spice to honor the payment he would offer in the sacrifice of his life to deliver them. Of all these things, Linny pondered in her heart like a good Kwaker and thought of them often. And as a good Knaker, her heart rejoice and sang to the King and boasted to anyone who would listen about the kindness of the King who heard her cry for rescue and deliverance.

I could go on and tell you about how the young King grew, what he learned and how he fulfilled his Father’s wish to deliver the people from the Enchanter’s enchantment and the condemnation of their own treason, but that is another story for another time.

From the day the that the Rotters and the Watchers visited Linny and the baby King, much in the Kingdom of Revel remained as it had always been. The greatest gift ever given and surest hope ever offered went unrecognized and unappreciated. Indeed, many gifts have been given with the whole heart and have gone unreceived nor recognized. The Knakers and the Kwakers continued to use their Vanities. And in the noise of their chatter and their brooding, they never heard the singing of all that is--the light but heavy song which breaks through when Kwakers rejoice and Knakers listen. For some though such as Linny, nothing was ever the same.

We gather tonight to ponder and honor, to make merry and rejoice, for the KING who makes carefree the careworn and who makes the careless kind has come. The evil spell of the Enchanter has been broken by the Godspell. The King’s Son has come and broken the power of Vanity and sin. The Kings’ Son has come, and He gives rest for the weary and makes them merry and gentle.

Gaudete Sunday

Today is Gaudete Sunday. During this Advent Sunday's readings is the scripture from Philippians 4:4 "Rejoice in the Lord always, I will say it again, Rejoice!" In it we remember the message of the Angel of the Lord and the Heavenly Host as they announcement to coming of the Messiah, "Fear not because I bring you good news of great joy!"

I recently came across a 16th Century Christmas carol entitled "Gaudete" which is a rejoicing song about the coming of the Messiah.

Here is the text with a loose translation.

Gaudete, Gaudete! Christus et natus Ex maria virgine, Gaudete!	Rejoice, Rejoice! Christ is born Of the virgin Mary, Rejoice!
Tempus ad est gratiae, Hoc quod optabamus; Carmina laetitiae, Devote redamus.	Now is the time of grace That we have longed. Let us sing songs of joy! Let us render devotion!
Deus homo factus est, Natura mirante; Mundus renovatus est A Christo regnante.	God was made man; Creation marvels. The world was renewed By Christ who is King.
Ezechiellis porta Clausa pertransitur; Unde lux est orta Salus invenitur.	The closed gate of Ezekiel Has been passed through; From where the light arises Salvation is found.
Ergo nostra cantio, Psallat iam in lustro; Benedicat Domino: Salus Regi nostro.	Therefore let the assembly, Sing in the brightness of dawning; Let it praise the Lord: Greetings to our King.

I love the language and what I think is a reference to Ezekiel 46. The imagery captures the true worship led by the King in the Restored Kingdom in which the Eastern gate is not only opened to the direction of the dawn but also to direction of those who are in captivity in Babylon. The passage reads:

“Thus says the Lord GOD: The gate of the inner court that faces east shall be shut on the six working days, but on the Sabbath day it shall be opened, and on the day of the new moon it shall be opened. The prince shall enter by the vestibule of the gate from outside, and shall take his stand by the post of the gate. The priests shall offer his burnt offering and his peace offerings, and he shall worship at the threshold of the gate. Then he shall go out, but the gate shall not be shut until evening."

I also love the imagery of light -- a light that is not mere inner illumination or enlightenment but is of a cosmic dawning that banishes darkness.

At any rate, I first came across Steeleye Span's version of the carol which climb the music charts in England in the 60's. Here's their recent anniversary edition.

And a much more polished version by another choir here:

Why is Christmas December 25?

Today is Annunciation Day. You can read the account of Gabriel's announcement to Mary in Luke 1:26 and following.

Additionally, Biblical Archeology Review posted a helpful explanation as to why the birth of Jesus Christ is celebrated on December 25. Many have, sadly, bought into the quasi DaVinci Codesque conspiracy theories that Christians were trying to co-opt, ruin, or take over Saturnalia or Sol Invictus. Neither is true. Rather, the birth of Christ is remembered and/or calculated because of Annunciation Day, March 25. For those who ask why Annunciation Day? Their question is answered when they count nine months from March 25th.

Here's a portion of the article on why December 25.

The December 25 feast seems to have existed before 312—before Constantine and his conversion, at least. As we have seen, the Donatist Christians in North Africa seem to have know it from before that time. Furthermore, in the mid- to late fourth century, church leaders in the eastern Empire concerned themselves not with introducing a celebration of Jesus’ birthday, but with the addition of the December date to their traditional celebration on January 6. 

There is another way to account for the origins of Christmas on December 25: Strange as it may seem, the key to dating Jesus’ birth may lie in the dating of Jesus’ death at Passover. This view was first suggested to the modern world by French scholar Louis Duchesne in the early 20th century and fully developed by American Thomas Talley in more recent years. But they were certainly not the first to note a connection between the traditional date of Jesus’ death and his birth. 

Around 200 C.E. Tertullian of Carthage reported the calculation that the 14th of Nisan (the day of the crucifixion according to the Gospel of John) in the year Jesus died was equivalent to March 25 in the Roman (solar) calendar. March 25 is, of course, nine months before December 25; it was later recognized as the Feast of the Annunciation—the commemoration of Jesus’ conception.Thus, Jesus was believed to have been conceived and crucified on the same day of the year. Exactly nine months later, Jesus was born, on December 25. 

This idea appears in an anonymous Christian treatise titled On Solstices and Equinoxes, which appears to come from fourth-century North Africa. The treatise states: “Therefore our Lord was conceived on the eighth of the kalends of April in the month of March [March 25], which is the day of the passion of the Lord and of his conception. For on that day he was conceived on the same he suffered.” Based on this, the treatise dates Jesus’ birth to the winter solstice.

Linny and the Baby King: A Christmas Story

Once upon a time in the Kingdom of Revel there lived a young, orphan girl named Linny. Linny worked in the castle where the King had once lived and where the Enchanter lived now. It had been many years since the King had gone away over the sea, and it had been a long time since he had sent the portraits which were to be hung in the castle but have since been discarded or destroyed or at least left unattended in forgotten halls and rooms in the great castle. At least no one thought they needed the portraits as long as they had the Mirror.

Linny’s mother had been a Knaker. The Knakers were a fun-loving people who lived in the center of the great city. The part of town from which Linny’s mother came was, of course, loud and boisterous and fun. The Knakers there always traveled in groups, and if you were to live among them, you would have the feeling that everyday begins with a parade and ends with a party. The Knakers were always talking loudly and singly loudly and were excited about everything social.

Linny’s father had been a Kwakers. (Now, this being a story about a long time ago in a land far way these Kwakers have nothing to do with those friends you may have whom are called the same--though I am informed that some of them enjoyed their oats). The part of town in which Linny’s father grew up was a full of libraries, and parks with benches overlooking ponds and stroll ways for walking. Just as there were parades and parties among the Knakers, there was quiet and solitude with Kwakers.

The mirror, the Great Mirror as it had been called, was made by the King for the people of Revel. It was a wonder. Overlaid with gold, ornate and inset with jewels, the King made the mirror so that the people could always see him even though he was away. The day the King left, he brought out the mirror and set it on the dais near the large window behind his throne which overlooked the sea, and he told them that if ever they were discouraged or afraid or needed wisdom all they need do was to turn the mirror so that it faced across the sea. And if they looked intently and patiently, they would see him in the mirror in all his kingly justice, wisdom, and splendor, and they would be reminded of his love for them, his mercy and compassion, and his promise to return. Afterward, the King boarded his ship and traveled across the sea.

Long after, but not long enough, the Knakers and Kwakers were deceived by the enchantment of THE Enchanter—though none thought of themselves as having been enchanted. The Enchanter showed the people of Revel that they could look into the mirror and see themselves. It was fascinating, for up to that time, no one in Revell had nor had want of a mirror. The Enchanter taught them that if they looked into the Great Mirror they could see themselves, and the could see how others saw them. Looking into the mirror was such a help because by it they could see whether they were a good Knaker or Kwaker. Sadly, the Enchanter helped them forget for what the mirror was made and used the mirror for what it wasn’t made. After much use, the Knakers and Kwakers grew to depend upon the mirror and soon forgot about the King and his promise. “If only,” they thought, “one could take the mirror with them…then he would not need to make the daily journey to the castle and instead could spend the time in more profitable business such as reading and thinking or talking and having parties.

Having jumped into the Enchanter’s trap, they made their wish to have their own mirrors to the Enchanter, and so the Enchanter made small mirrors for the Knakers and the Kwakers to wear about their necks which he called, Vanities. The Knakers carried vanities so that they could see themselves whenever they wanted and the Kwakers carried vanities for the same reason. The Knakers liked to see themselves at the center of gatherings and parties--being recognized and enjoyed and showing that they knew this person or that person and that they knew what everyone had been doing. The Kwakers liked to see themselves too, but they liked to see themselves thinking or reading with profound and knowing expressions and answering complex questions with correct, thoughtful and profound answers. All of this mirror watching did not make either Knaker or Kwaker merry, though many of them thought themselves happy.

Increasingly the Knakers grew noisier, their busy-ness turned them into busy-bodies, and their love for conversation turned to talking about one another. As they spent more time looking into their Vanities, they grew suspicious of how other’s Vanities reflected their image, and so they were always looking over each other’s shoulders to look into everyone else’s mirrors to see what they looked like.

Now, the worst of the Knakers were called Rotters, not because they were ‘rotten’ which is true, but because they were rioters -- they started fights wherever they went and they broke furniture whenever they visited; they were terrors every last one of them. Most of the Knakers knew that being a Rotter did not make one look good, and so they forced the Rotters outside of the city where they could be as rotten as they liked and the Knakers could keep their stuff from being burnt or broken.

As the Knakers stole glances into other’s vanities, their suspicions were confirmed by what they saw. And just so, their friendships broke, their parties became stuffy, their conversation, cliché. They found that the only way to combat all of their bad feelings was to make more noise. And so they talked louder, had more parties, spoke more words, sang thoughtless jingles, and of course looked into their Vanities.

The Kwakers, too, loved their vanities. They watched themselves thinking and reading and speaking big words, and the more they did, the more brooding they became. They thought of what their friends thought of them, and when they found out that their friends did not think much about them, they became more fearful that they were unappreciated and more sad that no one visited them.

Some Kwakers lived in foreign lands and were called Watchers. Not having been given Vanities they were able to spend more time thinking about the King rather than themselves, and they grew rich in the lore about the King and about the Great Mirror. Sometimes they would come visit, but they found their Kwaker brothers and sisters did not seem to enjoy their company, and so they returned to their homes far away.

In time, as the Kwakers used their Vanities more and more, they grew resentful at the thoughtlessness of their friends, and they harbored bitterness in their hearts. These people who were so careful about what they thought and did and said became care worn with worry and fretting. The enjoyment of quiet conversations and thoughtful strolls and thinking retreats gave way to the noise of thoughts about what others thought of them and what they thought of themselves thinking about what other’s said and whether anything they did, let alone their thinking about it, mattered.

One thing that bound all Knakers together and all Kwakers together was how foolish and shallow and dull and boring the other was. Sometimes however, Knakers and Kwakers would become friends. A Knaker would find a Kwaker to be a good listener and so one would talk while the other listened, and, sometimes they fell in love an married just as Linny’s parents did. Linny’s mother and father, both enjoyed and was infuriated by the other. One was a party pooper and the other bossy. One was superficial and the other did not know how to have fun. They each argued and made up so many times, that, as is often the case in such friendships, they married so that they could continue for the rest of their lives. But sadly, they were not able to for as long as they had imagined, and they left Linny alone as an orphan in the city of Revel.

Alone in the world and in need of food, Linny worked as a scullery maid in the castle which means, as I’m sure you know, that she had the hardest and dirtiest job. Her duties were the most thankless yet most often complained against.

The Enchanter had now lived in the castle for many years, and it had been long since the sun shone in a bright blue spring morning. Day after day, the grey clouds hung like lead over the kingdom. And what with all the noise of the Knaker’s chatter and the Kwaker’s brooding, Revel was a busy but joyless place, and for Linny it was more so.

Everyday, all she saw was the grey of the stone floor which she washed with dingy water. Everyday she gathered the used up fireplace ashes. And everyday she faced the darkness of her future, for she knew that the constant burden of always being on her knees in the dirt and soot with no hope would squeeze the joy and love from her heart. She had seen it in the older staff and she new it was in her as well. She was impatient with the children who tracked across her clean floors and she was resentful at the children who had time and toys to do what they pleased. She had even taken out her frustration on the kitchen cat whose tail she pulled. She was hurt by the name calling and fun that others had at her expense when the called her “Skinny Linny” with that mocking, sing-song voice, and made fun of her by singing,

Skinny Linny do your chores.
Skinny Linny wash the floors.
Skinny Linny, such a biddy.
Skinny Linny what a bore.

One day while she was in the throne room, washing the floor in front of a large piece of furniture, she noticed a red stone on the floor under the cover. The red stone against the grey of the slate floor caught her eyes. I would even say it hurt because she had not seen something so colorful in what seemed many months. Thinking that the stone came from the covered furniture, she thought to place it back -- she was after all, an honest young girl.

Pulling back the cover, she discovered the Great Mirror. Linny took the cover off completely, and as she looked into the mirror she saw her reflection. She remembered her father’s thoughtfulness and her mother’s mirth. She remembered the green grass and the blue sky; the stars at night and the lightening bugs that swarmed on warm summer evenings. She remembered winter nights that weren’t grey and cold but were warm and cozy with fire and friends and stories. She remembered the city before the King had gone away -- how bright and full of ease and just it was then. And she saw herself -- the scullery maid, Skinny Linny, alone and forgotten. And as would’ve been true for you or I, if we had been left alone in a sad place, she began to cry.

Almost inaudibly while she cried, she began to speak in between the breaths and quiet sobs, “Why, oh why? Where have you gone? And why won’t you come back? Make things right. Make me right.”

And as she stood before that mirror she heard the King speak. Whether she heard with her ears or just with her heart she could not tell. This is what heard,

When night is the darkest
And the winter cold
The King shall come meekly
The universe, to hold.
He shall be:
Homeless or those without home,
A gift for the giftless
Weak for those without strength,
And a kind word for the speechless
When I return from across the sea
Many will deny nor welcome nor receive
But you go this night by the sea and wait
For the return I promise, I now will make.

And so Linny who after not a little thinking and worrying and complaining, replaced the cover and did just as she was told. And speaking with a friend about what had been said, she went to the beach beyond the castle, where they found the little boat in which was wrapped a baby boy. Doing what she could and with the help of her friend, she saw that the baby was fed and warmed. The baby cried when he was hungry and he fussed when his diaper needed changing. For this was not the King looking like a baby, this was the baby King, and he needed all the help and care that every baby needs.

Not long after she found the baby, a great group of Rotters came to see Linny and the baby King. They said that Sky People had appeared to them with a great sound and light -- a light brighter than any burning and a song greater than any jeering -- it was heavy sound and light, and the terrors themselves were terrified. The Sky People told them that the son of the King, the King of Joy and Light and Love and Glory had come to Revel and that if they came they would share THE JOY of the King and find his son which of course, they had and did.

Linny kept the boy with her friend and they cared for him. Several days latter, some Watchers came from far away to see the baby King and to honor him with gifts, for they had seen signs in the sky that foretold his coming. Each of the gifts they brought honored what they understood to be how he would deliver the Kingdom of Revel from the enchantment of the Enchanter: Gold pure and bright enough for a King’s crown, Incense to veil his glory and majesty that he might walk among them as a sweet smelling fragrance, and Spice to honor the payment he would offer in the sacrifice of his life to deliver them.

Of all these things, Linny pondered in her heart like a good Kwaker and thought of them often. And as a good Knaker, her heart rejoice and sang to the King and boasted to anyone who would listen about the kindness of the King who heard her cry for rescue and deliverance.

I could go on and tell you about how the young King grew, what he learned and how he fulfilled his Father’s wish to deliver the people from the Enchanter’s enchantment and the condemnation of their own treason, but that is another story for another time.

From the day the that the Rotters and the Watchers visited Linny and the baby King, much in the Kingdom of Revel remained as it had always been. The greatest gift ever given and surest hope ever offered went unrecognized and unappreciated. Indeed, many gifts have been given with the whole heart and have gone unreceived nor recognized. The Knakers and the Kwakers continued to use their Vanities. And in the noise of their chatter and their brooding, they never heard the singing of all that is--the light but heavy song which breaks through when Kwakers rejoice and Knakers listen.

For some though such as Linny, nothing was ever the same.

We gather tonight to ponder and honor, to make merry and rejoice, for the KING who makes carefree the careworn and who makes the careless, kind has come. The evil spell of the Enchanter has been broken by the God-spell. The King’s Son has come and broken the power of Vanity and sin. The Kings’ Son has come, and He gives rest for the weary and makes them merry and gentle.