Читать книгу A Christmas Gift to the American Home and the Youth of America - N. P. Gravengaard - Страница 6

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1. The Christmas Angel's: Dost thou remember?

I WAS sitting in my study. Darkness was gathering, and it was Christmas Eve. Then it was as though a kind and soothing voice whispered into my ear: Dost thou remember Christmas Eve at home?

Do I?—Indeed, I remember it as it were but yesterday. I remember so plainly how we, all finely dressed, gathered at the long table. There father was sitting at one end reading aloud from the old hymn book while we all listened, our hands folded.

At the other end of the table grandmother was sitting, and I next to her, for I was "Grandma's boy." The old brass spectacles were sitting astride the very tip of her nose so that I could not quite grasp whether she peered through them or merely glanced above them.

When father had finished reading, grandmother spoke up—she wanted us to sing now this Christmas carol, now that; she had sung on Christmas Eve for so many, many years that she could lead us in singing them. Her voice—well, it was old, for she was past eighty, but if you say it wasn't fine, then you surely are no good as a judge of grandmother's voice.

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Mother—do I remember her? Indeed, I never forget her. Gentle and quiet she sat at the table, slightly pale, her cheeks somewhat haggard. Her mother-eye wandered from one to the other, resting on each of us with a wealth of love. It was a strange look that came from those eyes surrounded by dark edges—it was so filled with love and wistfulness.

Then came that Christmas when her chair stood vacant. O, yes, I remember her so plainly. It was quite near Christmas when she closed her eyes, and her last words to us were: "Follow Jesus!"

Yes, I remember it all, but—O, wait just a little—it was only that—if tonight you visit those dear ones at home, tell them then that I remember it all. And tell them that we also—despite the struggle for money and the increasing lack of veneration for ancient Christian festivals—tell them that we also celebrate Christmas both in our home and in the church.

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Thus I sent my Christmas greetings carried on the wings of the angel.

2. Room for Jesus (Luc. 2, 7)

"There was no room in the inn."

No, neither was there room in the golden regal halls in Jerusalem nor in the palace of the high priest. Therefore the angels—those heavenly messengers—came to neither the inn nor Jerusalem. It is not with the angels as with the invader's hordes in Belgium—they do not intrude upon foreign soil, sword in hand. They are the messengers of peace, and visit only those who have room for Jesus.

And here we behold first of all the shepherds on the field near Bethlehem. In their hearts there was room for Jesus; the sweet music from Heaven above found the way open to these men.

They had been sitting out there watching how old and young flocked to the City of David to register on the tax list. It must have been a sore trial for them to think how God's people had come under a foreign yoke: Wasn't, then, all hope dead? Were not the living conditions of Israel so desperate; the people themselves so harassed that it must needs be impossible for God to fulfill His promises from the ancient days of yore? They bent their heads, sighing heavily.

But the sigh soared upward.

Thus they sat in the stillness of the night, bent under the sufferings of the age, as in former days Israel sat at the rivers of Babylon: Nobody dared play the harp! Nay—who would really be able to let the harp chords burst out in a song of joy—under such conditions? That would have been almost levity.

But the sigh had ascended up high, and the Angel stood before them saying: I can! I can make the harp play a song of joy. I come from the mansions of Heaven with a cheering message: "Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day, in the City of David, a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord——"

And then the first of all jubilant Christmas hymns was borne upon the pure lips of angels and carried all over the earth. That was the sweet music from Heaven which shall never die.

It shall sound for all those who sit in misery, or who sigh because of their poverty—for those who think that their life has become so turned upside down that nothing can ever be righted again—for those who sigh: No, under such circumstances we cannot sing the cheery songs. To all these it shall be said: It is not impossible, at all! It doesn't matter so much how your living conditions are, difficult or easy, dark or bright, nor how disrupted your life may be. What does matter, is whether or not you have room for Jesus.

You say: Alas—if He only would, but——

Remember, my dear, that at one time He was satisfied with a manger and with a cross. While on the cross He said to a miserable malefactor: "To-day shalt thou be with me in Paradise." And on another occasion He said to a woman taken in adultery: "Neither do I condemn thee: go, and sin no more!"

Fear not!

That was the first tone in the music from Heaven, and it was meant for you, also. Indeed, He will abide with you, too, when you will give Him room in your heart. Also you He will save into His heavenly realm. But, then tell me: Isn't there, even considering your wants and circumstances, every reason why you should sing a Christmas hymn with joy in your heart?

It was not levity that made the angels sing jubilantly that Christmas Eve: They had beheld that which had been prepared for mankind through the love of God our Father. Therefore, they could sing the jubilant songs.

So, try then to look beyond all the despair down here. Try to raise your eyes to the bright Heavens—to that which has been prepared for you through the love of God our Father. If it does happen, nevertheless, that once in a while you bend your head downward, then let the sigh soar upward—for it may thus happen that angels will visit you.

Therefore it shall be proclaimed loudly by the church of Jesus Christ—from the city on the mountain throughout all the lands of the earth—to all those who have room for Jesus: Fear not! It is never so dark in your life that there is no room for the joyful songs of Christmas!

3. Well-Springs of Joy

Well-springs of joy!

It does sound a bit strange that a babe on the knee of a virgin might be the well-spring of joy. Ordinarily, it is a well-spring of worry and tears when a virgin sits with her babe on her knee—worry and tears for herself and for those who are related to her. But here we behold a virgin who herself has sung the joyful hymn of praise because she had been found deserving of such grace.

Well-springs of joy it was to Mary and to the aged Elizabeth from the very beginning—and now the Christmas Angel announces that it is "for all the people."

But, someone may say to us: Yes, we know that the shepherds were happy and that joy reigned in the inn, and we also realize that you speak of Christmas joy, etc., but when you say that this story about the Child in the Manger is a well-spring of joy—then, really, you go a little bit too far, and such exaggerations hurt your own cause. It isn't sensible to make it out quite as strong as that. Behold that highly praised Child Jesus nailed to the cross as a condemned criminal, His mother standing at the foot of the cross—and then tell us: Isn't it true that this Child, like so many, many others, made joy change into sorrow? Wouldn't any mother's heart break when she had to witness her son die the death of a condemned criminal? Even though no sin was found in Him, then you must admit that in this position he was a well of sorrow and weeping rather than of joy.

We answer: We know very well that His mother and His disciples mourned and wept—they could not do otherwise in that hour. But the well-spring of this sorrow and weeping was not in the crucified Christ. Even in this hour He is the well-spring of joy, for then He nailed our debt of sin to the cross. Then He redeemed us from the power of sin and death and the devil. It was for our sake that He allowed Himself to be nailed fast onto the cross. It was thus magnificently revealed here that the Child praised while sitting on the virgin's knee, had proved to be our faithful friend in life and death, when He became a man. Therefore, He is, also, in this the darkest hour of His earthly life, a well-spring of joy, and if we are to weep when we gather about the Christmas Child as the Crucified One in the church of the Lord—then it shall be out of the joy of our hearts.

The Christmas Child is the only one, born of woman, of whom it can be said that He has been a well-spring of joy. And that He has been throughout the life of mankind—from that very moment when in the Garden of Eden He was spoken of as the conqueror of the serpent. But He is also the only one who

"makes all earth feel joyful."

4. To Join in the Song

"The angels join the singing."

Well, it is easy enough for them to sing when we give the tone, for it is never too high for them. It is different when we are to join when they lead the singing. Sometimes it is a little bit hard for us children of dust—but we must learn it.

They sang that Christmas Eve: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men!"

The first part of it is easy for you to sing, for "the glory of Christmas is God's above the highest sky." That's quite simple.

But when the angels then sing: "On earth peace, good will toward men!" you stop short; you cannot sing that. The tone is too high for you. When you look at your own life, it seems to be burdened much more with strife and worry and trouble than lightened by peace. And what do the heavenly hosts mean when they sing about good will toward yourself—O, well, it isn't much!

Then if you look beyond the narrow confines of your own life and behold the church of the Lord, where peace should be far more firmly rooted, then—what then? "The eye sees strife and only strife," and the people speak about peace and tremble in the thunder of cannon. They bleed and scream pitifully on the battlefield because of their wounds—and at home under the pressure of military budgets.

No, you cannot join in the singing!

But how, then, could the angels sing as they did that Christmas night? Was not the world filled with war and disturbances in those days, too? Was not the world full of souls in quest of lost peace? Yes, even so! And the angels saw it. But they saw something more.

Amidst all the restlessness of a disturbed world they saw a little Child on His mother's knee. In this child's eyes the sacred peace of Heaven was reflected. So that was at least one human soul in all the millions of mankind where perfect peace reigned on earth.

Toward this, the only one, the angels looked.

When, then, you seek peace on earth, look not in the direction of the world, of the struggling masses, but look toward Jesus—not as He was that night on His mother's knee in the inn near Bethlehem—for He is there no more, but as He is in His church, in His word, and in His institutions. His church on earth is that mother's knee upon which you shall find Him, and where you, in a world filled with war and strife, shall find peace and repose for your own soul.

The angels made no attempt whatever to penetrate into the strife of the world or to unravel its troubles. Neither shall you so do. On the other hand, they tried to look into the eye of the Saviour, and there they beheld Peace—a heavenly Peace which they had not seen on earth since that evening hour when Adam and Eve were driven out of the Garden of Eden, and when one of their own kind was placed on guard with a flaming sword at the portals of Paradise. Then night fell upon earth. But Christmas Eve the new day began to arise from out of the darkness. Then they saw again a human being in the depth of whose soul reigned the Peace of Heaven, and therefore they bore their good will.

The peace and the good will, then, was in this one man, and through Him born into the millions of mankind. The angels had seen this one, and therefore they could sing as they did.

Perhaps you say: Well, I can understand plainly enough why God the Father and the holy angels should bear Him good will. But were I to join in the singing, I must needs be convinced that the Father would also bear me good will. That is what I need to be convinced about. But here I stand telling myself: The best acts in my life, the purest thoughts in my soul, are darkened by sin. What then?

Yes, that is true.

But, then, tell me: Have you not at times felt the nearness of Jesus? Was not He your soul's refuge in the darkness? Was not He like a luminous star in your life? Was He not yours—conceived within you in the sacred moment of baptism, born into the world with pangs within your soul—perhaps in the darkness of night? But then the Father in Heaven does bear you good will. He does not look at the darkness of sin within you—that, He knows, will be vanquished by the light of His son, but He looks at His only begotten Son who is the luminous star of your life—the only one, but splendid and bright.

Then you own in Him the Peace of Heaven and the good will of God our Father—and then you can join in the singing.

5. The Joy of Understanding (John 1, 1–14)

Who among us does not remember Christmas at home?—In my own childhood home there was no Christmas tree, but a remarkably impressive solemnity reigned above and upon all during Christmas. Sometimes I still wish that I might become a child once more and celebrate Christmas at home again, with father and mother, grandmother and all those dear ones. That cannot be done, however, for all these beloved ones are having Christmas in the mansions of Heaven—and I am no longer a child. But about these Christmas memories, I want to say: "God, let me never, never forget them!"

That was the joy without clearly conscious reasons. One was glad just because it was Christmas, but was unable to go into any further details about the reasons.

But now I am a child no more!—Are we as "grown-ups" to be satisfied with the memory of our childhood Christmas, and by witnessing the pleasure of the children—share a little of that Christmas sentiment which envelops all?

Undoubtedly, many people will answer: Yes, that is all. Christmas really is meant only for the children. Since we became experienced men and women who have become acquainted with the vexations and worries of life, we cannot thoroughly enjoy Christmas. To us, the law of life has been proclaimed in the words: "In the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread, till thou return unto the ground; for out of it wast thou taken."

In the hard, wearying, suffering and struggling life of the world, the unconscious joy, that is, the joy that knows of no reason, is not enough. There is a craving for a joy that knows and understands the spirit of Christmas if one is to be completely glad—that is true!

But what does the Gospel say:

"And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us (and we beheld His glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father), full of grace and truth."

That means, that the only begotten Son of God, who was with God and who was Himself God, has descended and taken up his abode among us—not only among the children! No, indeed, also among grown-up and experienced men and women who must shoulder the burdens and heat of the day.

The Christmas message is the message that tells us that Jesus Christ, with Heavenly power and with Heavenly love, has taken up his abode among all working, struggling and suffering people upon earth—not like a haughty, indifferent onlooker at your work, your exertions, your struggle as we might imagine the son of the big manufacturer going into the shop looking at the toiling, perspiring workers with haughty, indifferent scorn and with a shrug of the shoulder.

No, Jesus Christ entered the life of mankind as a benevolent and powerful participant in it, so that you, when you look at your work and wonder whether you will be able to finish it—at your suffering and wonder whether you can keep on suffering—never shall reckon with your own strength alone, but must include Jesus therein. He has gone into your suffering, has taken up your fight and your work for the purpose of suffering, fighting and working with you and becoming your Saviour.

Therefore, He says: "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." That means: All you men and women who labor and are heavy laden.

But when I can grasp a little of this, then I enjoy Christmas—not because of the memory of vanished days, but because of the understanding of the fact that Christmas is meant just for me who have experienced how much there is to labor for, to fight against, and to be saved from, and how sorely I stand in need of a heavenly support of strength and love, in my daily work and in my daily struggles.

Therefore, I now say: Christmas is meant for all us grown-up men and women who take life seriously and who know what are its conditions. We cannot dispense with Christmas, at all. We offer God our praise and our gratitude for Christmas, and we do so with the joy of understanding.

6. The Faith of a Little Child

On the west front lay a 17-year-old boy a few days before Christmas, 1915. He had voluntarily enlisted under the flag of Great Britain, and was yearning to storm forward in the ranks of his comrades—forward to victory. And he had been in the front rank. Now he lay wounded and bleeding on the battlefield.

The battle was over; the stars shone, and he was thinking: Wonder, if I shall lie here and die!

Memories stormed upon him. His mother had said: "God be always with you, my lad!" and the old minister had said: "Remember there is always a window open upward!"

Upward—upward to God! Was it not as though the twinkling stars were smiling at him—calling him, as it were?

Yes, they summoned him upward.

O, how that wound pained him! Wonder if the ambulance isn't coming soon? He could hear the cries of the other wounded; perhaps that was when they were lifted up from the ground. Would no one find him? He could not stir, could not call—could only gaze at the distant stars.

Was there room for him up there? Yes, for he was sure death was approaching. "Mother," he whispered, "mother—O God—take my soul—now, just before Christmas—for the sake of Jesus Christ!"

The angels came, and they carried him to heaven. His prayer had been heard up there. His child's soul was carried upward to God.

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When the famous French preacher, Adolphe Monod, was asked what had been the cause of his greatest gratitude, he said: "I thank God that He hath given me the faith of a little child."

The main thing for him was not that God had given him a great task as a preacher and a theologian, but that He had given him the faith of a little child. That means: The faith that accepts the grace of God without making objections!—

O, thou great and rich and powerful people: Lay aside all thy bustle, all thy doubts, and all thy suspicion toward God—lay it aside, all of it, and accept the joyful tidings of Christmas with the faith of a little child—without making objections. Then thou wilt be glad.

The well known French writer, Larradan, whose pen formerly had written nothing but scorn against faith, during the war implored his people to return to the Christian faith as the only firm and saving foothold. He writes:

"I laughed at faith and thought myself cocksure. Now I no longer rejoice at my scornful laughter, for I see France bleeding and weeping. I stood at the wayside and saw the soldiers. They went out to meet death—rejoicing. I asked: What makes you so calm? And they began praying to God saying: 'We believe in God!' I counted the sacrifices of our people, and noticed that they bore them praying. Then it became clear to me that there was something comforting and sustaining in recognizing an eternal home-country, when that of the earth is glowing in the fire of hatred. This feeling is science—the science of the child. … A nation must despair if it does not believe that the torment of the earth can be exchanged for the joy of Heaven. … France was great in the days of yore. But that was a France which had faith. How about France in our own age? It is torn to pieces with want and suffering. It is a France that believes no longer. Will her future brighten? At the hand of God—only at the hand of God.—France, O, France, revert to the faith, to thy most beauteous days! To go away from God is to perish! … "

I thank God that He hath given me the faith of a little child!