christmas cottage

It was going to be a glorious Christmas vacation. Mara could feel it deep inside. Everything from the planning stage on had gone perfectly. And when she had stepped out of the SUV and glimpsed the clapboard cottage framed by fir trees draped with glistening snow, she knew this had been a great idea. She and her two girlfriends were leaving the stress of college behind them for a few days; they were going to revel in the crackling of logs in the stone fireplace and in drinking lattes while wrapped in cozy quilts and in watching the twinkling of the lights they had brought to hang on the Christmas tree they were going to cut today.

This was the first Christmas that she had been excited about in several years. Holidays had never been the same since the plane crash that took both of her missionary parents on one awful day. She had been teetering on the edge of depression for months. How could one adjust to such a loss? And in such a way that Christmas brought joy instead of the deep pain of memories which could never be repeated in real life? So when this chance had come to spend the Christmas break in the woods of Minnesota at a cottage owned by the aunt and uncle of her best friend, she had been more than eager. And now here they were! She could hardly wait to delve into the chili simmering on the stove and then enjoy a little threesome Bible study and some Christmas carols with Jean’s guitar accompaniment by the fire.

She stirred the pot of chili, turned it way down and called back toward the bedrooms. “Come on, girls! Let’s go get that Christmas tree!”

Kelley and Jean came rushing into the front room, stuffing their arms into their heavy winter coats. Mara grabbed her own coat and then sat down on the bench beside the door to pull on her outdoor boots. But she could only find one. She felt around with her hand under the bench but came up empty.

Getting off the bench, she knelt down and peered into the small space. Nothing. She sat back and pulled her knees up to her chest. Where could it be? Shoes just didn’t walk away up here, did they? What in the world?

The other girls were winding their scarves around their necks and pulling on gloves. “Hey, what’s up, Mara? Why are you sitting on the floor? Let’s get out of here!”

Mara held up her thickly-socked foot and gestured to it. “I find myself bootless. Have either of you seen it?”

They shook their heads, then Jean held up a hand. “Oh, wait a minute! Remember last night, after we stopped at the little store to get groceries? Your boots were in the back on the floor. Maybe when we were getting everything inside, one of them fell out.”

 “That’s possible, I guess. But now what? Guess I can go in one of my flats!”

 “Girl, you will get frostbite! You haven’t tromped through these woods in deep snow like I have. Believe me, you need boots!” Kelley insisted.

“Guess I’m not going then.”Mara started to pull off the other boot when a knock sounded on the door. She reached over and opened the door, a swirl of frosty air gusting inside as she looked up to see a figure in a parka, corduroy pants and a muffler. He was holding something out in front of him by a string—her boot.

 He smiled. “Hi. My name is Jensen Miles. I found this last night in the parking lot of my uncle’s store. He remembered you and that you had said you were staying up here in the Swenson’s place. We figured you might need it.” He quirked an eyebrow at her bootless foot. “And since I’m the assistant pastor of the local church, I wanted to make sure you were taken care of.”

 She smiled back at him. Maybe Cinderella was going to the ball after all. “Well, thank you! You saved me from sitting home alone.”

 As the other girls crowded in and leaned over her shoulder, Mara couldn’t help asking. “By the way, how are you at cutting down Christmas trees?”

when Messiah comes

It was cold when Madeleine Rosenberg stepped out of the door of the Tallman Center for the Performing Arts. The wind grabbed the door and banged it shut behind her. She clutched her instrument case and half stepped, half skated forward on the icy sidewalk.

It had been a good rehearsal. Since she had had been concertmaster, she had never worked with more dedicated or competent musicians than those in the symphony this season. The conductor had a command of musical score which was rare. Dr. Prescott directed with passion, a characteristic she found uncommon in many American conductors. Of course, he was very emotional about this particular piece of music, and everyone in the group knew why. He made no apology for his Christian beliefs. But, then again, neither did he harass anyone with them. He was simply a man of deep conviction who lived his faith and spoke of it with no shame. To say she admired him was not difficult. But to accept his faith was.

Madeleine was a proud Jew, a daughter of Israel displaced from her homeland decades before her birth through the courtesy of the Third Reich. Her great-grandparents perished in Auschwitz, their bodies fueling the crematory ovens. Her grandfather, Jacob, survived and started a new life in America, marrying the lovely Hanne, of Russian Jewish descent. Together, they had forged a strong home and raised her father who looked no further than the Orthodox community for his bride. Madeleine and her two brothers had been raised in a household shaped by two great loves – Jewish heritage and music. These two themes continued to shape her life.

And that was why this holiday season was bringing her great consternation. For her love of music had finally collided with her beliefs in a situation she could not escape. The symphony was performing Handel’s Messiah. Never before, she was sure, had the great master’s work been played by one who was tormented by such internal conflict. The score was a delight, every nuance testament to the genius who created it. Yet, in every measure, Madeleine was forced to remember the words of Dr. David Prescott from the many conversations they’d shared. She could see him now, in her mind’s eye, his hand holding a steaming coffee mug instead of a baton, his gray eyes serious, that one wisp of hair falling over his forehead as he leaned toward her. “Madeleine, Jesus Christ is the Messiah. For you, for me, for everyone. He has already come to the world. Let Him come to your heart.”

And in every rehearsal, his words resonated through her being just like the notes from her violin as she drew the bow over them. The refrain kept repeating . . “Let Him come to your heart, let Him come to your heart . . .

So, they had parted ways, she and David. She told him she couldn’t do it. she couldn’t accept his Messiah, couldn’t continue a relationship with him that would lead her to deny everything she had been taught. She couldn’t even continue playing first chair – she was leaving the symphony at the first of the new year. There were other opportunities on the horizon, for her music and her future.

The ride home was cold and lonely. The streets were dismal today. Even her apartment window bore silent witness to her firm rejection of Christ. No glowing Christmas tree shined down on passersby. But she had to admit she did enjoy looking at those in the houses she passed on her commute. Was it possible to do as David claimed others had done – enjoy the traditions of both faiths? Become a Messianic Jew? The thought churned in her mind as she tried to sleep that night.

The morning dawned frosty and clear. Performance day. Madeleine poured a cup of gingerbread spice coffee and sat down on the couch, her gaze falling on a small New Testament that David had given her. They had been studying what he called the "Gospel of John.” And though his arguments made sense, Madeleine could not receive them. Her heart was comatose.

In a packed auditorium that night, she arranged her music and smoothed her black gown. Steeling her mind, she took a deep breath as the house lights dimmed and Dr. David Prescott strode out to the conductor’s box.

It was in the middle of For unto Us a Child is Born that something happened to Madeleine Rosenberg. As the glorious music swelled around her, the words of an ancient text filled her heart. “He came unto his own, and his own received him not.” (John 1:11)

And as clearly as she saw the notes on her score, she saw the truth. All the things she had heard from David suddenly clicked into place. God’s Son, Jesus of Nazareth, had been born for her, for the Jews. And in Him was her only Light. While her fingers danced on the strings, Madeleine’s heart lifted to the Messiah. At last, her soul was awakened. And she knew He had come.

The finale was spectacular. The crowd was on their feet for the Hallelujah Chorus, enraptured with the majesty of the music. Applause filled the hall. Dr. David Prescott bowed. As he turned to take her hand to accept the concertmaster’s recognition, she smiled with the lovely knowledge of the conversation they would have in a quiet moment later that evening. God willing, there would be many more concerts together. Because Messiah had come. Not just to Bethlehem, but to her heart.

tell me about Christmas. . .

a month of stories for Christmas. 

beginning December 1

is it okay for Christians to celebrate Christmas?

We wish you a pagan Christmas.

What?

That's an oxymoron, right?

Christmas, by its very definition, originates from the person of Christ, the name says it plainly. And doesn't that rule out paganism?

The answer is more complicated that it might first appear.

A couple of my Facebook friends and I have had brief discussions on the topic after my post on Halloween and I said I would need to do a little research to formulate my final answer. Here goes.

Getting right to the point, many of the traditions and decorations we enjoy at Christmas did not spring from a holiday about the birth of Christ from but from other origins. I discovered more about the history of other ancient civilizations from my reading and found it so interesting that heathen religions also had their annual feasts built around the worship of their gods. Maybe this was Satan's attempt to copy the Lord Jehovah who commanded His people to keep His feasts days and covenants in honor of Him. At any rate, the early Egyptians, Mesopotamians, Babylonians and Greeks all had celebrations related to the harvest and the New Year and the winter solstice. The Latins or Romans conquered many of their neighbors and simply incorporated their festivals into their own, forming a conglomerate of worship and holidays. Some of these customs have some bearing on Christmas practices today - charity, goodwill to others, giving gifts - especially toys to children, feasting, baking, eating nuts and fruit and cakes. In 274 A.D., the emperor Aurelian set December 25 as a celebration of the "birthday of the unconquered sun."

The earliest followers of Jesus did not keep any commemoration of His birth, so far as we can tell. Author Patricia Bunning Stevens remarks that a very strong reason might have been that they lived under the constant threat of persecution. They did honor the days on which martyrs died for their faith. Some felt it was not proper to celebrate Christ in a festive way as Origen wrote in the third century A.D., "as though he were a king Pharaoh." But as Christianity spread through the Roman Empire and the Western World, persecution lessened and the climate became more amiable to Christ-centered celebrations. It is recorded that in the year 336 A.D., Christians in Rome celebrated His Birth on December 25. This was after the Emporer Constantine had grated tolerance to Christianity in 313 A.D. It seems then that Christians began to try to redeem the pagan holidays and, as Stevens put it, "build bridges" to their unbelieving neighbors. For a while, it seemed the Christian focus would be swallowed by the other cultures but gradually, Christmas took on a more holy atmosphere and believers began to accept December 25 as the Feast of the Nativity.

Looking to the various cultures helps us understand what they have contributed to our modern image of Christmas: The European peoples originated the tradition of the Yule Log (burning this massive chunk was believed to bring good luck the next year and protect the house from fire). The Germans contributed the boar's head stuffed with an apple after the pig itself was sacrificed to ensure good crops the coming year. The Anglo-Saxons gave us the wassail (or punch) bowl tradition - in medieval England, wealthy households brought out a silver bowl and filled it with a steaming brew which was then given to the poor who came door-to-door ((wassailing morphed into caroling). The Romans brought us the custom of candles at Christmas - a natural sign of joy and hope during winter days, a sign of welcome in the window and redeemed by Christians to refer to Christ, the Light of the World. The idea of gifts, started by the ancients in their festivals, was carried on by the peoples in Europe and eventually passed on to us. The first Nativity Scene was probably instituted by St. Francis of Assisi who was concerned that the fact of Christ's birth was being lost in the all the pagan remnants of the festivity. He and some friends created a "new Bethlehem" in December 1223 and that tradition continues to this day after being brought to america by the Moravians who founded the town of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania in 1741. France and Germany and England all contributed songs for the season - carols, noels. The Celts started the tradition of using mistletoe - their name for it means "all-heal" and some think that the act of kissing associated with it might mean an early ritual of forgiveness. (not too romantic, huh?) And of course, many cultures have given us pieces to the character today we know as Santa Claus - St. Nicholas, Father Christmas, even the saint Lucia. But that is a topic for another day.

The best known symbol of Christmas to us is also shrouded in controversy in its beginning. The Christmas tree probably did not begin as a Christ-centered custom. The early Germans were a forest people and some worshiped trees. The Romans also valued the life-giving symbolism of evergreens. Sometimes they brought them inside as good luck omens. Some Europen people brought cherry tree limbs inside and did their best to force them to bloom as a talisman. An apple tree was used in the early German celebration of the Paradise Play - about Adam and Eve. Some homes in the Middle Ages began having a Christmas pyramid - hung with candles, branches and pretty decorations - that shape suggests a tree as well. A snipped from a diary written in Strasbourg Germany in 1605 describes a "Christmas fir tree" which was decorated. Sometimes in Germany, the tree was hung upside down, at other times, right side up, but always suspended from the rafters. Later on, it was set on the floor. The early Christmas trees in Germany were table-size and the first one using candles is recorded in 1708 by a woman describing Christmas trees from her childhood. There was a terrible risk of fire. The custom of the Christmas tree spread to other countries and became wildly popular in England under the reign of Queen Victoria whose husband, Prince Albert, was German and therefore devoted to the practice. Tradition says that Hessian soldiers brought the idea of the Christmas tree to america when they were here fighting in the American Revolution. The first actual record of Christmas trees in America come from Pennsylvania where many of the early settlers were German. The first Christmas tree in Williamsburg came in 1842 and the first Christmas tree in the White House was set up by President Franklin Pierce in 1856.

There is much more on the development of our modern traditions of ornaments, greeting cards, carols, eggnog, poinsettias, cookies and the transformation of Christmas down from the time of the Pilgrims (who as Puritans did not celebrate Christmas) to the huge effect Charles Dickens had on our understanding of this Day to the Revolution and the "Christmas gift" customs held by slave-owners to what we currently cherish at this "most wonderful time of the year." What is important for Christians is the question of its legitimacy.

Very few today shun any type of Christmas celebration but there are some who simply choose not to address the questions if they have them. It's not comfortable - that's for sure. Let me give my opinion and allow you to have yours.

For me, commemorating the day the greatest Gift came into our world (John 3:16 says "God gave His only begotten Son") is a good thing. The origin of "Why" I celebrate this day is not evil, as is Halloween, but good. Customs and traditions incorporated into it that increase love and togetherness of family and friends and that promote charity to others and forgiveness and peace are also good. Attempts have been made by Christians down through the centuries to redeem and glorify this blending of feasts into a celebration that ultimately reminds people the world over that Christ affects us even to this day - our biggest annual events and charitable times and even sales are linked to a commemoration of Him. That also seems good to me. If one feels that a certain custom is a spiritual hindrance to his family, don't do it. There is liberty here under Christ as long as one is not flippantly violating his conscience.

Romans 14:5-6 says One man esteemeth one day above another: another esteemeth every day alike. Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind. {fully persuaded: or, fully assured} He that regardeth the day, regardeth it unto the Lord; and he that regardeth not the day, to the Lord he doth not regard it. He that eateth, eateth to the Lord, for he giveth God thanks; and he that eateth not, to the Lord he eateth not, and giveth God thanks.

To me, the principle here of generosity of spirit and love for our brothers and sisters in Christ applies very well to our observance of Christmas and how we differ from others. For some particularly, the practice of the Christmas tree is an issue mostly perhaps because of Jeremiah 3:2-6.

Thus saith the LORD, Learn not the way of the heathen, and be not dismayed at the signs of heaven; for the heathen are dismayed at them.

For the customs of the people are vain: for one cutteth a tree out of the forest, the work of the hands of the workman, with the axe. {customs...: Heb. statutes, or, ordinances are vanity}

They deck it with silver and with gold; they fasten it with nails and with hammers, that it move not.

They are upright as the palm tree, but speak not: they must needs be borne, because they cannot go. Be not afraid of them; for they cannot do evil, neither also is it in them to do good.

Forasmuch as there is none like unto thee, O LORD; thou art great, and thy name is great in might.

At first glance, this might seem to shout "No Christmas trees! They are symbols of idolatry." And if your feel that way, honor your conscience. But, as one modern commentator said, God forbids practices of worship of anything but Himself. Most of us don't worship our Christmas trees or believe they bring good luck or healing to our homes. We see them as symbols of our joy in Jesus' coming to our world as a tiny Baby bringing with Him the Light of salvation. That might not satisfy all the questions and nuances around this one custom, but I'm sure you can find much more on it through study and research.

This post is not meant to cause you a troubled conscience or a disdain for others. It's an attempt to find the "reason" for our customs of the season. To me, that's always a good thing. You don't have to agree with me. You are welcome to comment and even to disagree. Just remember that you are always treated with respect on my posts and please do the same in your discussion with others below.

So, let me amend my opening sentence.

I wish you a Christ-focused Christmas.

And that will be a merry one.

Source used:  Merry Christmas: a History of the Holiday, Patricia  Bunning Stevens, Macmillan Publishing: 1979.  

Kristallnacht

It happened tonight.

79 years ago. 

Kristallnacht.

Night of Broken Glass

Here's an excerpt from my newest book:

‘Where are you going?” An SA man grabbed his shoulder and stared into his face. “You need to stay here and witness the indignation of the German people against the Jewish pigs.”

Eryk stood ramrod straight and glared up at the man. “Sir, I have been injured tonight in the activities, and I cannot do anything. See?” He held up his arms, which were beginning to seep blood through the fabric.

The man glanced down. “So, I see. Injured yourself on the glass, did you? Well, I wish all our youth were as passionate as you for the cause.” He patted Eryk on the back.  “Go home. There will be another day for you to fight.”

Eryk didn’t need any more encouragement. As he turned and walked away, he saw the group of men and boys moving on further down the street, carrying their torches and insults to other victims.

Near the smoldering rubbish that once was his place of glory the old rabbi lay broken, moaning as he writhed in his own blood. The woman no longer moved at all. Her head was bashed in on one side, its contents spilling onto the street.

Eryk looked for a moment and then broke into a run. Down the streets of Berlin he raced, ignoring the fires and broken glass and screams and chants. He didn’t stop until he reached the gate of his own house. And it was only then, as he stood in a puddle of moonlight that he saw his arms were wrapped in the soft folds of a synagogue tapestry, its fringes soaked with his blood.