Christmas is over. Now we can complete the holiday trifecta (Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year’s) by getting through this coming Sunday night and Monday and then we can put away all the decorations and get back to normal life.

          Unless you are Chinese. Chinese New Year starts on our date of February 16 this year. It will run for up to two weeks and is a time of celebration and gift giving. Much of the Asian world will celebrate the Chinese New Year this year, which means more people worldwide will have their New Year’s celebration then than will have it this weekend. Different cultures have always had it at their own time. Ours was set by the Catholic church, but it is really just like everyone else’s. Just an arbitrary day to start over.

          And boy, do we like to start over! So many make New Year’s resolutions. We are going to lose weight. We are going to read the Bible through. We are going to be nicer. We are going to be more Spiritual. We are going to do something special. I Resolve………….. In my personal experience, my resolutions fizzle out by my birthday, and my birthday is January 17.

          The last time Marsha and I willingly stayed up till midnight on New Year’s Eve was the night 1999 turned over to 2000. Not so much to see the century turn. The century didn’t actually turn until 2000 turned to 2001. Look it up. But what we were interested in mostly was that for three years Marsha had been working with a company that was making computer systems Y2K compliant. A system that had gone on-line before 1985 would not be able to handle the date change. So, Marsha had been working to get into the system and change each individual program to make sure it worked in the new dating system. (Marsha may come off as a little scattered brained, because she can be a little scattered brained, but extremely bright people are sometimes a little scattered brained. Marsha is one of those people who kept the world functioning at the change-over. You can thank her later.) We stayed up just to see if the world kept going. The last time I stayed up willingly was the last year our last church had something going on. Marsha’s attitude was she wasn’t going. She had saved the world once, no need to stay up again. The cool thing about that night was that someone brought their Wii game system. We hooked it up to the projector system in the sanctuary and we had a little bowling tournament. We projected the image on the wall, so the characters that were bowling were bigger than the people controlling them. And really good snacks, too.

          I think as we get older, though, the excitement goes away. At one time I would not have missed staying up till midnight. But now it is…….why? Why stay up late, why make resolutions, why make a deal out of it all?

          I am not saying we shouldn’t seek to improve ourselves. Far from it, actually. But it doesn’t take an arbitrary day. Look back at the days that changed your lives.         

          The day you fell in love. Was it New Year’s? The day you became a parent? Is there any day of real importance in your life that falls on New Year’s? For most of us, it is just another day.

The best New Year’s Day ever, for me, was 1969. The University of Southern California (USC) Trojans, which featured Heisman winner O.J. Simpson, were the number one ranked college football team in the nation and the Ohio State University (OSU) Buckeyes were the number 2 team. Back in those days there was no college playoff system to determine the national championship. Four big bowl games that invited the best teams that they could get and then the national championship was voted on by sports writers and coaches. But that year, the number one team and the number two team were scheduled to meet in the Rose Bowl. This hardly ever happened. OSU took the national championship by beating the USC Trojans 27 to 16. Still makes me smile.

So, if the day isn’t really special by itself, why make a big deal about it?

It is special in that it begins a new year. What you do with 2018 will define who you are. We here at the church are faced with decisions about the future of God’s church. These are not decisions we need to make to satisfy ourselves and our wants, but they need to be in accordance with what the Lord has planned for us. What makes us happy may, or may not, be what makes Him happy. This is the year to put the future in motion for this congregation. I think we all understand that the time is upon us. Whichever way we go, indecision is just going to drag us down.

So, Sunday night is New Year’s. Most of us will not see midnight come and go. But we will live 2018. I pray we live it for the glory of God.

Blessings.

          If I were to ask you what your favorite Christmas song was, I would get almost as many different answers as there are songs. So many things go into such a choice. Sometimes it is attached to memories. A certain song was playing at a certain moment that meant much. Sometimes it is the words that evoke a feeling of gratitude and joy toward the Savior. Whatever your favorite is, there is generally a reason.

          How does a Christian not love “Silent Night?”

Silent night, holy night, (Maybe not so silent, but certainly holy)
All is calm, all is bright (Had to be Spiritually bright as the light of the world came)
Round yon Virgin Mother and Child
Holy Infant so tender and mild (Beautiful image of Christ)
Sleep in heavenly peace

Sleep in heavenly peace (Captures the mood)

Silent night, holy night!
Shepherds quake at the sight (They were startled!)
Glories stream from heaven afar (The angels sang from Heaven!)
Heavenly hosts sing Alleluia!
Christ, the Savior is born
Christ, the Savior is born (The most blessed event in Jewish history)

Silent night, holy night
Son of God, love's pure light (Yes! Yes! Love’s pure light!)
Radiant beams from Thy holy face (We don’t know this, but it is powerful)
With the dawn of redeeming grace (Dawn broke with new promise)
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth
Jesus, Lord, at Thy birth (Even as a baby, He was the Lord!)

          The beautiful and powerful “O Holy Night.”

Translation in progress. Please wait...

O holy night, The stars are brightly shining;
It is the night of our dear Savior's birth! (Surely it was glorious!)
Long lay the world, in sin and error pining, (Sin everywhere,
Till He appeared and the soul felt its worth. then the sinless One came)
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, (Even for those whom didn’t know,
For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn. it all must have felt different)
Fall on your knees, oh hear the angel voices! (Worship! Worship!)
O night divine, oh night when Christ was born!
O night divine, oh night, oh night divine! (A divine and holy night, indeed!)

Led by the light of Faith serenely beaming, (He came for us, so we are, in a
With glowing hearts by His cradle we stand. Spiritual sense, standing by.)
So led by light of a star sweetly gleaming,
Here came the wise men from Orient land.
The King of Kings lay thus in lowly manger, (The rustic setting,
In all our trials, born to be our Friend! but still the King and our Friend!)
He knows our need, to our weakness no stranger;
Behold your King! Before Him lowly bow! (Bow before Him, world. Bow
Behold your King! Your King! Before Him bow. bow before your King!)

Truly He taught us to love one another; (Much is said about the Law in the
His law is love and His gospel is peace. Bible, but love is the key.)
Chains shall He break for the slave is our brother (Written in 1847, the song was
And in His name all oppression shall cease. banned for a time due to the slave
Sweet hymns of joy in grateful chorus raise we, being our brother.)
Let all within us praise His holy name! (Let praises ring for Him!)
Christ is the Lord, oh praise His name forever,
His power and glory evermore proclaim (Never cease to proclaim Him!)
His power and glory, evermore proclaim!

          But, my favorite Christmas hymn, and my all time favorite hymn of any kind, is “Joy to the World!” The first verse is about the Birth, but the song as a whole is about His life.

Joy to the World , the Lord is come!
Let earth receive her King; (Oh, if only the world would receive!)
Let every heart prepare Him room,
And Heaven and nature sing, (One day, even the rocks will cry out and proclaim
And Heaven and nature sing, His holy name.)
And Heaven, and Heaven, and nature sing.

Joy to the World, the Savior reigns! (Even as a humble carpenter, He ruled
Let men their songs employ; the world. Few knew yet, but He was King.)
While fields and floods, rocks, hills and plains (One day all will know and
Repeat the sounding joy, all of creation will repeat the sounding joy!)
Repeat the sounding joy,
Repeat, repeat, the sounding joy.

No more let sins and sorrows grow, (Now, we do not have to let sin rule.)
Nor thorns infest the ground; (The curse of Eden no longer has to infest our
He comes to make His blessings flow  spirit. It is His blessing.)
Far as the curse is found, (Since the curse is over all the earth, all can be free
Far as the curse is found,  of it within our souls.)
Far as, far as, the curse is found.

He rules the world with truth and grace, (We don’t always acknowledge it, but
And makes the nations prove  He does rule!)
The glories of His righteousness, (He is righteous,
And wonders of His love,  He is love,
And wonders of His love,  He is wonderful!)
And wonders, wonders, of His love.

          I don’t appreciate the way Christmas is celebrated by the world, but I do appreciate the Birth of our Savior!

          What is your favorite Christmas hymn?

          The old saying goes, “laughter is the best medicine.” It may not cure (although there are many stories where a person gets better after a good, heartfelt laugh) but laughter will certainly make you feel better, at least for the moment. Most folks don’t think about workers at a funeral home needing the blessing of laughter, but they need it more than most. Every day they are dealing with someone else’s grief and sometimes they deal with their own at the same time. But, they need to keep it together for the families they are serving. My job working with a funeral home for nine years was supposed to be to lift up families. However, my co-workers were often in need as well. Many prayers were given in our offices or in the funeral home itself before families arrived. And, in some cases, I wasn’t the one doing the praying. There were times when one of them was praying for me.

          But there was humor, and there was laughter. We got a Christmas card Tuesday from one of my favorite goofballs. Eric, one of the funeral directors, was always trying to make me laugh. We had a special relationship. He was same age as my son and I had sort of become a ‘father figure’ to him. If he could get me to crack up, he felt he had accomplished something. His Christmas card got me to remembering. Not just Eric’s weirdness, but the whole experience.

          People assume that funeral home humor is dark humor, but that is not really so. There were things that happened that would only be appreciated by someone in that business, but the humor mostly made everyone laugh.

 Most funeral homes no longer keep caskets in stock. The family picks one out and then you order it overnight. It arrives the next day, which is in plenty of time. Occasionally, though, one of the directors had to go to the warehouse and pick the casket out visually. There came a time when one of the directors needed to make the trip and there were no vehicles available to drive. All of the vans were being used and the ‘lead cars’ were being serviced. So, this director got the keys to the hearse and took off in it. This wasn’t usually done. Actually, it was never done. This director just didn’t want to wait a bit for one of the vans to return. He got to the warehouse and explained to the manager there what he wanted and, surprisingly, they had exactly the one he wanted in stock. He had them load it in the hearse and he headed back to the funeral home. By the time he got back it was well after hours, so he parked the hearse in the garage and figured he would get some help in the morning to pull it out.

It was that gentleman’s custom to sleep in occasionally. He picked the next morning to do so. We had two funeral homes, the main one in Madison, Ohio, where all the vehicles were kept, and the other was in Geneva, Ohio. There was a funeral in Geneva that morning. A prominent man in the community and a World War II vet who was very active in the local American Legion. The hearse driver for that funeral arrived at the Madison location to get the hearse ready. It was dirty, which didn’t make sense to him since, as far as he knew, it hadn’t been driven since the last funeral. (The hearse was washed after each funeral so it would be ready for the next one.) The driver, Bob, was now rushed. On most hearses, the rear windows are darkened to the point that you can’t see in. Bob hurriedly washed the car, but never looked in the back of the hearse. When he got in he found it was nearly out of gas. He had to stop on the way to Geneva. By the time he got there he was cranky and irritated. He had to sit for a spell in the funeral home and collect himself. By the time the funeral was over, Bob was doing better. But he still had not checked the back of the hearse. It wasn’t something you did, really. No one was supposed to use it between funerals.

The funeral over and the people filed out of the funeral home. The American Legion guys took their place to form a corridor for their fallen comrade. In that part of the country, it is customary for the family and anyone else who wanted to, to stand between the building and the hearse to pay final respects. A nice wide path was there for the pall bearers and the casket to pass through. Bob stood at the back door of the hearse ready to open the door at just the right moment. As the honor guard snapped to attention, Bob opened the rear door. To another casket. A gasp traveled over the people.

The funeral director for that funeral was named Ford. I spoke of him a few weeks ago. He stepped around the pall bearers and up to the hearse. He took hold of the rear handle of the casket which was in the hearse and lifted slightly to see if it was empty. Of course, it was empty. Without a word, Ford began to pull the casket out. Bob waited until he could reach around and take hold of the other end and they walked it over to the grass. (Metal caskets are much lighter than wood and easy to move.) Still without speaking, they set it down and then took their places at the hearse and the funeral continued. It was done in such a way as to look perfectly normal. The gathered people weren’t sure what they had seen, but went along with it. What really seems funny to me, though, is that for the next two hours a casket sat on the front lawn of the funeral home at a spot where it might have rolled out of the hearse. I wondered what people driving by thought.

I had my own experience with the hearse. I rarely drove the thing. My duties took me elsewhere. I didn’t like driving it. Handled kind of weird, as you might guess. But it seemed that when the weather was bad and it was a long trip to the cemetery, I was behind the wheel.

One such day the cemetery was a seventy mile drive and the forecast called for severe Lake effect snow. Last week I was driving to Ft. Wayne and the weather said Lake effect snow, with accumulations of four to five inches. In the Cleveland area, when they called for Lake effect, it was almost always followed by the words, “up to a foot or more expected with more accumulation in some areas.” It held off till we got to the cemetery, then we found out that the cemetery was in the ‘some areas’ designation. In fact, it was like that all the way home. The funeral director for the day was Ford again. After the graveside was over, he told me to get the hearse out of there while I still could. He would stay and make sure the grave was taken care of. When he left he found a motel and hunkered down for the night. Meanwhile, I am trying to get home.

Two hours later I had gone about fifteen miles. Being a diabetic, I need to eat at certain times. I was starting to feel it, so I got into the glove compartment to get my stash of candy out, since my sugar was dropping. I kept a little candy in every vehicle and everyone understood that it was mine and knew what it was for. No one ever touched it. Except that day. The candy was gone. A couple of wrappers. I had to make a new plan. Up ahead, through the falling snow, I saw the golden arches of McDonalds. I don’t like McDonalds, except for their coffee, and we were strictly forbidden to pull the hearse into a restaurant of any kind on a trip of less than one hundred and fifty miles, but this was different. I got off and pulled into McDonalds.

I got into the drive through lane and got up to the squawk box right away. No one was out in tat weather. I ordered a cheese burger and a pie and a water. Then I pulled around to the window. Imagine. You are a teenaged girl in the drive up. It is a creepy day, snowing so hard you can’t see beyond your little parking lot. Hardly anyone on the road. Then, a large white vehicle is emerging. It looks odd and then you see the light on top and the length and the funeral emblems on the side. As the window rolls down you see a man in a suit and an overcoat with a chauffer’s hat on. Not something you’ve ever seen.

Her eyes were huge as I pulled up. I looked at her and held up a finger as if to tell her to wait a second. I turned in my seat and yelled to the back of the hearse, “DO YOU WANT FRIES WITH THAT?” She actually threw the bag of food at me and I didn’t get my water.

Another time we were in a cemetery on another such snowy day. I wasn’t doing the hearse that day. I was there to help the family, which was typically my job. I was helping the family to their seats under the tent. In those situations, you try to hear everything that is going on so you can be ready for anything. I heard the sexton explaining to our director that there was a very large hole where an old, dead tree had been pulled out. The snows had come before they had been able fill it in and now it was completely covered. It was necessary to take the casket around a different way. I heard this, but I was helping the family, so I didn’t see where the hole was located. When the family was seated I made my way to the director to find out where the hole was located. I found it on my own before I got to him. It was in plain view of the family as they were faced forward. The hole was covered by snow. I walked right into it and vanished from sight. It was a BIG hole. As far as the family knew, I had fallen in a grave. Actually, I wasn’t sure I hadn’t fallen into a grave. The sexton, director and hearse drive hurried over, reached down and pulled me out. The director, Trevor that day, noticed everyone was staring. “Thanks for marking the grave for us, Mr. Wade.” "Not a problem, sir.” And we went on with the service.

I eventually became the manager of the Geneva funeral home. It was beautifully remodeled but quite old. Occasionally it would make strange noises, sometimes loud enough to be heard even over a full house. On those occasions someone would rush up to me and say, “What was that noise?” I would always look at them and say, “What noise?” Banging and creaking and, when the wind was just right, an eerie whistling noise. “THAT NOISE!” I would listen, smile a little and say, “Oh, that noise. Nothing to worry about.” The other person would look at me oddly for a minute, then turn and start to walk away. Then I would mutter under my breath, but loud enough for them to hear, “At least I hope not this time.”

Sadness and grief at a funeral is always present. But sometimes, God gives us a little blessing to ease our minds. It had been the worst week I could ever remember. We had four funerals that week and all were children. All the staff was exhausted and tense. We all had kids ourselves. With a situation like that you couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like for you. I had a family to meet with, so I wasn’t supposed to be involved with the calling hours for the fourth funeral, which was to be my first break from this stretch of services. I had just wrapped up my meeting with the family when my cell phone beeped. It was one of the staff at the calling hours. She was frantic. There was a bat in the funeral home. Nate (the director in charge) needed my help. I went over to the funeral home expecting to see chaos. But everything was fine. None of the visitors had seen the bat and the staff had kept quiet. For the next half hour, everyone on staff walked calmly and quietly around and in among the people, all looking up. We were all trying to look natural, but we were really just looking creepy. All of a sudden, I saw Nate sprinting through the lounge and outside. He came back in a minute, flushed and shaking. He had found the bat and had wrapped it up in his handkerchief, then rushed it outside. He tossed it into the air and it flew away, trailing the handkerchief behind. I suppose it was the stress of the week and the tenseness as we look for the little guy, but the entire staff crowded into the small office, shut the door and then laughed ourselves silly.

            Every Wednesday morning, at 7:30, almost the entire staff would gather in the funeral home to give an unpaid hour over to our weekly Bible study. During the week it was common to see them praying together. Good, good people. Respectful of the living and the dead. For them, laughter was a blessing, one we cherished. Psalm 126:2-3---Then our mouth was filled with laughter, and our tongue with shouts of joy; then they said among the nations, “The Lord has done great things for them.”  The Lord has done great things for us; we are glad.         

          What makes the Christmas holiday special to you?

          Is it “Rudolf the Red Nosed Reindeer?” Is it kids waiting in line to be hoisted onto Santa’s lap? Maybe a classic holiday movie like “It’s a Wonderful Life” or “A Christmas Story” or “Miracle on 34^th Street?” Perhaps it is that great old classic “A Charlie Brown Christmas.” Songs trigger memories. “Silver Bells,” “White Christmas,” I’ll Be Home for Christmas” or, for the sheer magic of the holiday, “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.” Everybody has that something that makes them smile at Christmas. But, lest we lose our perspective…….

          It couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Really, it was bad. Joseph was beside himself. Mary had gotten pregnant. Joseph knew it wasn’t his doing. He had spent years working toward that moment he would be able to marry Mary. The marriage had been arranged years before, when Mary was a tiny little girl. It was the way things were done. There was not supposed to be much, if any, contact between the betrothed couple. Joseph, learning his trade and making his way in life, preparing for that day when they would wed. Mary, growing up and learning all the things she would need to know as a young wife. But, there was still some contact. Joseph was able to see her grow up. She was with her family at synagogue, she was with her mother at the market, she would be at play with the other children. Joseph had seen her. Occasionally, in rare moments, they would even share a few words. It was just such an occasion that had set Joseph’s life into a turmoil. Mary had come to him and told him that she was pregnant, that she was pregnant with the Messiah. She said she was the virgin Isaiah had spoken of, the one who was to give birth to the Promised One. Joseph let his mind drift back to that moment. He had stared at the girl. Was she joking? No, there was a fear in her eyes. Well, if she wasn’t joking it could only mean that she had been unfaithful, that she had violated the oath her father had made with Joseph all those years before. If she was pregnant people would find out. They would blame Joseph. Perhaps both would be stoned to death. Even if they weren’t stoned, Joseph’s reputation would be ruined. There was only one thing to do. He had to turn her in and let the village elders deal with her. It would be horrible for her, but she had done something unspeakable.

          But, Joseph did care for the girl. He certainly wasn’t wealthy, but perhaps he could arrange for her to leave town. There were those who took care, quietly, of such people. There were ways. It would cost, but Joseph couldn’t bear to see young Mary harmed, perhaps even killed.

          However, as he slept that night he was visited by an angel. This creature verified all that Mary had said. After all of these centuries, Messiah was coming. And Joseph now had a special job. He was to raise the child. Joseph woke from the dream and did as he was instructed, but it was a hard thing. Mary was fixed on the idea of having the Messiah. Joseph, on the other hand, had to give consideration to other things. For one, how do you keep a pregnancy secret? People were going to know! How was this to be handled? That seemed to be working out when Mary went off to her cousin Elizabeth’s home. They would have lots to talk about, anyway. The word was that Elizabeth, an old woman, was also pregnant. She was supposed to bear the forerunner, the one prophecy said would show the way for Messiah. Joseph hadn’t really believed that when he had heard the news, but she was a woman well past the age of giving birth, yet she was going to give birth. That deserved some consideration, a miracle in itself. Now Joseph knew that Mary would bear the Messiah, so it did make a kind of weird sense. Mary going to live with Elizabeth for a time, helping her with the birth of the forerunner, all was a good thing. Maybe Mary would be there for her own birthing. It seemed the perfect solution. Eventually, Joseph would go there, take Mary and the Child and move to a place where no one knew them and start their family life.

          Then, the horrible news. Word came directly from Rome. A census was to be taken. Everyone had to go back to their family’s town of origin. This was a nightmare. Mary was already in the area, since Zechariah, Elizabeth’s husband, who was a priest at the Temple and had to live near Jerusalem. But this changed everything. Mary would have to return to Nazareth so that she could travel with Joseph, her betrothed husband, to his town, which was Bethlehem, but she was very pregnant. Not only that, but Joseph’s whole family would be there. They would figure it out, someone would do the math. They would know. Worse, because Mary had been living with Elizabeth, Zechariah would be implicated in the crime of concealing a woman of low morals. This was bad, very bad.

          More than once, as the couple traveled south from Nazareth toward Jerusalem, Joseph had wondered how this would all work out. Out of necessity, they stayed away from other travelers. Mary was obviously in distress. If they could have stopped along the way, but that couldn’t happen. Joseph had to be in Bethlehem. And Mary would have to give birth in Bethlehem. That was what the prophecy had said, so it had to happen that way. When she gave birth, it would all be over. Mary’s premarital pregnancy would be discovered. There would have to be a mid-wife, after all. Questions would be asked. Somehow, Joseph would wind up with the baby. The angel said he would name the child and if he named Him, that meant he would be raising Him. But, what of Mary. No one would believe her. Joseph couldn’t see the end being good.

          Mary was very close to giving birth. They had to hurry. It was dragging on and for Mary it was excruciating. They arrived as evening fell, going to a boarding house for a place to stay. Bethlehem was a very small town and there were not many such places. As it happened, the boarding house was full. The keeper of the house offered a stable, which Joseph accepted. What choice did he have?

          And this is where Joseph found himself. Mary was suffering. The only place he could put her was in this smelly stable. Not knowing what else to do, he lined a manger with straw to place the Baby when He came. And how on earth was that to happen? Give him a saw or a hammer or a planer and Joseph was in his element. Given time and materials, Joseph could build a bed for Mary to be laying in and build a proper crib to lay the child in. But all this was rushing on so fast. He didn’t know how to deliver a baby! How did this all fit into God’s plan? It was out of control, or at least that was what Joseph saw.

          Mary called out. It was time! Joseph pulled himself together. He had to handle this. The Baby was coming…….there He was! Joseph lifted the Baby and quickly wrapped Him in some scraps of clothing. His heart was pounding, sweat ran down his face. He looked over at Mary and lay the Baby down in the manger to see to her. What was he supposed to do now?

          And then, the door flew open. Men, apparently shepherds based on their clothing, rushed into the room. There was praise on their lips as they ran. Sizing up the situation, they went into action. Joseph stepped aside. These men, giving praise and practically shouting, knew all about giving birth and taking care of all the needs. Now, here as the promised Lamb was born, who better to tend to the situation that these shepherds?

          God had seen to it all.

          At the beginning of this blog, I asked what it was that made Christmas special to you. I named off some things that are made up, pretend things. They have little, if anything, to do with the truth. For me, even the religious story seemed wrong somehow. It seems in the telling of it, that Mary and Joseph were as cool as cucumbers throughout. Everything was under control. I always thought that if I was Joseph, I would be going crazy. Mary and Joseph always seem to be portrayed as the same age, but they weren’t. According to the practice of the Jews, Mary would have been much younger. Then there is the whole thing about travel. In the narrative we are used to, Mary rides a donkey to Bethlehem. I have ridden a donkey. I cannot imagine a woman, nine months pregnant, riding a donkey the 110 miles from Nazareth. With mountains between the two places, Mary would have been lucky to have done 20 miles a day. So, a trip of six days on a donkey. These people were walkers. More likely they walked. Maybe she rode in a cart. But I doubt it was a donkey.

And I have always wondered about a carpenter delivering a baby. Joseph was one of the finest men we see in the Bible. God chose Him to raise His Son. But, he was a carpenter. The shepherds, I believe, were there to do more than give praise. They were experts and God used them.

The Roman Catholic Church created a long, drawn out narrative about the birth of Jesus from just three New Testament chapters. We have the name of the inn keeper, multiple animals, a drummer boy, wise men attending the birth, a star in the sky, snow in Bethlehem, calm and collected people and a sweet infant Baby who does not cry. I prefer to think God used real people doing the things real people do and having the fears and hopes real people have. It is a mighty story, a wonderful story. Take away the make-believe and it gets better and better.

Here is a challenge for you. If you are reading this, you can read the Bible. For me, the real Christmas story is something I treasure. Please, read Matthew 1 and Luke 1 and 2 and e-mail me back with your thoughts. Forget what you have ‘known’ all your lives, and tell me what you see when you actually read the chapters. Blessings to all as search His Word. My e-mail is oldirishguy51@yahoo.com.   

          Sexual harassment.

          I started writing a monthly newsletter article at McKinley Community Church back in in the mid 1980s. At that time, if I had written the words ‘sexual harassment,’ I might have gotten fired. In proper and polite situations, you just didn’t talk about such things. Even now, over thirty years later, it bothers me to broach the subject. But, it is everywhere. You can’t get away from it. Just scanning the ‘trending news’ on the computer news feed this morning I see six articles on the subject. It is nauseating.

          Does saying that mean I would want to just not talk about it, like in the old days when reporters didn’t talk about the antics of presidents and congressmen and actors? Not at all. I would like it if these things didn’t happen. And when it did happen, I would like it if the woman in question didn’t wait twenty years to report the event. I would like it if the law would get involved right away and put the sleaze ball behind bars.

          Of course, when you say something like, “I just wish it didn’t happen,” someone will always say, ‘It has happened forever and will always happen.” Some of that is true. Sexual harassment or assault has always happened when a man has power or can gain trust or has some other hold over a woman. Or over a man, for that matter. But, that doesn’t mean it has to happen.

          Dr. Leroy Bennifield told us in seminary that there were going to be dangerous moments out there. ”Fellows, believe it or not, there are women out there who think, for some reason, that a sexual thing with a preacher would be great. I mean, look at me! I am as ugly a thing as has ever come out of Oklahoma. But there have been several times when some woman has surprised me. LOOK OUT!” I didn’t put much faith in that back then, but it has proven true. Some women seek to entice and some men are just stupid. After a while, the man thinks he can do anything or get away with anything, so he begins to take liberties with whomever he wishes.

          So, it has always been around.

          It just doesn’t have to be.

          Pastor Harold was at his church 25 years. His wife was a little harsh about things. Didn’t really like the ministry. Harold finally quit the ministry and wound up running a Christian bookstore. I was the one he came to when things built up. Pastor Charles’ wife was mentally unstable. She would say or do anything. Drove Charles to distraction. He was at his church for 13 years. Harold suggested he talk to me. Pastor Rick stayed at his church for 10 years. His wife was so quiet. Wouldn’t talk to anyone, including her husband. He wanted his wife to be more open with him, but it didn’t happen. He and I talked about it every once in a while. I mention these three because their wives stand out in my memory and because these men were liked and respected by most everyone. And, also, because they were faced with moments when they could have gotten away with sexual infidelity. But they didn’t. Why not? Because they were ministers? Hardly. Being a minister does not shield one from sexual impropriety. We have all heard stories. Even Dr. Martin Luther King is said to have had a mistress. So, what made these three men different from the Al Frankens and the Matt Lauers and the Dr. Kings? These three men knew that they answered to someone higher than themselves. They knew they had a responsibility to their wives, their churches and, most important, their Savior. You have never heard of them, but to me they were friends I respected. I knew where their weaknesses lay and I also knew where they were strong, and where that that strength came from. You could say that it is an outdated idea to depend on the Lord for your strength. Most believe that it is quaint thinking. But the mind fixed on Christ is a mind that can face the world and stand strong.

          Sexual harassment. An ugly phrase. Those guilty of such things are ugly people. They might be famous, they might be powerful, they might be rich. But, if I could walk into Mary’s Diner back in the old town, I would rather sit down with Harold and Charles and Rick, and you can throw Bob and Joe and Paul into that, as well. Then I would be sitting and drinking bad coffee and eating stale pie with real men, strong men, men who walk with the Lord. Men who find sexual harassment as disgusting as the Lord does.

          There are at least a dozen stories about how this tradition came to be. They range from the sweet and simple to the ugly and vulgar. All, I suppose, have a breath of truth. Now, in our modern era, the tradition has taken on a life of its own, spanning holidays but coming into its own at Christmas.

          I am speaking of the Christmas tree.

          Believe me, I am not speaking ill of the Christmas tree. As a little boy, the Christmas tree ignited a feeling in me that cannot be explained. Money was always tight at our home. What gifts there were did not have the MADE IN USA label on them, like all my friends. Ours all said MADE IN Japan. I didn’t care. Made it seem exotic. But the tree always said CHRISTMAS! to me. A week before Christmas it was out to the woods to find just the right one. Chop it down. Tie it to the sled and pull it back. Dad would put the stand on it, twisting and turning the tree to hide the crooked trunk, then setting the wondrous, sweet smelling tree right where Mom wanted it. My mother and sisters would then start the decorating. I always wanted to join in, but our father always told me to sit down, that decorating the tree was women’s work. But it looked so fun! Then, when the tree was all decorated, it would get plugged in for about five minutes. We weren’t allowed more than that because those bulbs got so hot. Our mother or father would always tell a story about someone they had known who had left their tree on too long and it had caught fire and burned up all the presents. Was the story true? I don’t know. The names seemed to change every year. I do know that the tree wouldn’t get plugged in again until Christmas Eve then again on Christmas morning, just long enough to open presents. My father would sit and keep a wary eye on the tree, looking for smoke. So, maybe the story was true. It still amazes me that now our tree can stay on all night and be no hotter than it was when it was first plugged in.

          Christmas trees now are different. First, they are mostly artificial. How many of us have uttered the phrase, “I will never have an artificial tree in this house!” We love the smell, we love the going and getting a tree, we love the experience. What we don’t love is being barefoot in June and stepping on a needle. We don’t like the mess of taking it down and getting sap and needles and twigs and branches all over when you drag it across the floor. We don’t like trying to figure out how to lean the tree to hide that bend or how do we hide the bare spot. A real tree is nice for a short while. Then it becomes a headache. At some point, artificial becomes the order of the day.

          This affects how we decorate. Trees used to be coated with tinsel. Last night Marsha and I watched a Red Skelton Christmas special. (Yes, boys and girls, that is how Miss Marsha and Pastor watch TV. Red Skelton, Gilligan’s Island, My Favorite Martian. Anyway…..) The tree in the living room on that special looked like a rocket ready to blast off. So much glorious tinsel! Now, however, you don’t put tinsel on artificial trees. Way to hard to take it off before you put the tree away. Year old tinsel just looks sloppy. As a boy, we would cut the branches all off with the tinsel still on them, burn the branches and tinsel and everything and then cut the trunk up into small pieces that would get thrown into the fireplace one at a time to get that pine log popping and smell. Now, you take off the decorations, take the tree apart and pack it all away till next year. The only person I know in recent times who has tinsel on his artificial tree is the organist from our church in Ohio. He had a Christmas room that faced the road in his place. A bachelor, he had put his silver artificial tree up years ago in that room. He decorated it the way he wanted it decorated, tinsel and all, put it in the window and closed the curtains. Come Christmas time, he would dust it off and open the curtains for all the world to see. I thought it was a great idea. Marsha did not. And I had to hear about it all season, since he lived across the road from my mother. Still, I thought it was brilliant.

          Now, we don’t just decorate the tree, the tree is the decoration. How many homes have just one tree anymore? There is the ‘big’ tree, which may not be the biggest, but it is the one around which presents are placed. There is the theme tree, which doesn’t necessarily have traditional decorations. It has a theme. Then, there are the trees that are placed because that particular square yard of floor space is virtually begging for a tree! We will call these accent trees. An accent tree can go anywhere for any reason. Usually not decorated except for lights, the accent tree gives off a pleasant glow on a cold winter’s night. Or, on a hot and muggy Florida or Texas night. The accent tree can be decorated, though. After all, when there are thousands of decorations in dozens of boxes, they have to hang somewhere. We can do this because we have gone artificial. We can pack a whole forest into our homes and, come that first weekend in January, make it all disappear into boxes.

          Like most men, I just don’t understand. And, like most men, I do all I can do to make my wife tree happy. Around Halloween time we were in Sam’s Club and the wife said, “Oh, look! The have their trees up!” Of course they do. “Let’s go look!” So, we start looking for a tree. Now, we have a ‘big’ tree, that really isn’t very big. It was bought a few years ago for our little ‘down sizing’ house. It is getting a little old and tired looking, so I figured that we were looking to replace that one. As you would expect, I was wrong. What we were looking for was a tree for the kitchen. “What!? A tree for the KITCHEN!!??? WHY?” First rule of Christmas tree etiquette: Do not, under any circumstances, question the wife. A cold glance thrown my way. “I think I will look when I am out by myself.” Sigh. I have failed at the 2017 effort to make the wife ‘tree happy.’

          It is not always a bad thing, though. One year, Marsha got the wonderful idea of making a theme tree with the theme of candy. Most trees will have a few candy canes, but Marsha’s theme was real candy. She got the idea while studying a box of those little chocolate covered marshmallow Santas. The perfect ornament and, as a bonus, one of the few candies I love! Our son was in high school and he, like me, didn’t really go for candy. But he does love the chocolate filled gold coins. So, Marsha decorated the theme with chocolate covered marshmallow Santas and little mesh bash bags of chocolate filled gold coins and, of course, the obligatory candy canes. It was highly suspicious, but the Santas and coins began to disappear. (The candy canes survived. I think we still use them.) Marsha had to go out and buy more. Several times. Where could all this be going, she wondered. Adam insisted it was mice. I felt it was more likely a squirrel that had gotten in or perhaps the monkey that had been terrorizing the neighborhood that Spring, Summer and Fall. Either way, her husband and son assured her that it was Christmas and on Christmas, aren’t we suppose to be forgiving to those less fortunate? Just for the record, we saw more of her brother Joe that year and he lived three hours away at the time.

          Memories of Christmas trees are the fun Christmas memories for me. When I was growing up we had decorated the tree and it was plugged in for those precious five minutes. We didn’t know that Dusty, the cat, had already climbed up the tree, found her branch and had fallen asleep. When the lights went on there was a startled cat howl and Dusty shot out of the top of tree with enough force to make the whole thing fly over backward. Marsha’s first Christmas with my family (we were dating) also featured a falling tree, this time knocked over by my mother. Christmas morning, when our son was eight, he came into the living room and saw his new bike. Excited, he sprinted across the floor and did a flying mount onto the bike. Bicycles are not made to be mounted that way, from the side at speed, and he went right into the tree. A real tree with lots of tinsel, it went over. We pulled him out and set the tree up. The tinsel was now laying sideways on the tree, like it was in a high wind. We left it like that for the rest of the season. For many years the artificial trees had to be built by putting the longest pieces on the bottom and building up. I saw a demonstration on putting the lights on the tree as you built it. That way you could run the lights down each branch, around the trunk and up the next branch. Our seven footer that year took over nine hundred lights to light and it really was awesome. Took hours, but I felt it was worth it. It became a chore, though, when my mother, Marsha’s mother and my sister all wanted me to light their trees the next year and Marsha wanted a bigger tree with more lights. In fact, I think that started the theme tree thing for us. Another tree to light. When we were in seminary there was a young town guy who became friends with us. He decided that a little feller like our two year old son needed a big tree. What he brought over had a huge base and took up half our living room. Biggest tree we ever had. When I finally dragged it outside and set a match to it, the thing went up like it had high octane racing fuel on it.

          All are good memories, but I have always felt that if Marsha were to be gone from my life, I wouldn’t have a tree. Nothing against trees, really. Just a Christmas tree is about family. Each ornament has a story, and Marsha remembers them all. If I did have a tree I would have to get a cat to make it interesting, and no tree would be worth getting a cat.

          So, if you haven’t already, put up that tree!

          Violence is something that is possible in all of us, given the proper stimuli. We don’t want to think that we can be that way, but it is there. In the wake of the last presidential election, people who always espoused peace (except when playing certain video games) not only became violent, but felt completely justified. Violence is a part of our make-up. Perversion is also something possible in us all. We automatically reject that idea, but it is still there, still lurking, still waiting to reach out and snag us when we least expect it to surface. There are all manner of evilness and twistedness that pervade both our subconsciousness and consciousness. It is part of what makes up our free will. It is something given to us by Satan. As soon as we are old enough to process information, Satan begins to bombard us with things we should never see and never experience. If you think you are above these things, you are wrong. How many times have you seen someone have a stroke or perhaps a blow to the head and their whole personality changes? It is not something new that has come over them, but, rather, the filter that has kept those things under control has been removed.

We are seeing the sad sight now, in the media and politics and entertainment, of people who have never had to have those filters in place. They are the powerful and influential, the people others look up to, the people who have control. The scary thing is that these are the people who influence the vast majority of people in this country. We are seeing people who plan and finance movies and TV projects and report their version of news and who make and enact laws we have to live by, involved in the most despicable acts imaginable. Newscasters who have raked others over the coals for their alleged misdeeds, are now coming to the surface as perverts in their own right. It seems most Politicians feel their constituents are stupid rubes who will continue to vote for them as long as they keep the government gravy train on track. These are people who have no moral code. When an actor like Kirk Cameron comes along, a moral and upright Christian man, he is treated as someone who is to be ridiculed. When someone in the news media is a devout Christian, like Elisabeth Hasselbeck, they are rejected, their opinions mocked and, if possible, forced out. If a politician comes to the fore who puts God first, who has much of the Bible memorized (and all of the Constitution), someone like Ted Cruz, the good people a God fearing state like Indiana will opt for someone like Donald Trump, who mercilessly harangues such people.

This week we were treated to the fall of Matt Lauer. We still don’t know the fullness of the despicable acts he is guilty of, we just know that now we can’t get away from it. Sadly, people are tuning in to the news just to find out more about his actions. It is the emergence of perversion in us. We control it in ourselves, but with someone like Lauer, we can secretly enjoy living vicariously in his sewer. We help foster his actions. His salary is paid through advertising dollars and for his show there are millions of people watching, so there are advertisers lining up to put out big bucks. Because of this, someone like Matt Lauer can make $25,000,000 a year. Of course he thought that anything he did was fine. He had power. Ultimately, the people have control. People in entertainment and media are paid from our advertising dollars and people in politics are paid by our tax dollars.  

Sin and evil are rampant in this world today, and we let it happen. Most Christians don’t even pray about it or call it into question. We shudder when a church is shot up or when we hear of the things that are happening now, but the core reason for all of this seems to escape us. We Christians are the stewards of the Message on this earth. We Christians are responsible for getting that Message out. The Bible is pretty clear, how shall they hear if we don’t tell? We Christians have done little to combat Satan.

Bowe Bergdahl was a young American soldier who was captured Afghanistan in 2009. As it turned out, he deserted his post. He was held for five years. A video was released in which he criticized the US military. Now released, he is being accused of desertion, dereliction of duty and being a traitor. If all is true, he is a traitor. But what about those who turn their backs on Christ and the message? We are responsible for the Matt Lauers and the Harvey Weinsteins and the others who are dotting the landscape. We bare that burden. We look at our little safe shell of a small town or small community and we don’t see anything wrong. We rarely even pray about it.

I have never taken sexual advantage of anyone. Wouldn’t even know how. As far as I know, I have never taken advantage of anyone, certainly not knowingly. I have never watched Matt Lauer on TV. I am not sure I even knew he existed. But I am one of the ones responsible. I have lived in this little Spiritual cocoon, concerned only for those around me. I don’t regularly pray for those who hold such sway over the people. I bare responsibility. And so do you, if you have been like me.

2 Chronicles 7:14---If my people, which are called by my name, shall humble themselves, and pray, and seek my face, and turn from their wicked ways; then will I hear from heaven, and will forgive their sin, and will heal their land.

Pretty clear. A very good place to start.

          I am going to let you in on a secret, one I don’t tell just anyone. I actually love this time of the year. It has very little to do with Christmas. All the flash and dazzle of the holiday depresses me. Where does the Birth of our Lord fit in with tinsel and our exchange of gifts? But I do love this time, specifically December.

          Back in 1989 I was becoming more and more upset with the way Christmas was being celebrated by the world as well as the folks in the church. And this was before Black Friday was a thing! I just didn’t like all the commercialization. So, the Sunday before Christmas, which was on Christmas Eve that year, I boldly went where no pastor had gone before. I preached on Hell. Let it rip, too. HAH! I showed them!

          The closing song was “Silent Night.” I went and stood with Marsha and greeted people as they went out. The words I got from the people stunned me. Have a Merry Christmas, Pastor. Looks like we will get some Christmas Eve snow! You folks going up to see the parents? What time do you folks get up for Christmas? My mind was jumbled. Were these people nuts? I had just preached a barn burner message on Hell, and it’s like they didn’t even notice.

          There was a good reason for that. They didn’t notice. Probably because they didn’t listen. I was really crushed that our people could be so sucked into worldliness!

          Fortunately, the Lord whacked me in the back of the head with a Yule log and got my attention.

          Christmas time is a time when people focus on Christmas things, just like Easter is a time people focus on Easter things. As much as I would like those things to all be sacred things, we do live in this world. The things of the world will come through and, if we watch ourselves, that is not always bad. I really enjoy seeing kids in their new Easter clothes. I like to hear the stories of what loved ones got their wives or husbands or kids for Christmas. Marsha and I always enjoy the Christmas lights drive each year. So long as our focus is right…….

          So, the Lord took me to the woodshed a little. But, He also inspired me.

          In terms of preaching, December is a limited month. You have to spend four Sundays on the birth of Jesus and one Sunday on the coming new year. It is just the way it is today. If you are looking for a church, don’t bother looking in December. The birth of Christ only takes a few chapters in the New Testament, although there is much in Old Testament prophecy. In December, the preacher is going to preach on the Birth. I have done so for the last 34 years, with the exception of the ill-fated message on Hell. There is a challenge in preaching on the same topic and still making it interesting. But it is still the same topic.

          Because of this, however, I came to a wonderful discovery.

          The Lord called me to pastor. What most people do not consider is that pastoring and preaching are two different callings. There are many wonderful preachers who are sad pastors, and many really good pastors who are poor preachers. I recognized this early on. Preaching was a struggle. Consequently, I struggled for years to be a better preacher. In seminary, I pursued a degree in ministry, but I read everything I could that was in the reading list for a preaching, or homiletics, degree. By the time I had my master’s in ministry I had done all the reading for a doctorate in homiletics. Marsha was the one who pushed me to go ahead and go for the doctorate, since I had done all the work already, except for some field work and the dissertation. You would think I would be a better preacher, but I am what I am.

          In all of that preparation, I came across an article concerning something called a Planned Program of Preaching. The PPP involves sitting down and planning your preaching for a month or even three months. Scripture passage, sermon topic and maybe some thoughts. Then, when you get to that week, you have the Scripture and topic, all you have to do is prepare (which is the fun part). At the time I first read the article, I dismissed if. How can you let the Spirit lead if you program it? Never thought about it again.

          Until the week between Christmas and New Years of 1989.

          The Lord brought it to my mind while I was in prayer one morning. I resisted, He insisted, so I thought I would give it a month. I spent a lot of time in prayer that week about messages for January. By the end of the week I had a basic outline for the month. You pray about it and the Lord leads and there were four weeks of topics. Pretty cool! No feeling of rush during those weeks that were heavy with pastoral duties. I already had the topics. The amazing thing was, we did have something suddenly come up that January in the church that needed to be addressed from the pulpit. The sermon that was on the PPP was exactly what was needed. What? You mean to tell me that the Holy Spirit knows what is coming and can direct my paths a month away? Un-stinking-real! As January drew to a close I looked to February and March. Again, the Lord didn’t disappoint. Having sought out the Lord and having prayed over everything, I found my messages were always on topic. It was unreal! As March wound down, I went for three months. Everything was perfect. There were weeks when I was at hospitals for various needs, when others had other kinds of problems, when I had to leave town suddenly for four or five days. In those cases, I was ready.

          When December 1990 rolled around, I was excited. I found I was already putting those messages for the first three months together in my mind. Easter was coming, and I love to preach curing the Easter season. Not only that, but I had been invited to speak at Kent State University on the topic of Resurrection, so I needed to prepare for that. I began to prepare at the beginning of December.

          One sermon led to another. The Lord was really moving! By the end of December I took stock of what the Lord had accomplished during the month. I was actually quite surprised that every Sunday during year had a topic and Scripture. No, no, no, that can’t be right, I thought. And what is this, starting in June? I had two topics and sets of Scripture for each Sunday through the end of the year. I remembered doing that, but why? Did the Lord want me to preach two messages on those Sundays? That wouldn’t go over well at all. Now I was a little worried. How could I prepare for a whole year in advance, and why the double messages for more than half a year? I was doing something wrong, for sure.

          But the messages were right on the money.

          When we got to May there was a small, struggling church in the community where we lived (we didn’t live in the same community as the church I pastored) that was coming into some real problems. Knowing some of the folks, because we were neighbors, I was asked to come on Wednesday evening to talk things over from a Biblical perspective. My church’s weekly Bible study was Thursday evening, so that worked well. It would only be a couple of weeks, anyway. After a couple of weeks the little church asked if I might fill the pulpit for a couple of Sundays. Of course, I was pastoring, but they offered to change their times to accommodate my schedule. From that, I was there every Sunday for the next 80 weeks. The very first Sunday of preaching that dual situation was the first Sunday I had two messages listed for a Sunday on my Planned Program of Preaching.

          December is my special month. It is when the coming year is revealed to me, at least as far as sermons go. I also can pick out the Scripture reading (which is not the same as the sermon Scripture) for each week to go along with the messages. The liturgist for the month then gets that list. Rena the secretary knows in advance what the message and Scripture will be and Marsha, who picks the songs, will have a complete listing of songs for every service of the year by the middle of January, which she can then give to the instrumentalists. A fellow pastor once told me that the PPP was stupid. It completely took the Spirit out of it. I told him that we obviously had two different S/spirits at work in our lives. His spirit was only strong enough to cover him for a week at a time. My Spirit is strong enough to give me a year! 

          Well, you might say, God has blessed you. But here is the secret. I have access to the same Spirit you have access too. Incredible things can be done, if we just let Him have His way.

          I do love this month!

          Blessings.