Life is about change, I suppose. I grew up in the country, more or less. My father farmed and worked in a factory until I was 16, when the farm failed. I was driving a tractor in the field and on the road when I was 10 and I drove a truck when I was 12. That made my mother angry, but it was a small town and there was practically no traffic, so it was not a problem.

          I went to college in a small southern city, but to me it was a huge place. They had transit buses and cabs and a full time police force and all of that sort of thing. After that, we moved to Miami, Florida. For a mid-western farm boy, that was a real change.

          After several years in Miami we left our church and returned to seminary. The place was the panhandle of Florida, and we were about as far into the country as you could get. I felt at home, sort of, but I still felt very much like a stranger in a strange land.

          The first thing we really ran into in our area was the decorating of graves. The cemetery behind our church had many graves that were decorated. When I saw my first decorated grave, I thought someone had vandalized the grave. Broken (but colorful) dishes lined the edges of the grave. A couple of unusually shaped and colored bottles were embedded in the dirt on top of the grave. The headstone had Christmas garland around it. It didn’t look anything like what I was used too. But, that was their way and their tradition. Most of the graves there were decorated with glass or sea shells. Once you got used to it, it was sort of nice.

          Another thing was at Christmas time. My wife and son and I drove into the parsonage driveway one evening after a day at the nearest mall. (60 miles away) There was a large bush that none of us could identify lying on our front steps. We assumed it had blown there from the nearby woods until we saw that it was tied to the handrail, evidently to keep it from blowing away. We had no idea what it was or why it was there. It was not potted, but looked to be cut from a larger bush or vine or something. Actually, it was ugly. We figured someone from the church had brought it by because it was tied to the rail, so we didn’t want to throw it away. We just left it where it was.

          The next day was Sunday and we dressed and headed across the yard to the church. One of the men was waiting for us on the porch of the church. He pointed back to the parsonage.

          “You know, you should take your mistletoe in. Someone is gonna steal a big one like that right off your steps during church if you don’t.”

          My wife looked at him and said, “Mistletoe? That’s not mistletoe.”

          The fellow looked at her as though she had uttered some black oath. “Well, Ah declare but it is. Ah shot it mahself.”

          My wife grew up in Cleveland, Ohio. When we lived in Miami I depended on her to fill me in on the subtleties of city life. Now, out here in the country, she depended on my life experience to explain country living. Certainly, in Cleveland people did not have to shoot the shrubbery. She didn’t understand why this man had shot the bush. She looked at me for clarification. Her look held two questions. First, she had always thought that mistletoe was a plastic ball of green that you put over a doorway at Christmas. So, she wanted to know if that was mistletoe and she wanted to know why one would shoot mistletoe. 

          As for me, I knew that we in the country didn’t go around shooting the greenery, either. At least not in Ohio. I was stumped. I was pretty sure the bush was not an animal of any sort, but sometimes we saw strange things there in northwest Florida. But it was definitely a plant, and, in my experience, plants were relatively docile and didn’t need to be shot. Whether or not it was actually mistletoe didn’t interest me near as much as why it had to be shot. So, I asked the question;

          “Why did you have to shoot it?”

          Folks there thought Marsha was a lot of fun. She was definitely a big city girl. She still thought being up close to a cow was the greatest of thrills. She would get so excited she would yell for someone to come and look at the moo-cow. A tractor in the field fascinated her. Having fresh vegetables and meat was a new experience that she would go on and on about. Like I said, they thought she was fun.

          On the other hand, the people there knew I was a country boy to begin with. They expected more from me than they did from Marsha. Our mistletoe shooter looked at me now like I must have been the imbecile son of a farmer.

          “Land sakes, preacher-boy (oh how I hated ‘preacher-boy’), how the heck else are you supposed to get it out of the tree?”

          A good question, I suppose. At least he thought it was, for it seemed to answer my question for him. He shook his head in bewilderment and walked into the church. I was left with another question, which it was just as well I didn’t ask. I wanted to know why you didn’t just cut the mistletoe off the bottom of the mistletoe tree?

          That afternoon I looked up information on mistletoe. As it happens, it is a parasite plant that grows in the top of a host tree. How it ever got to be associated with kissing and Christmas is something I never cared to learn. I do know that we had a hard time pulling that bush through the door and into the parsonage. We never did hang it up. We just kept it until we took the tree down and then we burned both of them in the backyard. The mistletoe was nearly as big as the tree, so we had a nice bonfire by which to remember Christmas, 1983.

    Eddie and Terry and Dan and Jamie and sometimes his wife Marianne and I would get together at four or five o'clock in the morning and have breakfast at Dennys. On Christmas morning. Marsha went once, but I am not sure she ever really woke up. There would be few other people scattered around, but they were mostly staying to themselves. There has to be a story to someone eating breakfast by himself at five o'clock in the morning on Christmas. Likely a sad story. However, our little group sat together and enjoyed our fellowship.

    The question was asked of me last week, what was it I missed most about Christmas, now that I am alone and far away. I think the expected answer was my son or, now, my granddaughter. I can only assume that the asker expected something sad. I thought for a few seconds and replied that I missed that little fellowship at Dennys.

    To most, it would sound silly, but everyone's idea of a fun Christmas is different. Terry and Eddie were Elders in the church. Jamie did the sound and organized the special music. Dan did the sound at a mega church in Texas, but he returned to Mom and Dad's for Christmas every year. Marianne was a school teacher with a wicked sense of humor. Our goal was to fellowship, to give our waitress a smile for Christmas (and a really nice tip) and to share Jesus with all who were there. We laughed, we joked, we sang Christmas carols. It was fun. Throw in the Dennys' Grandslam breakfast and it was the perfect morning.

    And now, I live where there is no Dennys, I am alone and I am far away from family. Traditions are gone. Laughter and opening gifts are no more. And yet, I find out that the holiday is actually better this way. There is nothing wrong with gifts and lights and laughter, so long as the worship of Christ is first. Now, with nothing to catch my attention and draw me away from Christ, I feel more fulfilled.   

    Back to Dennys on Christmas morning. We would give our orders and then Eddie would pick his target. Getting up, he would wander that way. He would sit down and start to share Jesus. The rest of us soon followed. We would find our way back to our table as the food was coming and we would enjoy. Then we would sing. It was like going caroling, only inside with coffee and sitting. Sometimes everyone in the place would be singing. What a wonderful way to start Christmas! It is a good memory.

    I look at people who have lost the joy of Christmas because their kids are grown or they are alone or there is some issue in their lives. Burdens can be so large that they block out the glow of the Savior. But it doesn't need to be that way. What a marvelous time to walk aways with Jesus. The joy of that is far better than the other things that clutter our walk.

    And, if you like, I am available to come to your house at 4 AM  and we can have a cup of coffee and some eggs and biscuits.

        To get to my grandmother's farm, you had to drive up a pretty substantial hill on a dirt road in southern Kentucky. Usually, we went in the summer months, so the dust from the road just hung in the air. We did go at Christmas one year. That was a disaster. My mother had ten brothers and sisters. Someone thought it would be wonderful for all eleven siblings and their families to get together at Granny's. Everyone was gung-ho, except Granny. Two of my mother's brothers lived in the same county, so the people were able to not be all crammed in, but it was still a lot of people. Granny hung in there, though. She made Christmas dinner on, and in, her old wood burning stove.

    But this isn't about that awful Christmas. This is about a discovery I made one hot summer evening on the back porch.

    First, my grandmother's house was old. Not like fifty years or even a hundred years. My mother's family had owned that farm since the 1700s. I don't think the house was that old, but it was old. There was electricity, but the wiring was in conduits that ran along the walls rather than inside the walls. The running water consisted of a hand pump in the kitchen sink. And, of course, the outhouse. This was a nice outhouse. A four holer. You had to walk a long way to get to it because you usually tried to situate those things well away from the house. A couple of old barns and several sheds. A big corn crib. And in the house was a big fireplace. Having always lived in northeast Ohio, an evening in the summer where the temp dropped to 70 was comfortable. In southern Kentucky, such an evening was considered cold. So, even in the summer, there would be the occasional fire laid in. 

    I do like a fire, but I preferred a fire on a night when it was about 10 degrees outside and the wind was howling. Those summer fires would be too hot for me, so it was out to the front porch with my sisters and three girl cousins who my grandmother was raising. But a little boy sitting around with five girls...yuck! After a little bit of that I would just start wandering around the house in the dark, checking things out. On the night in question, I wound up sitting on the back porch with the big old blue tick (That's a type of dog. I just realized how that sounded.) my grandmother owned. Looking out at the low mountain that was off in the distance, I saw a red light flashing slowly off and on. It was higher than the mountain by a little bit and I could not figure out what that light was, so I asked the dog. He looked at me like, "How would I know?" No help there. So, I wondered and I wondered. I was thinking I should get an adult when Bobbi (cousin Roberta) walked around the house. Bobbi lived there and she was almost an adult. If I was six then she was ten, so I asked her.

    "Bobbi, what's that red thing up in the sky?"

    She looked up and around and said, "What red thing?" Dumb girl. 

    "Over there," and I pointed. 

    "That light over yonder? That's the light on top of the radio tower to warn planes away so they won't fly into the tower." Maybe she wasn't so dumb after all.

    After that she told me I needed to get in out of the cold so I wouldn't catch my death, and I refused. She went away, taking the dog with her. I was left to sit there watching that light pulse. A radio tower! That was so neat!

    I had seen an old movie on TV where there was some sort of disaster coming. In the newsroom of the radio station all these people were rushing around to get the news out. Men wearing shirts and ties with their shirt sleeves rolled up with papers clutched in their hands. Women in long dresses and high heels and a string of pearls around their necks typing furiously to generate the papers the men carried. Now as I watched that lazy pulse of a light, I couldn't figure why Bobbi wasn't more interested. Amazing things could be happening!

    Now, well, now I have been in those newsrooms. It is vastly different. No one is too impressed with anything. It is a job. No excitement, no concern. Been there, done that...ho-hum. Important things happen, sure, but they are still going to eat supper that night and maybe catch the game on TV. They are cynical, I am cynical, we all have grown cynical. We are not six year old kids on a back porch any more with our minds all awhirl as we gaze heavenward. It has all become to regular, to common. The wonder is gone. We have grown up.

    And the loss of that wonder is a shame. We have trained our minds to dismiss the amazing. It takes so much more than it used to in order to ignite our imagination.

    A young couple, dusty and tired from days of travel, coming into a small town, crammed with dozens and dozens, perhaps hundreds and hundreds, of people. And that couple finding shelter where no human should live and in that place delivering the Child that would offer Himself to save any and all who would believe. Yes, it is an old story. We have heard it over and over, again and again. And we need something more to give us the feeling of Christmas.

    Someone asked me the other day if I was going to slip away and go to Ohio over the Christmas holiday to see the granddaughter. No. As far as time to go on a trip, Christmas is not good. It will mean as much next March or April. The only child I need to hold to feel the wonder of Christmas is the Child I hold in my heart. Please, don't lose that bit of wonder.

 

Isaiah 7:14---Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and shall call His name Immanuel.

We know all of this, of course. Immanuel is Jesus. There is a longer passage in Isaiah 9 that talks of the same thing. Part of the miracle of the birth of the Christ is that in various places in the Old Testament, His birth, life and death are foretold. Every blood sacrifice in Scripture is a foretelling of the coming Messiah and His sacrifice. The events surrounding His conception and birth are just a part of the miracle. Isaiah is particularly blessed because he saw both the birth of Christ and the death of Christ (Isaiah 53). The exactness of the prophetic Word is denied today by the great ‘thinkers,’ but I think that is because they are fearful of becoming no longer relevant. That was the situation in the time of Jesus, and mankind has not changed.

But as always, you cannot just take a single verse and discern what the Lord is saying. Isaiah 7 is written with impending war as the back drop. Isaiah is talking to Ahaz, the king. Ahaz was a sinful man who would come to hate Isaiah. Here, Isaiah is bringing the Word of God to Ahaz as he faces war against an overpowering army. God offers to something to Ahaz.

Isaiah 7:10-14---¹⁰ Again the Lord spoke to Ahaz: ¹¹ “Ask a sign of the Lord your God; let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven.” ¹² But Ahaz said, “I will not ask, and I will not put the Lord to the test.” ¹³ And Isaiah said, “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary men, that you weary my God also? ¹⁴ Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a Son, and shall call His name Immanuel.

This is not just a foretelling of the coming Messiah. The Lord was going to show His grace and mercy to this sinful man. God offers Ahaz anything, anything at all, so that He can show the king His power. Why does Ahaz turn the offer down? Well, Ahaz was a Jew, so He knew the stories of God’s grace. He knew God would come through. But he also knew that during the Exodus there was a problem of people ‘testing’ the Lord. They were arguing among themselves and questioning if God was even among them. They were ‘testing’ His patience. But here God makes the offer! My belief on this is that Ahaz felt that if he took the Lord up on His offer, he would owe the Lord. The Lord says, fine, then I will show you the greatest of signs. And then, the prophecy of the Child.

This teaches a lesson that most people ignore. Most people just see the prophecy of the Messiah. However, the purpose of the prophecy is lost on them. Ahaz was being offered anything. Many years before, the same offer had been given to Solomon. Solomon said all he really wanted was wisdom to better rule the people, and God blessed him with that, and more. But Ahaz has nothing. What might have been?

If Ahaz had asked for the ability to do diplomacy and save his people, it would have happened. And likely other blessings, as well. If Ahaz had asked for God to annihilate his enemies, it would have happened. God said any thing he wanted. That is amazing. I think if Ahaz had said he wanted to be 6’4” and handsome (in other words, some trivial personal thing) God have just rolled His eyes. But whatever Ahaz wanted in relation to the issue at hand, it would be done. However, he refused, so God promised the sign of all signs.

The lesson for us is this: whatsoever we ask in His name, will be given to us. I often point out that names in the Bible are taken from the language. They are just regular words, but they express the essence of the person. So, asking something in Jesus’ name is asking for His will to be done. The name Jesus means Jehovah saves, so when you ask in His name you are expressing a desire to see His salvation in others and, whether you know it or not, you asking for that which is needed so that Jehovah can save.

But the Lord can do great things. Things that are not conceivable. Things that go beyond the realm of imagination. He specializes in the impossible. If God leads you to it, it will be done. The only obstacle is our faith, or lack thereof.

In that moment in time, Ahaz could have become as great and mighty as Solomon. Instead, he turned out to be just another name in the list of kings.

What is the impossible wall that faces you or the church? Accept His offer and live up to it.