------------------------------------------------------------------------- Vol 1 Issue 3 The Edifier Online Text Version Fall 1996 ------------------------------------------------------------------------- FEATURE ARTICLE LESS IS MORE by Craig Marsh In the days just prior to Jesus' public ministry, there were two ministries that were at odds with each other: the ministry of John the Baptist, and the "ministry" of the Pharisees. Not only was John in conflict with the Pharisees, he was also telling the political leaders the error of their ways. This would later lead to his death. The main conflict I want to focus on, however, is the humility of versus the pride of the Pharisees. The Pharisees were power hungry individuals who twisted the Law around to benefit themselves. They were callous and unyielding to the very one who they were supposedly looking forward to coming - the Messiah. Though John was bold, outspoken, and uncompromising in his beliefs, he nevertheless served God with humility. It would have been very easy for John to get all puffed up like the Pharisees were. After all, he had a trailblazing ministry, his own disciples, large crowds to preach to, many of whom thought he was Elijah or even the Messiah. To top it all off, he was the one who baptized Jesus. Just think of all the books, tapes and seminars that could have come out of that experience alone! Yet John didn't let any of these things go to his head. Sure, he baptized Jesus, but he did it in humility and obedience. John said in Matthew 3:11 that he wasn't even worthy to carry Jesus' sandals. I believe John had some kind of relationship with God. Some scholars say John never personally knew Jesus, but he knew who Jesus was, and what he was on Earth to accomplish. He also knew who he was in comparison and found joy in serving God. John didn't allow himself to become blinded by the pride that even the best of us can fall prey to. On the other hand, the Pharisees were unwilling to relinquish their power and position to Christ's authority. They certainly didn't have a relationship with God because they didn't even recognize who Jesus was! Whereas the Pharisees wanted to retain their lofty position, John the Baptist was willing to surrender everything, including his ministry. John's attitude was summed up in John 3:30, where he said, "He must become greater; I must become less." Wow! Christians aren't always rewarded here on Earth for their dedication to Christ. As I mentioned earlier, John's bold preaching to the politicians landed him in the jailhouse. While there, he sent word to Jesus asking if He was the one to come. Now I don't think John doubted who Jesus was, and I don't think he was afraid of dying for Him. John just needed assurance that the one he was living for, and soon would die for was truly the Christ. Where do you stand today? Do you have a relationship with the one true Jesus? Are you like the Pharisees who were unwilling to give up their plans in exchange for a higher calling? Are you too proud to admit you are wrong and He is right? Or are you like John? He had a relationship with God. He let go of all vain pursuits and allowed God to use him to show others to Christ. Are you willing to become less so that he can become more in your life? -------------------------------------------------------------------------- SPECIAL ARTICLE I REMEMBER CHRISTMAS: Twelve Memories For the Twelve Days of Christmas by Thomas E. Mackey So often I hear people say, "Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could keep the Christmas spirit all year long?" Well, here's my contribution toward that goal, by sharing with you a memory for each of the twelve days following Christmas Day. I hope some of my memories will stir up some of yours, and by so doing help you extend your Christmas will into the New Year. ONE. My earliest clear memory of Christmastime goes back to the first grade at Webster Elementary School in Hillsboro, Ohio. Standing in line at the water fountain, I was trying to explain to Jimmy Byrd that Santa Claus was a puerile fiction perpetuated by prevaricating parents; and the intelligent, well-informed first-grader should readily give up such Santa superstition for the plain, hard facts. My enlightening dissertation came to an abrupt end when Miss Brook, normally a kind and gentle teacher, both my surprised and undivided attention by the painful rotation of my ear firmly grasped between her fingers. Leading me aside, she sternly instructed me to keep my advanced knowledge to myself so the other first grade students' fantasies would not be foiled. It never occurred to me that the plain, unvarnished truth might do any harm or spoil anyone's fun. TWO. Grandma used to say she'd rather have a thief for a son than a liar. And Pop went out of his way to avoid a lie and speak the truth, even when telling a joke. The church, the Bible and Christian faith were highly valued in our family. The Christmas event of the virgin Mary giving birth to the Baby Jesus in Bethlehem was not lumped together with myths and legends of Santa Claus; it was regarded as one of the most astonishing and earth-shaking facts of history, recorded for us from the testimony of reliable, first-hand witnesses. THREE. As devout as our family was, because our church was non-liturgical, there was no special service on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, unless it happened to fall on Sunday. During all my growing-up years, Christmas Eve was not so much religious as it was uniquely a family get-together time the...the more the merrier! For a time of family reunion, only Thanksgiving and Memorial Day came close to rivaling Christmas. Sometimes we went to Grandpa and Grandma's house; sometimes they came to ours. It was extra special when my married brother, William Howard, could come from Indiana with his family, because his fingers could coax music from the keys of the piano like no one else could. Though childhood excitement in anticipation of opening gifts (which we did one at a time in turn) is very much a part of the memory of past Christmases, from the vantage point of years, I believe the greatest gift we gave each other was the coming together in love and acceptance. FOUR. Trying to recall memorable Christmas gifts, the first ones that surfaced surprised me. My first real suit came the Christmas I was in the sixth grade. I'm sure it was that year because that's the same year the new '55 Chevrolet Bel Air was offered in a two-tone color-scheme of charcoal gray and salmon pink. (Remember it?) What does that have to do with my new suit, you say? It was also charcoal gray 100% wool, with a contrasting pink shirt, and a pink and gray tie. I felt so grown up wearing it. That was back when young boys actually wanted to put on a suit and tie like the big folks. FIVE. My most unusual Christmas present was also the most fattening. And it's all the fault of Frisch's Bit Boy Doubledeck Hamburger. Coming home from Christmas shopping in the big city (Cincinnati), our favorite place to stop and eat was Frisch's in Mariemont. It was there I discovered that mustard and ketchup were not the only condiments appropriate for hamburgers. It was there my taste buds first reveled in the ineffable delight of a Big Boy with Frisch's tartar sauce... not just andy tartar sauce, mind you, Frisch's! Just the thought of it, even now, sends my palate into lipsmacking ecstasy! So it was with a fine sensitivity to my preference for this particular culinary delight that someone (I suspect it was Mama) conspired with other family members to creatively wrap three separate pints of Frisch's tartar sauce in different sized packages. Other than the portion I begrudgingly shared with brother Charlie, all three were spooned like pudding down the hatch, gone in less than a week! SIX. Not all of the most memorable gifts were coming my way. I'll never forget the Christmas Mama got us all to collaborate in getting Papa metal spatulas. Before the says of non-stick pans Pop was forever breaking the handles loose from the turner while scraping things free from the frying pan. This would evoke the anguished cry of a male in the kitchen, "Where is a good spatula when you need one?!?" That year Pop had more gifts to open than any of the rest of the family. By the time all the wrapping paper was on the floor, he had unwrapped twelve or sixteen metal spatulas of various sizes, and we had all laughed ourselves silly. SEVEN. For some reason I especially remember one Christmas gift I neither gave nor received; it was the Sunbeam Mixmaster with twelve speeds that Papa gave Mama. Not the sort of gift, in and of itself, that would qualify in my own evaluation for the Hall of Fame; but to Mama, you'd have thought it was one of the most desirable and valuable gifts in all the world. It was her response that makes it so memorable. Was it the tears of joy, or the way she hugged Papa's neck, or how she said, "You must really love me a lot." Her genuine gratitude and appreciation are indelibly etched in my mind. EIGHT. There's another memory of Christmas giving that crowds into the family circle, or perhaps I should say, expands the circle somewhat. Each year, the minister of our church made a list of boys and girls whose Christmas would be meager at best, unless there was outside help. A few weeks before Christmas he would take the time during the church service to recruit volunteers who would take care of the needed articles of clothing for: a boy, age nine, size eight coat and size five shoes; a girl, age seven, size six dress, small boots and gloves. No names were read aloud to avoid unnecessary embarrassment. The list was quite extensive, but one by one, or sometimes two by two, each was spoken for by members of the congregation. I felt like I had come of age, when with the earning from a part-time job at the grocery store, I was able to accept responsibility for a little boy's Christmas. I wonder if they're still doing that in Hillsboro; or have taxpayer dollars taken over what the church folks once did? NINE. There's a story that I read years ago in Guideposts that keeps bubbling back to the surface of my memories each December. As best I can recall, it's the true story of an elementary school Christmas pageant, somewhere in small town, middle America. Key to the story is Wally, who was a good bit larger and a good bit slower than the other children in his class. He was chosen for the part of the Bethlehem innkeeper because of his size and the short lines to be spoken. When Mary and Joseph knocked at his door, Wally was supposed to open it and gruffly say, "No room. Begone!" But Wally's heart was bigger than his part. He got so caught up in the real-life drama that he forgot his three short words. Finally, echoing the voice of the prompter, he said mechanically, as if in a daze, "No room; begone." As Mary and Joseph turned sadly away, Wally's face became markedly troubled, and his eyes began to brim with compassion. And that's when this Christmas pageant became different from all the others that had gone before. Wally called out, "Mary! Joseph! Wait, come back. You can have my room!" TEN. No growing up memories of Christmas would be complete without recalling the High School Christmas Choral Concert. It always ended with softly singing "Silent Night, Holy Night"...all the lights out, then the candles lit, and some of the girls softly crying. Why? I don't know. Women and girls just cry about stuff that doesn't phase us men. Was it the soft music? The candlelight? Or did we somehow truly touch the awareness of the Holy? I didn't cry; but seems like I remember a little extra dampness around my eyes, and some strange flutters in my tummy. 'Course if I'd known Silent Night was written by a Roman Catholic priest, I probably wouldn't have even sung it. Back in those days there was only one thing worse than being a Catholic...an atheist. I later learned that many Catholics felt the same way about Protestants. That was pre-Vatican II, when a Catholic wouldn't be caught dead in a Protestant worship service, even a wedding; or if they were, had to go to confession. What an extraordinary change has transpired over the past forty years in the way most of us look at one another! Today, some of my dearest Christian friends, whose walk of faith and devotion I hold in deepest respect (certain theological interpretations notwithstanding) are Catholics. ELEVEN. Some of that respect was engendered through my experiences "behind the iron curtain" for the first time in 1974. It was the first week in January. In America, greetings of Merry Christmas had already given way to shouts of Happy New Year! But in Czechoslovakia, to my surprise and great delight, I discovered Christmastide was still in full bloom! They took the twelve days following Christmas seriously. And the Eastern Orthodox, because of a difference in the calendar, were just beginning Christmas! In Brn, the second largest city, the church living under the oppressive, dark cloud of Communism was stretching its limited freedom, to the fullest extent in order to bring some Christmas light to that darkness. In St. Petrov's Cathedral dating back to the 12th Century, there was spread out along one wall, not just a manger scene, but a miniature panorama of the whole village of Bethlehem and the surrounding countryside! A few blocks down the hill, we came upon another Catholic church with people streaming into it for Saturday night mass. In an atheistic controlled society where faithful church attendance marked one for discrimination and persecution, here were hundreds of believers who could lose their jobs or be refused any opportunity for advancement because they carried their Christmas faith over into each successive week. Their courage and commitment earned my respect and admiration. Once inside the church, and standing near the back (there were twice as many people as pews), I watched and listened as this congregation knelt and prayed, sang and worshipped. During the singing, to the left behind me, I heard a voice as sweet as an angel. Stealing a glance across my shoulder, I discovered those angelic sounds were coming from a very plain looking and poorly dressed middle-aged woman. Something deep within me was profoundly touched. As my eyes returned straight ahead to the cross at the front, somehow I knew she loved the same Lord Jesus who had captured my heart. Do you think with some added respect combined with an increased awareness of our common enemy, our family of faith may always be helped to lay aside our differences and come together? TWELVE. I was an adult before I realized there are literally hundreds of millions of Christians...Catholic, Orthodox, and Protestant... who faithfully attend a special worship service on Christmas Eve. I remember one Christmas EVe a few years ago when I was unable to be with any of my family. Alone and lonely, I turned on the one-eyed companion and was surprised to discover the Christmas Eve Mass from St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. Particularly impressive was the special effort in evidence to include peoples from many different languages and cultures around the world. Though the pomp and ceremony was much more involved than the worship style to which I had been accustomed, I experienced something I did not expect. Separated from my biological family and our own Christmas family traditions by several hundred miles, I found myself gently drawn together across thousands of miles into the warmth of another family circle...the family of faith; not the faith of a particular denomination, but the faith rooted in Jewish history of two thousand years ago...when a devout Jewish maiden named Mary, having never known a man, gave birth to a little boy-child...a child the angel of the Lord said was the promised Messiah, to be called Jesus (the Lord saves), and Emmanuel (God with us). And the angel said to Jewish shepherds, this is "GOOD NEWS OF GREAT JOY... FOR ALL THE PEOPLE!" -------------------------------------------------------------------------- FOOD FOR THOUGHT A CANDYMAKER'S WITNESS anonymous A candymaker in Indiana wanted to make a candy that would be a witness, so he made the Christmas Candy Cane. He incorporated several symbols for the birth, ministry, and death of Jesus Christ. He began with a stick of pure white, hard candy. White to symbolize the Virgin Birth and the sinless nature of Jesus; and hard to symbolize the Solid Rock, the foundation of the Church, and firmness of the promises of God. The candymaker made the candy in the form of a "J" to represent the precious name of Jesus, who came to earth as our Saviour. It could also represent the staff of the "Good Shepherd" with which He reaches down into the ditches of the world to lift out the fallen lambs who, like all sheep, have gone astray. Thinking that the candy was somewhat plain, the candymaker stained it with red stripes to show the stripes of the scourging Jesus received by which we are healed. The large red stripe was for the blood shed by Christ on the cross so that we could have the promise of eternal life. Unfortunately, the candy became known as a candy cane - a meaningless decoration seen at Christmas time. But the meaning is still there for those who "have eyes to see and ears to hear." I pray that this symbol will again be used to witness TO THE WONDER OF JESUS AND HIS GREAT LOVE that came down at Christmas and remains the ultimate and dominate force in the universe today. ------------------------------------------------------------------------- OPEN FORUM CLOSET CHRISTIANS by Craig Marsh You see them at the mall, at school, the bank, even at work. Who are these people? What deep secret are they hiding, and why? They are closet Christians, quietly guarding the secret to abundant and eternal life. In a time when people of all manner of lifestyles are coming out of their closets, multitudes of Christians are basking in the comfort and security of theirs - with no intention of coming out. There is one thing I would like for you to consider. Have you every seen a great movie, eaten at a fantastic restaurant, or maybe even found a diet that actually worked? If so, then you probably told every- one in sight about your experience. Why then, do we as Christians keep the best thing that ever happened to us a secret from those who desperately need to know? Matthew 5:14-16 tells us we are the light of the world, and just as a city on a hill cannot be hidden, neither should we hide our light, but let it shine before all men. Like many others, you may feel in- adequate or unqualified. NONSENSE! It doesn't take a theology degree to flip your light switch on, only a relationship with Jesus. That's it! A daily walk with the Lord in prayer, Bible study, talking to Him and letting Him talk to you. If you are daring enough to try this, then you won't be able to hold back the light inside. People will see it in your expressions, actions, atti- tudes and conversation. Oh, and don't worry about having to come out of the closet, this kind of power will blow the door right off! Seasons By Kathleen Greenawalt Seasons - even states like Florida have seasons - they're just hard to tell apart. But in states like Indiana, where I grew up, there is no problem knowing when summer has ended and fall has begun. As a child, I loved walking to school kicking leaves with every step, playing in piles of leaves someone else had raked, and the smelling leaf piles burning in the backyard. But I don't remember anyone cutting down those trees after all the leaves had fallen even though for the next several months there was no sign of life to be seen. In winter who can tell a live tree from a dead one? Well, this year I felt like winter tree...looking dead from the outside and even feeling pretty dead on the inside. But the Lord kept reassuring me that I was simply experiencing a season of winter. I found out that trees continue to grow in the winter. It just isn't noticeable. And there are all kinds of changes taking place inside that tree getting it ready for the day when buds will literally spring forth. But it is hard to be a tree in winter. After all, the tree really looks dead. People looking at the tree might even assume it is dead. They might even consider cutting it down before giving it a chance to prove it's alive in the Spring. And to take the analogy even further, the tree cannot come to its own defense. It is mute and left with no opportunity to speak up for itself. Seasons can also change in length. Winter may be three months long one year and stretch to five months the next year. We watch the famous groundhog in Punxsutawney, PA just to know how long the winter will last. Unfortunately, there is no spiritual equivalent to this furry weather forecaster. No one can help us by announcing when our Spring will come. So how do we survive these winter seasons? A few observations revealed that the Fall is when most "tree doctors" suggest pruning. Of course this simply adds to the tree's appearance making you wonder if the tree will ever look healthy again. But this pruning is what helps the tree sprout more branches forcing it to spread out when Spring arrives. Trees pruned in October look much prettier in June than trees left uncut. Feeding is also necessary during the winter months. Plant food specially formulated for winter feeding is left at the tree's roots or soaked into the ground so the roots can feed the tree's branches and bark. It is important to treat the tree as if it is alive - because it IS. When we find ourselves in the "dead" of winter we need to take our lessons from the trees. We may look dead. Others may even suspect we are dead. But we are still alive. We need to keep on getting good food to our roots. Dormant is not the same as dead. Food and water are as important now as in the other seasons of our lives. We need to continually remind ourselves that Spring WILL come. Winter may last even into March (or April...gasp!) but it never lasts forever. Spring will come, buds will appear and the tree that looked like it would never come alive will again be green and full of green leaves and summer fruit. We must also learn to be patient with those who discover they are in a "winter" season of life. No one purposely chooses this season of cold, lifeless days. Let's not be quick to "cut down" trees that appear dead before giving them a chance to bloom in Spring. Fruit trees bring fruit once a year. The other months are used to make the tree strong so that the fruit will be abundant and healthy. Don't despair...there WILL be a Spring. The Sower and the Bird By David Staley The steep incline of craggy heights where moon and shadow obscure ones sight, blocks the view of things below like life of Spirit, body, and soul. A Sword wrought of a Noble Birth could slice the scales; the glow unearth. Revealing guidance to help one plow, and once again renew the vow. In purpose; to walk the narrow path. Much leaner than the way of wrath. Yet price to travel costs much more but if not Sword an Eagle's soar. And soar does He above the peaks. Far higher than mere man can reach. Austere and watchful He does fly. A stray sole sower, He does spy. As Tennysons' bird, the dive is made. Alone His eyes can see the grave; the path that led the sower lost. Who figured little to count the cost. Who cast his seed upon the rocks, and ceased from horticulture talk. Reaping in turn what he had sown, and save but grace, had pride to show. Suddenly! the sower was raised above! Above his path, the rocks, and cove! Across the sea to calmer shores where foolish feet may rest their sores. The Great Bird rose till out of sight. Absorbed into a brilliant light. The sower then saw a new paths start and for forgiveness, asked from his heart. A new Day bids, a new song sings. The precious borne on valiant wings. No fear! No more at failures call. His wings are Love that covers all. GOD BLESS AMERICA? by Arleen McMahon Before we ask God's blessing, do we see ourselves as: Smiling on gold, but frowning on the Golden Rule? Evading the ballot box, but being vocal on the vicissitudes? Loving the tax-cuts, but hating the loss of benefits? Frustrated with government, but unwilling to pray? Inclined to raise progeny, but neglecting to rear children? Sympathizing with the jobless while holding down two for ourselves? Hating to bow the knee, but wailing greatly when bent? Would that our song would be, "Wake Up, America!" --------------------------------------------------------------------------- HOMEPAGES VISIONS OF GLORY MAGAZINE http://www.vog.org/ An on line Christian magazine that offers hope and help with your walk in Christ. Bringing understanding to the glorious nature and character of our Father and healing to the brokenhearted, VISIONS OF GLORY offers a Feature Article; Building Your Walls, practical applications on Christian living; 365 Days of Glory, daily meditation on the glorious nature of our God; Real Visions, how God reveals Himself in everyday lives; The Groan From the Throne, the Editor's column on God's Word in this hour; Real Time Glory, news reports on God's movements throughout the earth; VOG Prayer link, where your prayer requests go immediately to a prayer group; and Digital Inspiration, electronic art celebrating the Glory of God. Free e-subscriptions on updates. THE BOOK SHOP http://www.geocities.com/Heartland/5268/index.html This is a site that is open for reviews from individuals like you. Have you read a good book? Feel free to share that experience with others at this site. It doesn't have to be lengthy or intellectual, just your thoughts and feelings. Stop by and read the reviews that are there and think about a book that you would like others to know about. There are also some cool links to check out too! ========================================================================= The Edifier Online Webpage: http://www.en.com/users/staley/edifier.html =========================================================================