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Vol 1 Issue 3
The Edifier Online
Text Version Fall 1996
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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?
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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!"
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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.
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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!"
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HOMEPAGES
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