Dear Friends,

            What am I to say about the year? What can I say?

            I believe I'll call this year a year of God's faithful love. He has shown me, above all else that no matter how much I doubt, no matter how often I attempt sanctification on my own, He who has begun a good work in me will complete it. I am never too far-gone, I am never made to sit in time out(that whole concept is rather skewed, by the way. I don't know what parent decided that time alone sulking in one's room was good for a naughty child).

          In fact, I feel as though this entire year has been one in which I've learned surrender. Surrender of control, of my own strength, my dreams and aspirations...not that I'm not still pursuing them, just in a different way...and learning to put those things first which really matter.

          Well, let's start at the beginning, shall we?
         
          Ladies and Gentlemen, let's rewind the year to January. At this point in time I am awaiting news. The big question on my mind is: Will I be going to England in the spring?

           Quite frankly, at this point, I considered the dream as little more than fantasy. Christianna Elise Hellwig, the shy, argumentative, rambunctious, country bumpkin scared of the world, and full of romantic fancies going to England? The idea!
           And so we pass to February wherein I discover that, somehow or another, I am going due to the kindness of several individuals, and am beside myself with excitement as well as finding it difficult to actually believe.

            That's when I received the email.

          It consisted of a few short lines which I had to read thrice before I comprehended it. A little seven year old boy whom I'd taught for a year and a half or so, and whose family had moved to Virginia the prior November had just passed away due to what they called complications of the flue.

         It was a stunning moment for me, to say the least. I sent a response and drove two and a half hours up the next day to attend the memorial service. The poor brothers of the dear child were very excited to see me, and I was honored to be asked to sing at the service, but I nearly broke down right before it commenced at the visual sight of it all.

         A dear little child, so exuberant and full of fun when I last saw him, now lying cold and still in a coffin. It seemed too much to bear at times. From the testimonies I heard, I am convinced that little J died in the Lord, that trusted fully in his Saviour and is now alive with Him, and yet it was a sobering instance.

          None of us know how long we will dwell on this earth. We are not given the day, nor the hour, but we are given each moment to live as we choose. Will we live it for Christ, or will we live it for ourselves? We know not how many moments more we will be granted.

          February ends and March sweeps in with the feverish air that always precedes a North Carolina storm. I cannot call a trip to England a storm, but seeing as I fell in love(more on that later), one might. On March 31st, I sang Hayden's Creation with the NC Master Chorale, and the next morning, I found myself on a plane, headed for Boston, and from thence, after a four hour wait during which I wished dearly I could go outside and taste, once again, the sweet New England air of my childhood, I boarded a Virgin Atlantic aircraft bound for Heathrow in London.

         What followed was a week of delight, and, as I mentioned above, I fell in love.
        Do you know, the sheer number of beautiful stone structures in the single country is staggering. Americans and their ugly metal and glass buildings ought to be properly ashamed of themselves. I did find myself suitably entranced with the buildings, and heartily wished my countrymen could take some lessons. But that's not what I fell in love with.

         My passion for writing poetry was also rekindled. It is somewhat discouraging to be a poet in this day and age. Nobody hates poetry, in fact, when I read the common man something I've written, he will usually tell me it's good, and then promptly change the subject. The fact is, few people care to read poetry these days, and before April, I'd begun to feel ambivalent about writing it.

          And then I went to England and realized why people write poetry in the first place. They experience something that's either too deep for prose, or that sounds so much more wonderful when told in poetry. Poetry inspires me like nothing else does, and perhaps it's a good thing that these days one can't sell a book of poetry. I might stop loving the beauty of poetry, and instead care for the praise I received for it.

        I don't want that to happen, because ultimately joy found in man's praise is so transient and fleeting that it can hardly be anything beyond shallow. Whereas, Keats is at least partially correct when he says, "A thing of beauty is a joy forever." God is our joy, and in Him resides true beauty. Where else can we be more joyful but in creating, or marveling in the beauty of our Creator?

         Much of that I see in poetry, and whenever I need inspiration, I return in my mind to the beauty which I was able to drink in at Oxford.
      In truth, my friends, I had no idea that so many beautiful buildings existed in one place. Modern architects need to take a few lessons from the past, I think. It's true, having so much beauty around you can be so inspiring....no wonder we've gotten some of our best writers from England.

              But I didn't fall in love with poetry; no, that love affair began a long time ago, I fell in love with England...with the countryside in particular.
              Sheep have always been my favorite animals but in the U.S. I've only gotten to see them once or twice in my life, and then, only on  a petting farm with a whole lot of nasty goats and nagging hens, but in England I got to wave to a real flock of sheep every morning when I went out for my run/walk around the beautiful property where we stayed. Real sheep in a real field on a real farm, and oh, it was beautiful. The woods, the hills where I could stand amongst the trees and look down a slope and across a hedgerow to where another flock grazed in a far green field.

           When I stood there I felt like I couldn't get enough of it, and I still feel like it. And then there were all the little groves and, what I call islands, of trees and shrubs rooted right in the middle of grassy fields, here and there. I could hardly believe this because I'd imagined such a concept for years but never believed such things actually existed.

What a wonder.

Perhaps I haven't traveled enough, but anyway, that's my latest love affair, and I fear I'll never quite get over it. I'm afraid I left a good portion of my heart in England, and oh how it aches to see those majestic scenes once more.



               Alright,  have you all heard enough of England? Good. Let's move on.

              When I returned from my trip, the relatives on my mother's side gathered to bury my Grandfather who passed away last November. May, June, and July passed away relatively uneventfully, except I will add that a man whom our family knew in past years, a beloved father and husband, passed from cancer and my mother and I attended his service.

               Three funerals in a year. That's a lot in my book, but once again, it was a sobering reminder, and a good lesson.

        In August, my favorite Nephew was born to my sister Arianne(currently my only nephew) and I love him so very much....


             In September a wonderful friend visited from Arizona. We stayed up way too late talking about wonderful things, went on long walks and shared our writing. Her visit was too short.



           At the same time, my maternal Grandmother passed away.
              I am grateful for the time I got to spend with her, and am glad she went peacefully in her sleep. The Lord was merciful, whatever the outcome.

              October passed, bringing with it whisperings of fall and tidings of the festive season.

              Then came November in which I went to visit my dear friend in Eastern Tennessee, and ended up celebrating Thanksgiving with her family two days before the actual date. It was a wonderful time, and although, alas, I have no pictures, it was a Thanksgiving worth remembering. I have distinct memories of lying on a couch, laughing 'till I cried from various yarns woven by my friends Alaskian uncles.

I also wish I had pictures of the time when my friend, who can do Irish dancing beautifully, taught me a few steps, it was very educational and very difficult.
 
    I do, however, have a photo of a beautiful drawing my friend made for me for the epic fantasy story I've been working on for years now.
             It's the first piece of artwork anyone's ever made for my stories and I am heartily proud of it. I keep it on my desk now for regular inspiration and encouragement to press on towards the eventual completion of this story.

         I went home, celebrated Thanksgiving with my family, and then came December, and with it, Christmas.

            I had the wonderful opportunity to sing at the Christmas at Christ concert which was a beautiful, Christ honoring way to kick off the Christmas season.

             
                A week or so later, my older brother Timothy came to visit, as you probably already know. We had an uproarious time and I look forward to when he will come again.

                So ends my year, and what a year it has been. I look forward to the new year while wondering how many more changes it will bring. Somehow, I feel that 2019 has only been the beginning of a great tidal wave sweeping through my life, bringing many changes with it. Am I right? Will 2020 be the crest? Only God knows, for now, I am content, as the song says to trust Him day by day.

	Happy New Year!

                          ~ Christianna

           I love Christmas Eve service. My favorite part is the candlelight portion.

           I love it when they turn off all the lights and our only illumination emanates from the candles held by each person. One small candle each for about three-hundred people equals a great deal of light.
          The beautiful thing about fire is that it's not, in itself, a quantifiable substance. The church doesn't need to purchase two crates of fire along with the candles. The ushers simply walk along the end of each row with a lighter, and the single flame gets passed down from candle to candle all the way down the row.

          Just like that, the fire is multiplied. All you need is one little spark to light a thousand candles. All we needed was one Son of God to make many children of God. All we needed was one baby in a manger to ignite a spark that will never be extinguished and will keep growing until Christ's return.
         I speak to all the Christians who are reading this. You and I have a great responsibility. We each hold a lighted candle that has been passed on to us. It is now our job to pass that flame to as many others as we possibly can.

          We must not take our candle to a quiet, peaceful, lonely place and hide it away. It must sit on the lamp-stand, in the center of our sphere of influence, to share its light with everybody.

          Christmastide is a reminder of this responsibility. Christ was like the usher with the lighter at the beginning of the row. Now the flame has come to us, and we must light the candle of the person standing next to us.


           This is how it goes. Join with me, my brothers and sisters. Together, with Christ's strength, we can light a thousand candles, proclaiming the birth of our glorious Lord.



               Let's go ahead and sing a thousand carols while we're at it. Would you like to join me?

        Merry Christmas!

             Much Love,
              ~ Christianna

           If you're wondering why I've been somewhat spotty, a little bit vague, and rather loose with grammar in my posts this year, I have an excuse. The picture above is what I've been waiting for.

           My older brother lives in Florida, and very recently came up to visit for Christmas. There have been several late nights(or should I say early :p) Long discussions, heated arguments, laughs that lasted so long they hurt, and beautiful memories made. I think this Christmas season has been the best in several years for us, and I look forward to Christmas day and all the time I have left for this year with Timothy.

         Have you ever heard the saying, "Absence makes the heart grow fonder?" Well, to some degree that was the case with my older brother. We were always the two in the family to butt heads from how to sweep the floor, to whether or not Jews used the New Testament, and everything in between.

       In fact, just now, my dear older brother proclaimed that I could never beat him in Bible Challenge - a Bible knowledge game, and I am convinced that I absolutely could.

        I refrain from starting an argument, but, you see how this goes? Anyway, there was a point in my life where I was happy to have some distance between us because we simply couldn't see eye to eye, and I was thoroughly tired of ramming my head against a brick wall.
      
       I didn't understand him, he didn't comprehend me in the least, and as for opinions, it was hard for us to agree what was personal and what was a matter of morality.

       Well, I got distance; plenty of it, in fact. After a while, I was able to put things in perspective and began to see that while trying to get Timothy to see things my way was a matter of personal satisfaction, the amount of congeniality and love we had for each other was a matter of eternal importance. When we stand in the presence of Christ, out ideologies and opinions will not matter in the face of unquestionable truth. However, the times we spent, the way we treated each other, the love which we manifested, those will echo throughout all of endless time.

        I still get into arguments with my brother now and again, but I've come to value him as a person, regardless of what he thinks or says. He's my brother, and that counts for a lot.

         What does this have to do with Christmas? Oh, everything, of course.

         You see, the unifying factor is Christ.

         It is He who draws us together, and gives us a reason to be joyful.

         Without Christ what reason would I have to even attempt to love any of my brothers who, at times, can be downright infuriating (of course I can be the same to them).

         If Christ did not come, we would have no call to be glad about anything. The world is a depressing place on many counts; to quote a friend, "It seems as though every time you clean up one mess, there's another mess and it's twice as big as the old one."

        But God....

 Those blessed two words that turn the tide of even the worst course of events.

        But God did not leave us where we were. He sent His son, born of a virgin, fully God and fully man, to bear our sins upon His shoulders, to take the full weight of God's just wrath upon His head. And now we can rejoice, and I think all nature joins in.

         It's fitting to bring trees into our homes at Christmas, whatever the pagans may have done with them before, it matters not. Trees belong to God, and they are glorious now, but someday, because of Christ, God will restore them to their full glory. Animals may be dumb and nasty smelling now, but it was only fitting that they should be present at Christ's birth; someday, they too will be released from the burden of sin under which all creation groans.

         Instruments are man made, flawed, sometimes jarring, and never perfect, but it's only fitting that even they should sing God's praises to the best of their ability. All that exists should exist to exalt our Creator, for that is where our purpose lies, and there we will find true joy.


          I'm going to share a carol with you today which you've probably all heard, though, perhaps not in this particular version.


          I first heard The Ukranian Bell Carol, also known as the Carol of The Bells, before I can remember, but I only really fell in love with the song a few years ago when I heard an English boy's choir sing their rendition. This beautiful chorus seemed to truly capture the heart of the song and I have adored it ever since.

           While bells ringing has very little to do with the original Christmas story, it has a great deal invested in our Christmas traditions throughout history and reflect the joy we have been brought in Christ. When I was in Oxford I got to hear bells multiple times on Sunday , and they truly are magnificent.

          They do seem to call us to throw cares away and be merry.

          Christmas is here, bringing good cheer, perhaps more of us ought to listen to the song of the bells!



                  Gloria in Excelsis Deo!

             ~ Christianna

           One of the largest elements of Christmas is gift giving. Our celebration revolves about it. I start thinking about Christmas presents in August and by late October I've usually acquired most of them. The excitement of receiving secret packages that you hustle up to your special hidehout with many sneaky looks and misleading hints if necesary. If a sibling has the audacity to ask you what you got him for Christmas, you open your eyes wide and allow a slow smile to creep across your features, as you respond coyly,"Wouldn't you like to know?"

          We love giving gifts, we're so excited to receive them, and we love surprising and being surprised(at least I do). What I like even better, though, is a gift that's hidden somewhere and I'm given a riddle as a clue to its whereabouts. Riddles have this way of not making sense in the least, until the solution, by some means or another.

             Suddenly, all the strange little rhymes and disjointed sentences make sense, and you can see the progression, how it all fit together. And, of course, it makes the gift that much more special.

           You can see where I'm going, right? God not only gave us a marvelous gift at Christmas all those years ago, but he left us marvelous clues along the way.

            "Behold, a Virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel."
           "But you, Bethlehem, Ephrathah, the least among the clans of Judah. Out of you will come a ruler which will shepherd my people Israel."
            "A voice was heard in Ramah; weeping and lamentation; Rachel weeping for her children and she will not be comforted because they are no more."
             "When Israel was a child, I loved him, and out of Egypt I called my son."
            "A star will come out of Jacob, a scepter will rise from Israel."

   And those are just the ones I can think of on the spot. There are dozens more that must have been real head-scratchers in their day, and yet, now make perfect sense in Christ's incarnation.

      But, of course, the only purpose of riddles is not just to present a curiosity. They're also there to provide clues to something or someone coming down the pike. In Christ's case, it was so that we could recognize the Christ when we saw Him. Not just anybody can waltz in and claim to be the Messiah. A virgin birth and mass slaughter of infants are pretty hard to contrive.

        That's one of my favorite things about the Christmas story. Not only did God send mankind the greatest gift ever given, but throughout the time leading up to it, He left us hints clues and riddles woven beautifully through all of Scripture to guide us to the truth.

        A beautiful gift, wrapped in a manger, hidden in Bethlehem, with lowly shepherds getting the first surprise viewing. What an honor to be the first to receive such a magnificent surprise gift. The first surprise Christmas gift in all of history.


            In light of this, I'll share a beautiful arrangement of an age old Christmas carol which most of you will probably recognize, though not with this tune.

              The last verse is my favorite and perfectly sums things up:


       

   

        

            My friends, I will now proceed to plagiarize from a friend's Christmas theme this year. It was so good I'm going to borrow it and hope he doesn't mind.

             I had the great blessing to attend, nearly out of the blue, a magnificent concert in the boon-docks of Morrisville(it's no more boon-dockish than Rolesville but because it's far away, that's how I'll spin it). I attended with a little trepidation, feeling somewhat the audacity of skipping a Master Chorale rehearsal to go to a concert hosted by one who was barely an acquaintance, but, there were two very good reasons for going.

         First, it was free and I will do almost anything for a free concert.

         Secondly, I had told said acquaintance I would go before I realized I had a rehearsal that night! You know how someone says Friday and you agree, but you're thinking Thursday? That's how it happened.

         Anyway, as I was saying, I entered that bare, little church with no little trepidation. It was a large plastic box of a building with a steeple stuck on for sanctification, and dressed up inside by wooden pews that clashed with the white, more modern feel of the rest of the sanctum.

        I sat there alone while the pews filled up, trying not to look conspicuous, excited but worried. Would it be worth it? Ought I to have skipped rehearsal? 

        And then it started.

       My friends, do you ever marvel at the providence of God? If just a few things had been different, had I remembered I had rehearsal before I told my acquaintance I would go to the concert, had our choir master failed to bring this event to my attention at rehearsal(this was not the one who's rehearsal I was skipping), I would never have gone to this event, and oh, how much I would have missed.

          It is impossible to fully describe how this magnificent musical performance moved me, and it is difficult to explain how much it inspired and encouraged me. Music does that for me; it lifts me out of the muck of my own self-introspection and crushing pride, it clears away the fog of blind arrogance and complacent thoughtlessness.

         When I am fully immersed in beautiful sounds, I feel most alive, most alert, most real, and most myself. It is as though the veil of sin parts for a moment, and I find myself standing in the presence of the Creator of all. He is beautiful.

           When I hear music like this, when I reach these moments, I wonder "What kind of God is He who creates something so beautiful?"
           I marvel at His greatness. I long to know this kind of God better.


           The concert was titled: What Kind of King, and the program centered about the Christmas story, alternating between music and Scripture narration. Like myself, when I hear music, a good Christmas celebration explores the character of a God who becomes flesh and dwells among us.

          It's winsome, it's attractive, and we want to know more about this God.

          That's precisely what this program did, and I am still living, somewhat in the light of glory of that concert.

          This Christmas wouldn't be complete if I didn't share with you just a bit of what I heard that beautiful night, so I'm going to share with you the title song; Larry Michael Parker's What Kind of King.


            Unfortunately, no recording can fully capture the beauty of a piece of music and none of the soloists I could find came close to the quality of the one I heard, but perhaps this gives you a little taste, besides making us think about the kind of king who would empty Himself and become like one of His creation.



       

         I long to know this kind of King better. Do you?

              ~ Christianna

            There have been moments where I've been so excited about something that I've wanted to tell everybody about it. I want the random stranger passing me in the supermarket, the lady at the checkout, the gentleman walking his dog, and the child heading home from school to share my joy and rejoice with me.

             Isaiah had some pretty good news to share with the people of Israel; so good that He encouraged those who brought good news to climb up to a mountain top and shout it to the world.

   "O Thou that tellest good tidings to Zion; get Thee up into the high mountain."

          And what was the good news?

    "Behold Thy king cometh unto Thee!"

           And not just any king, and king promised since our first parents sinned in the garden. The long awaited seed of the woman would arrive to crush the serpent's head.

          If we're going to climb mountain tops and shout about wonderful things, of all things, this seems most fitting, most worthy.

          Not just any king is coming, The King has come and we celebrate his coming and following triumph every year.

         

           Why do the psalms call us to come before the Lord with Timbrel and Dancing; to come before Him with joyful singing?

            Perhaps because all joy ultimately comes from Him, and joyful demonstrations such as dance and instrumentation is one of the best ways to bring Him glory.

             Like prisms or glass mirrors we, in our feeble way, attempt to reflect back to Him His glory and beauty.
           There's a certain exuberance to Christmastime and the way we all throw ourselves with wild abandon into what we would normally consider crazy activities such as ringing people's doorbells and singing to them, bringing friends desserts, wishing random strangers a very merry Christmas, and  spending hours decorating our houses.
            My brothers and I are part of a Christian ballroom dance group, and probably my favorite partner is my brother Jedidiah, just because, for some reason or another, we think along the same lines while dancing and neither one of us has to complain about the other person's dance habits. When we dance I feel the joy of movement. I understand why dancing is such a wonderful beautiful thing, and why setting two people of opposite genders on a dance floor and having them go through an elaborate pattern of steps in sync has been happening for centuries.


             In a way, I think I am experiencing a part of God's character when I dance, and I think that can be said for any joy be it singing, playing an instrument, hiking, riding horses, hanging Christmas ornaments or making wreaths.

             By all means let's enjoy this time of year. It is the season to be jolly, and I, at least, intend to make the most of it.


             In light of this frolicsome time of year I'm sharing with you today my favorite variation of the traditional carol "Patapan" to date.

             This one is arranged by Howard Helvey. I think you'll enjoy it.


            
                        
   
                    We're a week away from Christmas, we all have permission to be in a state of eager anticipation.

          ~ Christianna

           "Wise Men Still Seek Him." goes the oft repeated line, proud of the pun that so cleverly encapsulates a serious message.

            When the wise men came to find Jesus, they had obviously already made up their minds about who they were coming to find. "Where is He that is born King of the Jews?" They asked those whom they met, "We have seen His star in the east and have come to worship Him."

             It is further stated that when they came to Bethlehem and saw the star, they rejoiced with exceeding joy(it seemed they'd lost it for a while) and entered the house to give Christ's gifts. This was no skeptical mission. The Magi had come to worship a king and worship Him they did; "And they opened their treasures and gave to Him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh."
       And so we too, with joy inexpressible can behold our Maker if we are willing. Wise men still seek Him and we may join the long procession.

           With this in mind, let's enjoy Poulenc's beautiful setting of an Ambrosian Chant; Videntes Stellam: And when they saw the star.

            Why in the world does everybody go through all the trouble of decorating his house each Christmas? Stringing lights, making wreaths(in my case), purchasing a great big tree and hauling it into his house, hanging ornaments which never appear at any other time of year?

            Well, I can't speak for the whole world but I'll tell you why I do it? Last year, I decided I'd had enough of the old wreath we'd been using for about half my lifetime, hanging lopsidedly on one side of the front door, while another wreath that did not match at all and ought to have been hung indoors graced the other side. It was disgraceful, and this realization was only made more stark by the fact that our adopted grandmother has been sending us beautiful wreaths for our front door for the past three years whose magnificence condemned the deplorable nature of the two on each side (rather like the crucifixion setup, now that I think of it....but I digress.)

         I took matters  into my own hands, foraged in the woods for bendable sticks to make hoops, cut up an old garland that had been stuffed away in our garage for a dog's lifetime, and created two wreaths that I wasn't ashamed to put up in front of our house each year.
          Now why did I go through the trouble of doing something so arbitrary, so pedantic? It was fun, yes, but the love of creating a lovely set of wreaths wasn't why I did it.

            I did it because it would make the front of our house look significantly more attractive, and, because beautiful things make me happy.

          There are a lot of other things which I don't take the time or trouble to do solely because I rejoice over the outcome, especially if it's purely an aesthetic, but for Christmas, I am determined that such should be the case. To be able to rejoice in a thing of beauty for a even just a season is a great gift, and we cannot underestimate the value thereof.

           Why are ugly yards and misshapen houses depressing? Why does a slovenly dressed figure make you cringe? Because we were created to behold beauty, and sin, from the very beginning attempts to mar it.
             That brings me to the best part of the story. Christ came to restore things, not just spiritually but physically, imagine a world where there is no such thing as a run-down neighborhood, a misshapen structure, or eye-sore display. The thought makes me thrill, because while everything God made still drips with the beauty of His character, I look forward to seeing it redeemed and perfected for good.

           No wonder the angels praised God, and the Shepherds went on their way rejoicing. No wonder the magi traveled far to pay homage. The king of beauty is come, and it is time to rejoice in His magnificence.

           Pull out the ivy, deck those halls with two dozen boughs of holiday. Let's commemorate the day when God came to earth to make all things new.

      I think this lovely setting of a traditional English tune by John Rutter gloriously exudes the spirit we ought all to have at Christmas. For those of us who are Christians, we ought to rejoice at any time, but especially during the season set aside to honor his birth. Enjoy the beautiful things that you see at this season only, and be merry!

              Now, my friends, if I don't post this now and set out for dress rehearsal, I shall be late. I've got my final concert of the year tomorrow with the NC master chorale, and you're all invited...it's $25.00 but completely worth the beautiful music you will get treated to. Perhaps I'll see you at Meymandi tomorrow, but if not, listen to this carol again. We'll be singing it here!


                 Rejoice and be Merry, our Saviour is Come!

                           ~ Christianna

           Whenever I wished myself somewhere in the Christmas story as a child I never wished to be Mary. Oh no. No little girl in her right mind wants to be Mary. I certainly knew better. No, I wanted to be one of the shepherds.  I wanted to be present when the herald angel visited and startled the poor men out of their wits. I wanted to witness the skies burst open to a myriad of angels proclaiming God's praises. What a memory to carry with you to the end of your days.

            I will share with you one of my life long wishes. It's one I'm almost certain will never be fulfilled, but I'd like to see an angel just once in this life. I used to pray for this wish, assuring God that if He would only let me see an angel just once I'd never tell anybody about it.(As a child I'd read stories about people who'd seen fantastical things, talked incessantly about it and ended up in mental facilities, I knew better!)

          Well, it's true, if I did see an angel, I wouldn't talk about it much, I'm sure, but to date I haven't seen one. I can't begin to know God's reasons for the things He does, but I do know that not just anybody gets to see angels, and there's always a special reason when one does.

          Probably the greatest event in history for which angel appearances are recorded, I think we can all agree, was Christ's birth.
      My brother Tobias, whom I managed to photograph above, recently told me that the angels visited the Shepherds because they thought they were cool watching over all those dumb sheep(Sheep are a little lacking in mental capacity).

          We had a good laugh, but in reality, I think the Shepherd's were probably the least cool people in the time of Christ that the angels could have visited. Perhaps that's why they visited them. Of all the people God could have sent the first birth announcement to, there was hardly a demographic more despised than the Shepherds.

           Yet it was for them that the skies unfurled to a multitude of the heavenly host.
          It was to the dirty, rough, brutish shepherds that the angel said, "Unto you is born this day a Saviour."  (Or, in Tobias' words, "Hey bro's what's up?) And it was these same uncouth men who knelt before the baby and worshiped him.

           I sometimes wonder how much my nephew actually comprehends of the world around him at this stage, knowing full well that this  time will shape him, but leave him with no conscious memories. How aware, I wonder, was Jesus as a baby of the Shepherds visit? As God He probably knew, I suppose, but He did surrender some of His privileges as God, when He came to earth, so what did that look like? It's philosophical food for thought, but of course this is one thing God did not tell us.

          Anyhow, I guess you know where I heading now. I want to share a beautiful old Austrian Carol about the Shepherds. It's arranged by another of my composing heros whom I had the great pleasure of meeting this year: Dan Forrest.

         The carol isn't exactly the most accurate in terms of talking about the shepherds seeing a star, but over all it's a beautiful carol which exalts the glory of God.

           I love the words of the third verse:

                           
                     

              My brother Jedidiah has the cutest Christmas ornaments in the house, I think. The squirrel above is a specimen. I'm not quite sure how he managed to end up with all the furry, fluffy, creatures on the Christmas tree. Perhaps the same way I ended up with most of the elegant, lacy, blown  grass decorations. Anyhow, back to the whole business of cuteness, I've often wondered what are the elements that make something cute, and why is it that we, when we see something of that sort feel the irrepressible desire to hug, squeeze, and make high pitched noises?

             Did you know that the Eskimos even have a special word for something that is so cute that you want to squeeze it?

             Well, for a while, I will say that while babies are generally squeezebly cute, I had a hard time picturing Jesus as being cute as a baby. I guess the whole idea of Him being cute felt starkly irreverent. I suppose, had I considered the alternative, that might have put things into perspective: Was He an ugly baby?
              
             As the fact stands, I'm sure Jesus was your average baby, small, soft, and, well yes, cute. :)
            And yet, here comes the irony. Usually, the baby is the needy one. The mother, and friends, and older siblings all pour into it from their abundance. Yet with Christ, while He as a human babe was physically helpless, He yet held within His tiny existence salvation for all the able bodied Shepherds who came to bow down before Him. He brought redemption for the rich magi who gave to Him of their greatest treasures.

           In fact, all humanity's hope for life and the future, lay in that cradle when Jesus was a baby. All of us who have ever lived, before and after Christ, revolve around that manger so long ago.
          What have we to offer Him? Nothing but our love, our adoration, our whole hearts. He has come to fulfill our deepest longings, for all true satisfaction lies in Christ, in that baby in the manger.

           This brings me to our carol for today, a contemporary piece I heard a couple years ago; My Lord Has Come. 


               
          There is no place for us this Christmas but a stable where a child has been born to bring light into a dark world. Let us rejoice, our Lord has come.


          ~ Christianna

            Any of you who have spent any length of time with me know that I have an obtrusive obsession with John Rutter's music. There is very little written by him which I don't like. And generally, if that happens, it's the words not the music which I object to.

          The current case in point being one of the songs the Master Chorale is singing for their joy of the season this concert. We're singing two John Rutter songs. One, as usual is glorious, uplifting and theologically sound. The other one, well, let's just say I refuse to ever perform Ave Maria, and Sing We to This Merry Company is pretty much along the same lines. I'm not singing it.
            That being said, I still love John Rutter's music, and my top favorite Christmas carols happen to include three of his: The Shepherd's Pipe Carol, What Sweeter Music, and The Angel's Carol.

           

          I've already shared the first two in this series before, and I probably will do so again, but I promised you carols that you've never heard of before and I'm in the habit of keeping my promises. The Angel's Carol is one I was initially skeptical about. I fell in love with it the moment I heard it, but it was with the music, not the words. Firstly it's very hard to hear the words on a recording of a choir singing in a cathedral, even when it's the Cambridge Singers with John Rutter conducting, and secondly, at the time, I wasn't sure about the biblical veracity of Angels Singing.

           You see, the Bible never says that the Angels sang when they visited the Shepherds, it only says that they praised God saying: "Glory to God in the highest....etc." Also, my parents were pastored in their early days by John MacArthur, and he is of the opinion that the angels sang once at the earth's creation and they will not sing again until the second coming of Christ.

            So, what do we do with all the grand songs we have in Christian liturgy that talks about the Angels singing at Christ's birth? If it's a misconception, it's a very common one, and removing the angels leaves us with little besides snow, Christmas trees, and Good King Wenceslas.

         Here's what I realized after a bit of study. First off, while MacArthur's claim has a lot of scriptural backing for it, it still remains what we would call "A disputable Matter." Secondly, splitting straws over angels singing feels a little reminiscent of a church I attended as a child where the elders were holding heated discussions over whether we should be using wine for communion, while the church had a host of larger problems to deal with.
         It felt childish at the time and arguing whether we should sing about angels singing feels pretty similar. In the end, I refer, as always to my theme verse, Philippians 4:8

         It's twelve days to Christmas. By this time you've probably heard enough Christmas pop music to last you a lifetime. There is a point which even we music lovers reach when the bells have jingled quite enough, somebody ought to steal Frosty's magic hat for keeps, and for goodness' sake will Rudolph please just run away!

          This is one of the huge problems I have with people who attempt to celebrate Christmas with out Christ. There is no substance, it all gets very insipid, very quickly, and there's no point to any of it because none of it is even real.

         Think about it for a moment, what's left when we take away Christ from Christmas? Santa Claus, Reindeer and a celebration of snow which is nowhere to be seen for many of us at this time of year. Then there's stress for the parents, gluttony and over-gratification for the children, bad-blood between relatives who don't bother getting together at any other time, and only now because it's what one does.....I sound pretty cynical, don't I?

          That, my friends, is what I would sound like if there were no Christ in my Christmas. My musician's soul would be galled by the dinky jingle tunes that make up secular Christmas music, my romantic loving soul would be fed-up by the back-stabbing consumerism pushed by suited corporations, and my logically driven mind would be incensed with the utter meaningless of it all.

         As it is, I love Christmas. I love the lights, the presents, the carols, the decorating, even the shopping sometimes, because it's exciting buying things for other people. However, ultimately it's remember the heart of Christmas, the one truth that brought it all together that makes me love it so.



         In the popular story of the Grinch who tried to steal Christmas, a somewhat ethereal statement that Christmas is not about the stuff but about the heart attitudes of the people celebrating it, is heart-warming in the moment, but unsubstantial in the long run. What must we make of a warm fuzzy feeling about something that means no more than the value we imbue in it?

          I have searched for worth in many places in life. Stuff, people, nature...and I've even looked for it in myself. I'll admit it, I have often yearned for complete independence from everyone and everything else. But it doesn't happen. It won't ever happen, because we cannot look within ourselves for something we never had: Completeness.

          On that night, in that manger, in Bethlehem so long ago, there lay the One God sent to rescue us from our utter inadequacy. He came to ransom us from the vapid nature of our own sin. From the dark despair of our evil hearts. That's something I can take a month of craziness to celebrate. That, good readers, is why I love spending far too much money on presents.

That, is why I love spending hours on Christmas decorations.

      Where does the beauty of the lights come from?
     
       From whence springs the joy of gift-giving?

     What spawned humanity's love for merry-making?

The Creator of all, the Babe in the manger. The darling of heaven fully man and fully God; the word made flesh come to dwell among us.


           And we still see His light.

     If I could sum up Christmas in a word, I would use the same word in which I would sum up the gospel, the law and the prophets, the message behind any true hope: Emmanuel - God with us.



             Over these next few days, I'll share with you much shorter posts introducing twelve carols I've selected for this year, and, if I don't miss my guess, you won't know most of them.

             However, today, I want to start with the pith of Christmas and one of my favorite Christmas Carols. It also happens to be one of the oldest, first written in Latin back when Latin was still a common tongue, and before the Catholics completely sullied the waters with all of their additions and burdens to the pure Gospel.