Things like these are what make Christmas what it is for me: the excitement of advent, the beauty of the tree and all the decorations(the only time of year when it is socially correct to have a real live tree in one's house), and the joy of the day itself when I get to feeling as though all the world stands still for just one day.

        Usually around Christmas time there is so much good music to hear and to participate in making, there are children around who's anticipation of the day has them running circles in the kitchen, there are memories spilled regarding past Christmas events which bring tears of laughter to everyone who shares the memory. 

       This, my friends, is the beauty of a ritual. This is why we all do the same things come December each year and why I love it every time. We do not follow traditions or do things the same way in order to hang on to the past, or to cling to some flawed ideal of perfection. Instead, a ritual properly performed brings together the best of the past, present, and future, and for one moment, all three become the same thing. We cannot hang on to it forever in this life, nor ought we to try. The beauty of a ritual which is also its hidden barb is that it must necessarily come to an end and the clock must resume its rhythmic ticking as before. The ages must march on, and certain things must take place which will end and never take place again, but one thing remains, the ritual itself, and when the year rolls around to that sacred time once more, the clock stands still and all the Christmases that we thought were lost, all the Christmases which we have yet to experience roll into the present and join hands.

        Scrooge had the right idea at the end of "A Christmas Carol" when he proclaimed that he would keep the Christmases of past, present, and future all alive within him. In a sense they are all ghosts which vanish as soon as the witching hour is past, but oh, so real when the time is at hand. This is the joy of Christmas, and the Christmas I wish to all of you. Let it never become anything less than a sacred event, something holy, something mysterious, something transcendent. 

       And so I close out this tradition of mine, for close it I must, with John Rutter's beautiful Christmas blessing, "I Wish You Christmas."

      This carol magnificently encapsulates the awe, the wonder, the joy, the mystery that is Christmas.

         And yet, does this invalidate the truth of the gospel? Does this make all that Christians have proclaimed, lived and died for, of no account?

        I think not. "Rather let God be found true, though every man be found a liar." centuries and epochs may have passed since Christ's birth, but still we all must bow before the King of kings and Lord of lords.

        Since the day the Shepherds were first summoned from their flocks that first night, until now, those who truly follow the Christ child must all bow down before Him and confess that He alone is Lord.

        "Mary was a baker," 

        "Jesus wouldn't stop crying,"

        "They gave soup to the child Jesus but he wouldn't eat it because it was so sweet so St Joseph ate it."

        "The Child Jesus was so beautiful, all rosy white."

        "The virgin Mary's hands are slightly coarse but beautiful."

   And, one of my favorites:

        "Mary did not even have original sin."

 Such statements are all either wild conjectures, or blatantly false, however, the Spanish songs manage to weave such things into their carols along with many other things which I might not have missed had I known more than a few words in Spanish.

       As it is, however, gems such as La Peregrinacion, or today's carol, Esta Noche, can still be found amidst all the superfluity. "Esta Noche" does include one of the lines I wrote above...you'll see which, however, what it also incorporates is the element of rejoicing because a child is born in a manger in Bethlehem. 

      Yes, again, I find that John Rutter's version is the best. I challenge you to find one better.

       The weight of sin, redemption, and eternal life.

       Do you know what would become of us if there were no Christmas day?

       Death, eternal death for all who have sinned.

       Do you know what makes Christmas such a joyous occasion?

       Life, eternal life for all who trust in Christ.

This is the heritage of Christmas, the dawning of a new age, when "B.C." became, "Anno Domini," the year of our Lord.

This is the hope of the living and the salvation of the dead. As Jester Hairston's beautiful Carol summarizes, "Man will live forevermore, because of Christmas day."

     Once again, I turn to John Rutter for my music. You can tell what I've been listening to this Christmas season, and this won't be the last carol you hear from this album.

Long time ago in Bethlehem
So the Holy Bible say
Mary’s Boy Child, Jesus Christ
Was born on Christmas Day!

While shepherds watched their flocks by night
They saw a bright new shining star
And heard a choir from heaven sing
The music came from afar

Hark! Now hear the angels sing:
“New King’s born today
And man will live for evermore
Because of Christmas Day!”

Now Joseph and his wife Mary
Came to Bethlehem that night.
They found no place to bear her Child,
Not a single room was in sight.

Hark! Now hear the angels sing:
“New King’s born today
And man will live for evermore
Because of Christmas Day!”

By and by they found a little nook
In a stable all forlorn.
And in a manger cold and dark
Mary’s little Boy/Child was born

Trumpets sound and angels sing,
Listen to what they say!
That man will live forevermore
Because of Christmas Day!

 Man will live forevermore because of Christmas day, this is why we rejoice!

        ~ Christianna

       However, if you do fall at His feet and call Him Lord then this is a season worthy of rejoicing, and let us have no carols which proclaim Christ as anything less than the God of the universe.

       The carol I'm going share with you all today is a spiritual from the West Indies and emphatically and joyfully proclaims the deity of Christ: "He come from the glory, He come from the glorious kingdom."

        I first heard this carol, of all places, from The Cambridge Singers, arranged by John Rutter. I want you to listen to this version first and compare it with what I'm going to share next, a more traditional arrangement in the Calypso style. Rutter as well as tweaking the style just a tad, takes some liberty with the words, adding two extra verses to the original text.

However, I don't think the style detracts from the song, or from the message. If anything, Rutter carries on the spirit in which the song was probably written, as a way for those less familiar with the Bible to learn the story of Christmas, and intended to be improvised upon.

The virgin Mary had a baby boy,
the virgin Mary had a baby boy,
the virgin Mary had a baby boy
and they say that his name is Jesus.  

He come from the glory,
   he come from the glorious kingdom;
   he come from the glory,
   he come from the glorious kingdom.
   O yes, believer! O yes, believer!
   He come from the glory,
   he come from the glorious kingdom.

The angels sang when the baby was born,
the angels sang when the baby was born,
the angels sang when the baby was born
and they sang that his name is Jesus.
  
The shepherds came where the baby was born,
the shepherds came where the baby was born,
the shepherds came where the baby was born
and they say that his name is Jesus.

  What do you think? I'm curious which version you end up preferring at the end because I was torn. If you do pick a favorite, tell me why.

        Until tomorrow,

            ~ Christianna

       My family has never put up lights outside the house, but a few years ago, we started hanging them inside. When Christmas time came around we strung them along the windows over picture frames, above the doorframes and across the hallways, all around the downstairs of our home. 

It brings on the coziest atmosphere when only these and the Christmas tree lights provide visibility while all outside is dark. On Rainy afternoons, on dark evenings, on dusky mornings, these lights comfort and brighten our home. We always took them down after new years until last year. My mother loved them so much that she didn't want to take them down.

       I was upset. It was our Christmas ritual being turned into something mundane. My reasoning was this: If we take them down after Christmas and live without them for the whole year, we will appreciate them more when we put them back up. 

Logical, right? And there are certain seasons, during which it can be good, I believe, to step away from something in order to appreciate it better. 

However, I was forgetting a crucial point: We were not meant to live in the dark.

For the new believer who comes to Christ out of a lifetime heretofore devoid of Christ, conversion is often a sudden jolt of beauty. He feels the weight lifted off his shoulders in a sudden pulsation of glory, but for those of us who were raised in the light, who basked in its warmth from the day we were born until the day, ten years later when we turned to Christ, even though we sinned, even though we were transgressors with inky hearts of our own, even though it was different once the Spirit of God actually dwelled within us, still, because He dwelled in those around us, there was no sudden passing from dark into light. It was gentle, and gradual like the soft unfolding of rose petals.

Often I wished for that thunder-clap conversion, until I realized that it would require years of living in darkness. That moment of sudden renewal is a gift to those who have spent years in the blackness of their and their companion's sin, but for those of us who did not receive this, He has given what is, perhaps, the greater gift of having the light all year round.

I can become so focused on the experience of the moment that I forget the essence of lasting joy. I can become so caught up in the exuberance of a sprint, that I forget about the effervescence of a marathon. From now on I will look at those Christmas lights strung up in my house not as something that was once a nice Christmas ritual, but as a reminder that, as the author of today's carol put it, the real work of Christmas happens all year around. 

It is told most vividly in the opening of Luke chapter 2: 

"Now in those days a decree went out from Caesar Augustus, that a census be taken of all the inhabited earth...And everyone was on his way to register for the census, each to his own city. Joseph also went up from Galilee, from the city of Nazareth, to Judea, to the city of David which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and family of David, in order to register along with Mary, who was engaged to him, and was with child." ~ Luke 2:1, 3, 4

 Traveling from Nazareth to where we believe Bethlehem to be located would have been a 92 mile walk on one of two possible routes. At the average person's walking speed, and assuming Mary rode, which, I believe, is a valid assumption, this journey would have taken about five days.

It is most likely they would have taken the route which bypassed Samaria which was slightly easier than the shorter one straight through, however, it still could not have been easy for Mary, nine months with child, not only young, but expecting her first. 

In commemoration of what must have been a very dull, difficult journey, I want to share a little known, relatively modern song which I learned recently. It's called "La Peregrinacion" in Spanish which translates to "The Pilgrimage." Written in the style of Argentinian folk music by 20th century composer Ariel Ramirez, this song contains the lilting,  yearning of weary folk who have been on a journey for too long, woven with a hopeful buoyancy that foreshadows joy.

A la huella, a la huella
José y María
por las pampas heladas
cardos y ortigas.

A la huella, a la huella
cortando campo
no hay cobijo ni fonda
sigan andando.

Florecita del campo,
clavel del aire
si ninguno te aloja
¿adónde naces?

If I were giving a talk I'd ask for a show of hands. I'm guessing most of the hands in the room would go up, including my own. Then I'd ask how many of us had wished for that kind of new day on more than one occasion.

More than twice? More than thrice?

How long would your hand stay up? I know mine wouldn't go down because I've lost track of the number of times I've wished for my slate to be wiped clean, to step through a portal into some new world where no one knows me, where nothing of my past could ever haunt me, with the whole world as my stomping grounds, all of life open to me. 

There are days where I've run out to some lonely part in the world and prayed for just such a thing, tears creating a pool on the dry earth. There have been moments when I've crawled into some nook, or closet, or cranny, squeezed my eyes shut and wished to heaven I were someone else, somewhere else, sometime else. Anything but who I was, where I was, when I was. Anything but what I was.

I wanted a new day.

How many of you can relate?

Why this longing for something new and fresh? Why this constant yearning for a rebirth? Why this pulsing ache for a new day?

I wonder if it isn't because this day is unsatisfying, and shallow, insipid, and empty. We are all, at heart, scum of the earth. We are all great sinners, in need of a great Saviour.

That's why today's Christmas song has become one of my favorites in spite of the fact that it is only about seventeen years old.

This song, released in 2003, compares Christ to a new day. 

You are the new day.
Meekness, love, humility
Come down to us this day:
Christ, your birth has proved to me
You are the new day.

  In Christ we do have the promise of a new day. As we live our lives right now, we can take courage in the fact that everything here and now will be made new and the best things in life will be glorified. 

Someday, the things we are doing now which seem boring and inconsequential, if they are done for the glory of Christ, will become the shining gems that make up the King's crown. 

Someday we will have a new heaven and a new earth in which there will be no more loss, despair, or grief. He will wipe every tear from our eyes.

All that will come to pass because of Christ and His incarnation. His birth has indeed proved to me that He is the New Day.

As a lover of old music, naturally I would find this carol entrancing, but this one in particular is for all those of you who associate Medieval music with droning chants and endless soliloquies pronounced in Latin. I want you to know that while these things are all real, they are no all there is. As with any era we must filter out the dross and take only the precious. Gaudete is one of those gems. It is the type of song which makes you want to dance even if you don't know how, and compels you to sing along even when you don't know the words.

Before you decide that old music is boring, try listening to this song. What is it's simple message?

     Rejoice! Christ is born of the virgin Mary, Rejoice!

There are four verses, each surprisingly sound in doctrine considering that they were probably written sometime in the fifteenth century, and each one at a pace which cannot help but to lift one's spirits.

       Gaudete! Christus est natus ex Maria, Virgine, Gaudete! 

I give you here my favorite arrangement, by John Rutter, of course!(Who did you expect?)

However, now I wish to look back at the other end of the stick. 

Yes, it was a joyful occasion, but also one fraught with difficulty. 

Mary nearly lost her fiance due to a rather understandable misconception that she was unchaste. Joseph spent nine months married to a woman whom he did not touch as a husband would a wife, looking forward to a child who would never truly be his own. Two years later, magi appeared to honor the child, and then the whole family had to pack up and flee to Egypt in the night because Herod felt threatened by this new king born in Bethlehem. And we all know that death still occurred while they were gone. The children in Bethlehem, slaughtered without mercy, "A voice was heard in Rahmah, the sound of weeping and lamentation. Rachel weeping for her children, and she would not be comforted because they were no more."

Indeed, it could not have been easy for either Mary or Joseph during the events of the nativity. And this trouble was only a taste of the greater troubles their son would endure especially during his last three years on earth. The final insult would culminate in a shameful death, and the only crown this king would wear would be one of thorns.

This leads me to our song today. I have to be careful when choosing songs written in the Medieval era because so many of them worship Mary, or Joseph, rather than Christ, or they make up fanciful things about Christ's childhood that appear to me to be rather unhelpful and silly. However, one thing I love about many medieval songs is their ingenuity. They were works of art in their own right, and while many err on the side of taking too many liberties, others, like the one I'll share today, manage to employ some very beautiful symbolism to communicate the truths of the incarnation.

In "Maria Durch Ein Dornwald Ging," the setting is that of Mary going to visit her cousin Elizabeth to tell her of the child that would be born of her. As Mary walks through a thornwood which is completely leafless, the presence of the Christ child within her causes the thorns to bloom with roses. The song goes on to present the three simple facts in the final three verses: Who would baptize the child? John the Baptist. What would the child be called? The Christ. Who alone would save the world? The Christ child. 

Each verse closes with the simple refrain "Jesus und Maria"(Jesus and Mary) reminding us that right now we are still watching Mary pass through that thornwood. 

Only just with child, only just aware of her life's calling, only just beginning to realize the burden she will carry, and the joy she will experience. And yet, God is with her even now. He will be with her even up to the day when she will see her son on the cross, and He will look down at the apostle John and inform him that it is now his job to take care of her. 

 Since the lyrics are in German(with a Greek chorus: Kyrie eleison) I'll post them here with the English translation in italics beneath each line.

There's something about dancing that stirs the blood and raises the spirits. Something that calls from beyond with news of wonderful things. 

I can't get enough of it. A couple nights ago we learned an English country dance, repeated it, and followed it up with the Virginia reel. At that point everyone there was done. They were leaning on their knees panting for breath. So was I, but I could have kept going all night. 

For me a dance is not just about following a set of steps in time and tandem with others, it is a creation, an art, a story communicated through movement. 

When I dance I am singing with my feet.

What makes it even better is when I'm doing it with other people. It is though we have become one, all of us. Normally disjointed and awkward, we become beautiful when we move in time, one symbol, one being, moving and breathing as one(most of the time!).

It is not untoward, then, that some medieval hymn writer should have drawn a parallel between dancing and Christ with His bride, the church. 

Tomorrow Shall be My Dancing Day,

I would my true Love would so chance,

To see the legend of my play,

To call my true love to my dance.

Sing O my love, O my love,

My love, My love,

This have I done for my true love.

        The song goes on to describe Jesus's birth, life, and death in the form of a dance, ending always with the chorus, "This have I done for my true love."

I love this Christmas carol for two reasons, first, because I believe that, to a degree, all of life can be compared to a dance, and secondly, because it is a beautiful image to imagine the relationship of Christ with the church as a man dancing with His bride. Especially a man who has sacrificed His life for her. 

How many of you have heard this lovely carol? I'm posting one of my favorite arrangements sung by a treble choir and arranged by John Rutter, but there are many versions that are magnificent. This one only has the first two verses...the original text has eleven. 

 Tomorrow shall be my dancing day;
I would my true love did so chance
To see the legend of my play,
To call my true love to my dance;

Then was I born of a virgin pure,
Of her I took fleshly substance
Thus was I knit to man's nature
To call my true love to my dance.

 In a manger laid, and wrapped I was
So very poor, this was my chance
Betwixt an ox and a silly poor ass
To call my true love to my dance. 

 Then afterwards baptized I was;
The Holy Ghost on me did glance,
My Father’s voice heard from above,
To call my true love to my dance. 

 Into the desert I was led,
Where I fasted without substance;
The Devil bade me make stones my bread,
To have me break my true love's dance.

The Jews on me they made great suit,
And with me made great variance,
Because they loved darkness rather than light,
To call my true love to my dance.

 For thirty pence Judas me sold,
His covetousness for to advance:
Mark whom I kiss, the same do hold!
The same is he shall lead the dance. 

 Before Pilate the Jews me brought,
Where Barabbas had deliverance;
They scourged me and set me at nought,
Judged me to die to lead the dance.

 Then on the cross hanged I was,
Where a spear my heart did glance;
There issued forth both water and blood,
To call my true love to my dance. 

Then down to hell I took my way
For my true love's deliverance,
And rose again on the third day,
Up to my true love and the dance. 

 Then up to heaven I did ascend,
Where now I dwell in sure substance
On the right hand of God, that man
May come unto the general dance. 

My takeaway is simply this: Let's not treat Christ's birth as a man as simply an onerous task. There was joy among the angels at His birth, and while it was certainly humbling, it was by no means mirthless. It was part of a grand story, a narrative, a dance which we are all a part of. 

I am excited to commemorate the beginning of this beautiful new dance, and I hope to see you all at the end when we shall all dance with Him forever.

      Until Tomorrow,

            ~ Christianna

What I remember best was the silence that a large snow brings. It really is like a giant blanket thrown over a lot of noisy machinery. You don't hear the cars on the road. You don't hear the rush of the river a quarter mile away. All you hear are the sounds you make, the sound of snow falling from the laden tree branches, and occasional gust of wind, and the chirping of a couple brave birds.

In such a snowfall was Jesus born two-thousand and twenty-three years ago? Probably not. We really have no idea when he was born, but it's highly doubtful that there would have been snow. Still, we Europeans are used to the association, and I find it permissible, since it's not obscuring the truth or wonder of Christ's birth. 

Thinking of Christ's birth and snow, for me, conjures up a very beautiful set of thoughts. Can it be purely coincidence that as snow covers the dirt and filth of much of the earth in something dazzling and pure, Christ also came to cover our sin with His purity and beauty? I have seen the snow transform plots of uglified suburbia into fantastical glens of wonder and mystery. So Christ does with our lives.

"See, amid the winter's snow, 

Born for us on earth below,

See the tender lamb appear,

Promised from eternal years."

 In my mind, there are few better associations one could incorporate into the Christmas story.

I want to kick off this year's round with just that song. I have had the great opportunity to make music with an excellent pianist in the area, and together with a lovely arrangement by Dan Forrest, we made a less than perfect recording, but which I'm hoping will convey the spirit of this beautiful carol.

1. See amid the winter's snow,
Born for us on earth below,
See the tender Lamb appears,
Promised from eternal years.

2. Lo, within a manger lies
He who built the starry skies;
He, who 'throned in height sublime
Sits amid the cherubim. 

3. Say, ye holy shepherds, say
What your joyful news today;
Wherefore have ye left your sheep
On the lonely mountain steep? 

4. "As we watched at dead of night,
Lo, we saw a wondrous light;
Angels singing peace on earth
Told us of the Saviour's birth". 

5. Sacred infant, all divine,
What a tender love was Thine,
Thus to come from highest bliss
Down to such a world as this. 

We only sang three of these verses, but I think the verses we got expressed the spirit of the song. The last verse is the most poignant, especially as I realize more and more the huge gulf that separates God's perfection from our filth. Let this lead us to wonder and to sing throughout the entire world, that Christ is born in Bethlehem!

       Merry Christmas!

          ~ Christianna

I must begin each prayer with thanksgiving. That has become my requirement. Because if I don't, I'll only complain.

There are so many things in life that I find to be irked about. So many things fall short of perfection. So many things are misshapen and twisted; cruelty and perversion abounds.

I have realized that if I don't fall to my knees in gratitude, I will stumble into the murk of despair to rise no more.

And so I begin with thanksgiving; I must, and something peculiar happens when I do. It's like those hidden pictures where until you pull a tab, all is darkness, and then the panels flip and a beautiful image is revealed. It is as though something lost has been restored, something stolen returned, something broken remade.

When I begin my prayer by thanking God for the air I breathe, for the cup of water in my hand, for the wind whipping the strands of hair about my face, I can feel that ever hovering bitterness seep away for a while. That gall which often chokes the joy out of me is gradually melted, when I begin to look up at the glory and lovingkindness with which I am crowned. 

Gratitude has become rather pedantic, these days. I find myself growling every time someone says he's thankful for something, because half the time it's in the context of something happening that he really wanted to happen. Of course he's happy about it. 

But what is gratitude, actually? What kind of power did it have to cause the apostle Paul to be grateful for his imprisonment, or Betsy Ten Boom to encourage Corrie to thank God for the fleas in the concentration camp? How was it that Ahn E. Sook could praise The Creator for a heap of rotten apples, and Job could bless the Lord as everything was wrenched from him?

You see, that's my other beef with modern thankfulness. There is no recipient. 

"I'm thankful I live in America." Says one person. 

"Thankful to whom?" I ask.

"Oh, just thankful," he shrugs.

And it ends there, some sort of twisted, Pollyanna gratitude which takes no notice of Him from whom all blessings flow.

What's the problem with this kind of gratitude? It falls flat on its face when one is in the thick of deep suffering. Suddenly, because our gratitude has been boiled down to a happy feeling regarding the butterflies of life, when the butterflies go so does the pleasant feeling. We are left in despair and cynicism; worse off than before.

Whereas, when there is an object, a recipient of our gratitude, we do not have to let the circumstances of life drive our emotions, because He does not change and vaporize as do the rest. In the midst feeling very disgruntled I can either put on a smile and be thankful in a happy sort of fashion for my food, or, I can turn my eyes to heaven, and soberly thank my Creator that He has always fed me and continues to do so, even in the midst of global madness.

The one focuses on self. The other draws focus out and above oneself, and that is, in part, the reason why thanking God for something helps destroy bitterness. It is how we can thank God for rotten apples, persecution, imprisonment, and fleas, because we know He orchestrates these things for our good not because they are necessarily good, but because He is good.

"Oh Taste and See that the Lord is good." The Psalmist says, and I have to agree. He is indeed very good if we will but taste. In his new year song "Turn Your Eyes to The Light," John Rutter writes two lines which I think are very insightful: "The light was always there, if we could but see it, and warmth was in the air, if we'd known how to feel." 

God is good, and that doesn't change. It is simply our pride, selfishness, and all around God-deafness which often obscures our senses. 

My point is this: Gratitude is not a feeling. It is an expression that must be directed towards something, and we must learn to cultivate it or drown in cynicism and despair. 

That all sounds rather brusque when I put it like that, and you might argue that it's not so clear-cut, it's more nuanced, it depends on the circumstances. 

I disagree. How you react, how you express your gratitude does indeed depend on the circumstances, but the principle, like the law of gravity remains the same. Every single runner in a race at the same place will receive the same percentage of oxygen in his breath, it is how his lungs respond to that oxygen, how his body processes it, which will be unique. However, the important thing is that he breathes. That does not depend on the circumstances and is no more nuanced than the sun or ocean tides.

We must be grateful, and that gratitude must have a recipient. You can choose to thank mother nature, but she has a way of being whimsically cruel. You can thank the universe, but the universe can be deafeningly silent. You can thank your loved one, but sooner or later, he or she will not be enough. Thus I turn to Christ; to the Spirit of grace, to the Father of lights with whom there is no variation or shifting shadow. He has buoyed me up beyond my highest expectations, and I have reason to believe that He will continue to do so.

And so I end my prayer as I began it; with a doxology.

        I thought it would be fitting to share the good "Old Hundreth" here as arranged by one of my favorite composers, Ralph Vaughan Williams for the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II. Enjoy the introduction by one of the greatest contemporary composers and conductors Sir David Wilcox.

Happy Thanksgiving!

We are a temple, the Spirit's dwelling place,

Formed in great weakness, a cup to hold God's grace,

We die alone, for on its own

Each ember loses fire:

Yet, joined in one the flame burns on,

To give warmth, and light, and to inspire.

    "We die alone," those three words have not let me be over the past few weeks. I tend to get routinely disgusted with church if I'm not careful. I start sticking my nose up in the air like I'm better than everyone else and get annoyed with the casualty with which people amble in to the sanctuary of the Almighty God. 

    I become fed up with the touchy-feelyness of modern worship, and worn out with pedantic song lyrics, bad melodies, and repetitious platitudes. I miss the beauty, the grandeur, the awe that I feel ought to be there. I scowl at the young man sitting two seats down wearing the same polo shirt he wore to the labour day picnic last year. I wonder if maybe I shouldn't just ditch church altogether, and read my Bible at home.

    Then I remember this verse: "We die alone, for on its own each ember loses fire..."

    The throes of life and my foibles serve to remind me that I would die alone in a sense. I would never stop being a Christian. It's not that easy to shake Christ off, and I wouldn't want to, but I would stagnate. I would devolve into what one writer calls "a living death." I would cease to grow, and learn, and develop. In essence, cut off from flawed, failing humanity, I would die.

    There's a trend that I'm seeing out in the Christian world right now. A trend that to my mind is extremely dangerous. It is a trend that says people's safety is more important than community, that it is better to live alone than die together, that we would rather never have loved, than to have loved and lost. There is a trend that says the government has a right to tell you to do anything in the name of public safety. It is a trend that says any kind of life is better than a physical death.

    I'm not here to argue whether or not the virus is really as bad as the media says it is. I'm not here to demand that you go hug the next person you meet(I appreciate my personal space as much as the next man), nor am I here to wax eloquent on whether or not a person ought to cover his face in public.

    What I do wish to question is the church's reluctance to gather per our Lord's command, our reluctance to encourage community and fellowship among our members, our reviling of men who have balked the system and begun gathering in spite of government mandates--men whom we ought to consider brothers in Christ regardless of whether we disagree with their decisions.

    I am concerned about the laxity of American Christians who have become so comfortable in their cushioned lives, that they have forgotten who were first out on the plague stricken streets of Medieval Europe. It wasn't the rulers, it wasn't the doctors, it certainly wasn't the pope, it was the Christians. The invisible church of God, who tended the sick and took in those who had either been abandoned by family members, or whose relatives had all been taken by the dreaded sickness.

    I wonder where those Christians are today. I wonder how many of them have sealed the doors of their dwellings in the name of public safety. I wonder if any of them realize how quickly life passes, and how little time we have here on earth to do anything at all. 

    I have read of men who did more in eighteen years of life than some have done in eighty. I have attended the funeral of a seven year old who did more with his seven years than many people can boast with seventy. More memories and stories, and fond reminiscences were given that day than I have heard of people who had ten times the life span he did.

    I have realized one crucial point in all of this: we are here not on holiday, but on assignment. A soldier does not retreat because a bullet whizzes past his ear, nor should we. The soldier dodges from cover to cover, looking for the safest ground, but always towards the combat, not away from it, at least, if his orders are to advance. He does not wantonly throw away his life, but neither is he too careful with it. I worry that we Christians are being too careful with our lives, I fear that we are hiding a glorious light which God has bid us shine. I wonder if we are scurrying in the shadows when we ought to be dancing in the sunlight.

    There was a ballad I read once, an allegory of Christ which cast the Saviour in the role of a troubadour, singing the ancient star song, something the people of that world were forbidden to sing. His friends and family begged him not to sing the song, at least, if he did, to sing it privately, quietly, to not let the rulers of the city hear it, but he refused to keep it, lives were changed, people were rescued by the strength of his song, and eventually he was killed for it by the rulers who claimed he was harming people.

    I wonder now if we as Christians are not to be the troubadours of our age. I wonder if we're not being too careful about our singing of that star song. I wonder if out of a desire to accommodate we're assigning things to Christian freedom, freedom of conscience which should not be, and worse yet, we're refusing to allow others' input, we're refusing to allow anyone but those who agree with everything we say to speak into our lives, to correct a belief we hold.

    I am concerned that the embers of our fire are being scattered, and the fire is going out. 

    We die alone, for on its own each ember loses fire.

    But what shall we do if our lives are so short? What shall we do if we have but one life to give for our Lord? Shall we wither away or go out in a blaze? Shall we, in the words of C.S. Lewis, die like sheep in our houses, or out and about doing sensible things? How shall we use the small allotment of hours, minutes, and seconds we've been given?

    My friends, I do not ask that you do exactly as I am doing, definitely not. I am doing plenty of things wrong. I also do not ask that you go do something ridiculous in the name of living fully, at least not for yourself. I simply ask you not to dally in whatever rut you are currently sitting in. Do not let death find you hiding from it. Do not let the precious time you've been given trickle away while you tremble at people, and family-members, at church, at life. 

    Do not isolate yourself from the body of Christ nor be the ember on its own.

    I would much rather sing "We are God's People," not "I am God's person." I would much rather sing today and die tomorrow, than live tomorrow and not sing today. In fact let us not let anybody keep us from singing.

    I shall close with the aforementioned hymn  We are God's People. And if you disagree with my stance on this whole matter, please don't shut me out of your life, please tell me why and how you disagree, we'll have a discussion, we'll learn, and listen, and grow. In Revelation when Christ speaks to the Churches, His greatest commendation and exhortation is that we overcome. "He who overcomes," he says, "I will make him a pillar in the temple of my God..." 

"He who overcomes, I will grant to him to sit down with me on my throne..." 

"He who overcomes and keeps my deeds until the end, to him I will give authority over the nations..."

"He who overcomes...I will not erase his name from the book of life, and I will confess his name before my father and before His angels..."

"To him who overcomes, I will grant to eat of the tree of life..."

"He who overcomes will not be hurt by the second death..."

    This theme is harped on through the whole book. Please do not misunderstand me, I am not saying we are living out the book of Revelations or anything of that sort. I am saying that Christ has called us to conquer the storm, not to wait it out. How we will do that is between each person and the Lord, but please, let us make sure that we are doing it together. God did not intend us to live as distant stars in "a fellowless firmament."

          We Die alone, for on its own each ember loses fire:

                 Yet joined in one, the flame burns on,

                         To give warmth and light, and to inspire.

     ~ Christianna