Many
Names Frank
Stratemeyer may hold a record for pseudonyms used by
an author. He wrote books in the Hardy Boys series
as Franklin W. Dixon, wrote the Bobbsey Twins books
using the name Laura Lee Hope, wrote the early Nancy
Drew mysteries as Carolyn Keene and wrote the Tom
Swift books using the pseudonym Victor Appleton. A
busy fellow! But most of those monikers were only
fake, used to identify his writing in different
styles.
The Scriptures give several names for our Savior,
all of them very real. Bread of Life, Author of
Salvation, Wonderful Counselor, Almighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, King, Man of
Sorrows, Morning Star, Root of David, Rock,
Resurrection and Life – those are just a few! The
angel told Joseph that he was to give the Baby the
name “Jesus,” because He would “save His people from
their sins.” Most often today He is referred to as
Lord Jesus Christ, and we honor Him and worship Him.
But there was another name that Isaiah told us about
that has special significance for us as we celebrate
the Christmas season: “Behold, a virgin shall
conceive, and bear a son, and shall call His name
Immanuel” (Isaiah 7:14). When Matthew reported this,
he also provided an interpretation of the name
“Immanuel”—he said it meant “God with us.”
And He really is! In our days of uncertainty, pain,
and darkness, there is beautiful life and light!
God Himself has entered into human history to become
one of us, to share our sorrows as well as our joys,
to walk alongside us and strengthen us along this
journey. But not only that! He came to be with us so
that we might have complete forgiveness of our sins
– not just the ones everyone else has forgotten
about, and not just the little ones. He is with us
to completely and forever wipe out our sins and
restore us to fellowship with Almighty God, King of
the Universe.
What an amazing thought this is! When we could do
nothing to save ourselves, God the Father sent God
the Son in the form of Jesus, to be with us. And we
know Him by many different names.
So whether you know Him best as Jesus, or Refuge, or
Only Begotten Son, or Lamb of God, and whatever
situation you find yourself in, please know this: He
Is With You.
'Twas
the Night Before Jesus Came‘ Twas
the night before Jesus came and all through the house,
Not a person was praying, not one in the house.
The Bible was left on the shelf without care,
for no one thought Jesus would come there.
The children were dressing to crawl into bed,
not once ever kneeling or bowing their head.
And Mom in the rocking chair with baby on her lap,
was watching the Late Show as I took a nap.
When out of the east there rose such a clatter,
I sprang to my feet to see what’s the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
tore open the shutters and lifted the sash.
When what to my wondering eyes should appear,
but Angels proclaiming that Jesus was here.
The light of His face made me cover my head,
it was Jesus returning just like He’d said.
And though I possessed worldly wisdom and wealth,
I cried when I saw Him in spite of myself.
In the Book of Life that in which he held in his hand,
was written the name of every saved man.
He spoke not a word as he searched for my name,
when He said “it is not here” I hung my head in shame.
The people who’s names had been written with love,
He gathered to take to his Father above.
With those who were ready He rose without a sound,
while all the others were left standing around.
I fell to my knees but it was too late,
I waited to long and thus sealed my fate.
I stood and I cried as they rose out of sight,
Oh, if only I’d know that this was the night.
In the words of this poem the meaning is clear
the coming of Jesus is now drawing near.
There’s only one life and when comes the last call,
We’ll find out that the Bible was true after all...
The Best Christmas Gifts To
a Friend - Loyalty
To an Enemy - Forgiveness
To your Boss - Service
To your Child - A good example
To your Father - Honor
To your Mother - Gratitude and Devotion
To your Spouse - Love and Faithfulness
To Yourself - Respect
To All Men - Charity
To God - Your Life!!
Who Started Christmas? This
morning I heard a story on the radio of a woman who was
out Christmas shopping with her two children. After many
hours of looking at row after row of toys and everything
else imaginable. And after hours of hearing both her
children asking for everything they saw on those many
shelves, she finally made it to the elevator with her
two kids.
She was feeling what so many of us feel during the
holiday season time of the year. Overwhelming pressure
to go to every party, every housewarming, taste all the
holiday food and treats, getting that perfect gift for
every single person on our shopping list, making sure we
don’t forget anyone on our card list, and the pressure
of making sure we respond to everyone who sent us a
card.
Finally the elevator doors opened and there was already
a crowd in the car. She pushed her way into the car and
dragged her two kids in with her and all the bags of
stuff. When the doors closed she couldn’t take it
anymore and stated, “Whoever started this whole
Christmas thing should be found, strung up and shot.”
From the back of the car everyone heard a quiet calm
voice respond, “Don’t worry we already crucified him.”
For the rest of the trip down the elevator it was so
quiet you could have heard a pin drop.
Don’t forget this year to keep the One who started this
whole Christmas thing in your every thought, deed,
purchase, and word. If we all did it, just think of how
different this whole world would be.
After
spending nearly two years investigating the identity of
the Christmas Child, I was ready to reach a verdict. For
me, the evidence was clear and compelling. Yes,
Christmas is a holiday overlaid with all sorts of
fanciful beliefs, from flying reindeer to Santa Claus
sliding down chimneys.
But I became convinced that if you drill down to its
core, Christmas is based on a historical reality — the
incarnation: God becoming man, spirit taking on flesh,
the infinite entering the finite, the eternal becoming
time-bound.
It’s a mystery backed up by facts that I now believed
were simply too strong to ignore.
I had come to the point where I was ready for the
Christmas gift, the Christ Child, whose love and grace
are offered freely to everyone who receives Him in
repentance and faith. Even someone like me.
So I talked with God in a heartfelt and unedited prayer,
admitting and turning from my wrongdoing, and receiving
His offer of forgiveness and eternal life through Jesus.
I told Him that with His help I wanted to follow Him and
His ways from here on out.
There was no choir of heavenly angels, no lightning
bolts, no tingly sensations, no audible reply. I know
that some people feel a rush of emotion at such a
moment; as for me, there was something else that was
equally exhilarating: there was the rush of reason.
Over time, however, there has been so much more. As I
have endeavored to follow Jesus’ teachings and open
myself to His transforming power, my priorities, my
values, my character, my worldview, my attitudes, and my
relationships have been changing — for the better. It
has been a humbling affirmation of the apostle Paul’s
words:
Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation;
the old has gone, the new has come. — 2 Corinthians 5:17
And now, what about you?
Perhaps, like the first-century sheepherders, your next
step should be to further investigate the evidence for
yourself. You need to get answers to the spiritual
sticking points that are keeping you from following
Jesus. It’s my hope that you’ll promise yourself at the
outset that when the facts are in, you’ll reach your own
verdict in the case for Christmas.
Or maybe you’re more like the magi. Through a series of
circumstances, including the reading of this book,
you’ve maneuvered your way through the hoopla and
glitter and distractions of the holiday season, and now
you’ve finally come into the presence of the Baby who
was born to change your life and rewrite your eternal
destination.
Go ahead, talk to Him. Offer your worship and your life.
And let Him give you the greatest gift of all.
Himself.
Excerpted from “The Case for Christmas,” by Lee
Strobel. Available at http://www.amazon.com/Case-Christmas-Journalist-Investigates-Identity/dp/0310340594
Some
call him Sinterklaas. Others Pere Noel or Papa Noel.
He’s been known as Hoteiosho, Sonnerklaas, Father
Christmas, Jelly Belly, and to most English speakers,
Santa Claus.
His original name was Nicholas, which means victorious.
He was born in AD 280 in what is now Turkey. He was
orphaned at age nine when his parents died of a plague.
Though many would think Santa majored in toy making and
minored in marketing, actually the original Nicholas
studied Greek philosophy and Christian doctrine.
He was honored by the Catholic church by being named
Bishop of Myra in the early fourth century. He held the
post until his death on December 6, 343.
History recognized him as a saint, but in the third
century he was a bit of a troublemaker. He was twice
jailed, once by the Emperor Diocletian for religious
reasons, the other for slugging a fellow bishop during a
fiery debate. (So much for finding out who is naughty
and nice.)
Old Nick never married. But that’s not to say he wasn’t
a romantic. He was best known for the kindness he showed
to a poor neighbor who was unable to support his three
daughters or provide the customary dowry so they could
attract husbands. Old Saint Nicholas slipped up to the
house by night and dropped a handful of gold coins
through the window so the eldest daughter could afford
to get married. He repeated this act on two other nights
for the other two daughters.
This story was the seed that, watered with years, became
the Santa legend. It seems that every generation adorned
it with another ornament until it sparkled more than a
Christmas tree.
The gift grew from a handful of coins to bags of coins.
Instead of dropping them through the window, he dropped
them down the chimney. And rather than land on the
floor, the bags of coins landed in the girls’ stockings,
which were hanging on the hearth to dry. (So that’s
where all this stocking stuff started.)
The centuries have been as good to Nicholas’s image as
to his deeds. Not only have his acts been embellished,
his wardrobe and personality have undergone
transformations as well.
As Bishop of Myra, he wore the traditional
ecclesiastical robes and a mitered hat. He is known to
have been slim, with a dark beard and a serious
personality.
By 1300 he was wearing a white beard. By the 1800s he
was depicted with a rotund belly and an ever-present
basket of food over his arm. Soon came the black boots,
a red cape, and a cheery stocking on his head. In the
late nineteenth century his basket of food became a sack
of toys. In 1866 he was small and gnomish but by 1930 he
was a robust six-footer with rosy cheeks and a
Coca-Cola.
Santa reflects the desires of people all over the world.
With the centuries he has become the composite of what
we want:
A friend who cares enough to travel a long way against
all odds to bring good gifts to good people.
A sage who, though aware of each act, has a way of
rewarding the good and overlooking the bad.
A friend of children, who never gets sick and never
grows old.
A father who lets you sit on his lap and share your
deepest desires.
Santa. The culmination of what we need in a hero. The
personification of our passions. The expression of our
yearnings. The fulfillment of our desires. And... the
betrayal of our meager expectations.
What? you say. Let me explain.
You see, Santa can’t provide what we really need. For
one thing, he’s only around once a year. When January
winds chill our souls, he’s history. When December’s
requests become February payments, Santa’s left the
mall. When April demands taxes or May brings final
exams, Santa is still months from his next visit. And
should July find us ill or October find us alone, we
can’t go to his chair for comfort — it’s still empty. He
only comes once a year.
And when he comes, though he gives much, he doesn’t take
away much. He doesn’t take away the riddle of the grave,
the burden of mistakes, or the anxiety of demands. He’s
kind and quick and cute; but when it comes to healing
hurts — don’t go to Santa.
Now, I don’t mean to be a Scrooge. I’m not wanting to
slam the jolly old fellow. I am just pointing out that
we people are timid when it comes to designing legends.
You’d think we could do better. You’d think that over
six centuries we’d develop a hero who’d resolve those
fears.
But we can’t. We have made many heroes, from King Arthur
to Kennedy; Lincoln to Lindbergh; Socrates to Santa to
Superman. We give it the best we can, every benefit of
every doubt, every supernatural strength, and for a
brief shining moment we have the hero we need — the king
who can deliver Camelot. But then the truth leaks, and
fact surfaces amid the fiction, and the chinks in the
armor are seen. And we realize that the heroes, as noble
as they may have been, as courageous as they were, were
conceived in the same stained society as you and I.
Except One.
There was One who claimed to come from a different
place. There was One who, though He had the appearance
of a man, claimed to have the origin of God. There was
One who, while wearing the face of a Jew, had the image
of the Creator.
Those who saw Him — really saw Him — knew there was
something different. At His touch blind beggars saw. At
His command crippled legs walked. At His embrace empty
lives filled with vision.
He fed thousands with one basket. He stilled a storm
with one command. He raised the dead with one
proclamation. He changed lives with one request. He
rerouted the history of the world with one life, lived
in one country, was born in one manger, and died on one
hill...
After three years of ministry, hundreds of miles,
thousands of miracles, innumerable teachings, Jesus
asks, “Who?” Jesus bids the people to ponder not what He
has done but who He is.
It’s the ultimate question of the Christ: Whose Son is
He? Is He the Son of God or the sum of our dreams? Is He
the force of creation or a figment of our imagination?
When we ask that question about Santa, the answer is the
culmination of our desires. A depiction of our fondest
dreams.
Not so when we ask it about Jesus. For no one could ever
dream a person as incredible as He is. The idea that a
virgin would be selected by God to bear Himself... The
notion that God would don a scalp and toes and two
eyes... The thought that the King of the universe would
sneeze and burp and get bit by mosquitoes... It’s too
incredible. Too revolutionary. We would never create
such a Savior. We aren’t that daring.
When we create a redeemer, we keep him safely distant in
his faraway castle. We allow him only the briefest of
encounters with us. We permit him to swoop in and out
with his sleigh before we can draw too near. We wouldn’t
ask him to take up residence in the midst of a
contaminated people. In our wildest imaginings we
wouldn’t conjure a king who becomes one of us.
But God did.
God did what we wouldn’t dare dream. He did what we
couldn’t imagine. He became a man so we could trust Him.
He became a sacrifice so we could know Him. And He
defeated death so we could follow Him.
It defies logic. It is a divine insanity. A holy
incredibility. Only a God beyond systems and common
sense could create a plan as absurd as this. Yet it is
the very impossibility of it all that makes it possible.
The wildness of the story is its strongest witness.
For only a God could create a plan this mad. Only a
Creator beyond the fence of logic could offer such a
gift of love.
What man can’t do, God does.
So, when it comes to goodies and candy, cherub cheeks
and red noses, go to the North Pole.
But when it comes to eternity, forgiveness, purpose, and
truth, go to the manger. Kneel with the shepherds.
Worship the God who dared to do what man dared not
dream.
Excerpted from “Christmas Stories,” by Max Lucado.
Available at http://www.amazon.com/Christmas-Stories-Heartwarming-Classics-Angels-ebook/dp/B005EH36SC/ The
Last Impression... A
few days before Christmas, two young brothers were
spending the night at their grandparent’s house. When it
was time to go to bed, and anxious to do the right
thing, they both knelt down to say their prayers.
Suddenly, the younger one began to do so in a very loud
voice.
Dear Lord, please ask Santa Claus to bring me a
play-station, a mountain-bike and a telescope.”
His older brother leaned over and nudged his brother
and said, “Why are you shouting your prayers? God isn’t
deaf.”
“I know” he replied, “But Grandma is!”
Frank
Stratemeyer may hold a record for pseudonyms used by
an author. He wrote books in the Hardy Boys series
as Franklin W. Dixon, wrote the Bobbsey Twins books
using the name Laura Lee Hope, wrote the early Nancy
Drew mysteries as Carolyn Keene and wrote the Tom
Swift books using the pseudonym Victor Appleton. A
busy fellow! But most of those monikers were only
fake, used to identify his writing in different
styles.
To
a Friend - Loyalty
After
spending nearly two years investigating the identity of
the Christmas Child, I was ready to reach a verdict. For
me, the evidence was clear and compelling. Yes,
Christmas is a holiday overlaid with all sorts of
fanciful beliefs, from flying reindeer to Santa Claus
sliding down chimneys.
Some
call him Sinterklaas. Others Pere Noel or Papa Noel.
He’s been known as Hoteiosho, Sonnerklaas, Father
Christmas, Jelly Belly, and to most English speakers,
Santa Claus.
A
few days before Christmas, two young brothers were
spending the night at their grandparent’s house. When it
was time to go to bed, and anxious to do the right
thing, they both knelt down to say their prayers.