The Last Christmas

The snow fell stilly on the frosted ground . The warm 33 degree air welcomed us to wonder at it, to frolic in it, to savor the beauty of it — we rejoiced at its purity and cleansing effect. It was the last Christmas celebration — an occasion for those ‘loving His appearing’ to remember Him, His birth, incarnation; God born a man! Soon we would transfer to where He is, and then new celebration would outweigh any previous, a thousand to one.Regardless, this last Christmas carries infamy. Haters of Christ have notified the world — Christmas will no longer be celebrated — it is against the law. Yes, Christmas offends too many world-citizens and must cease. Just as the Christ Child was brutally extinguished a short season after His birth, so, now His memory must be erased also. We eat our ham and applesauce with sobriety; we refrain from discussing the inevitable — we talk about the Rapture, it will come soon! Snow thickly blankets the ground now, a frosty carpet.  Our Tannenbaum brightly decorated, we exchange presents, enjoy our Co-Co and nut-bread by the fireplace.. Laughter reaches a delightful pitch but then a phone rings. It’s a warning — perhaps there are too many of us in such a small living space. We must comply – coats and hats again are donned, some leave the house, the party must stop. We are compelled to seriousness.

Somewhat annoyed, we concede because we understand. Judgment lurks, the Bible is true. God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever BELIEVES in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life. “…he that believeth not, shall be damned.”  Soon our long-suffering and merciful God and Savior returns to judge, yes, sheep from goats. We quietly celebrate our final feast, but each of us in their own way. We have decided for Christ.

Fiction? Of course. But, could it happen this way?

The worship of the intellect, of science, of money and power make Christmas expendable. The gods of high-rolling people have no time or need for a loving saving babe.

Friends, I can be also stiff and inflexible. I have been. I can worry with the best. I have also studied to solve problems and every challenge has become my next pursuit. I have defied  my God who supplies all of my need and rejected His providing promises. Honestly, I often feel it demeaning to have to wait for God.

God has helped me. By limiting my lust for material gain, He has forced my hand. I found I must trust Him. Other earthly pursuits also have given in, including money, intellectual superiority, efficient bodily exercise, and even some well loved hobbies. I can’t play a guitar or throw a basketball. Thank you Lord, I am not trying to be bigger than you any more.  I surrender!

Beloved, my expectation is from God. Perhaps we would live many more years without Christmas, maybe our churches would be forced underground. We have already lost a lot to follow our Christ. Paul spoke the blessed refrain, born at Calvary’s tree,

“….for me, to live is Christ — and to die is gain.”

I came upon this beloved hymn, written long ago but speaking of our today.

It came upon a Midnight Clear

It came upon a Midnight Clear

That glorious song of old,
From angels bending near the earth,
To touch their harps of gold:
“Peace on the earth, goodwill to men,
From heaven’s all-gracious King.”
The world in solemn stillness lay,
To hear the angels sing.
Still through the cloven skies they come,
With peaceful wings unfurled,
And still their heavenly music floats
O’er all the weary world;
Above its sad and lowly plains,
They bend on hovering wing,
And ever o’er its Babel sounds
The blessèd angels sing.
Yet with the woes of sin and strife
The world has suffered long;
Beneath the angel-strain have rolled
Two thousand years of wrong;
And man, at war with man, hears not
The love-song which they bring;
O hush the noise, ye men of strife,
And hear the angels sing.
And ye, beneath life’s crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow,
Look now! for glad and golden hours
come swiftly on the wing.
O rest beside the weary road,
And hear the angels sing!
For lo!, the days are hastening on,
By prophet bards foretold,
When with the ever-circling years
Comes round the age of gold
When peace shall over all the earth
Its ancient splendors fling,
And the whole world give back the song
Which now the angels sing.

love ya

See more of Tom Sliva at healingatthecross.com

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