Sharing Christmas, page 12
A babe born in a stable of the village of Bethlehem,
A boy reared as a carpenter of Nazareth,
A citizen of a conquered and subdued nation,
A man whose mortal footsteps never went beyond a radius of a hundred and fifty miles, who never spoke from a great pulpit, who never owned a home, who traveled afoot and without purse
Is actually the Creator of heaven and earth and all that in them are. Neither is it easy for many to recognize—
That he is the author of our salvation and his is the only name whereby we must be saved,
That he would bring light and understanding of things eternal and divine as none other has ever done,
That his teachings would not only influence the personal behavior of uncounted millions, but would also inspire political systems that dignify and protect the individual, and social truths that foster education and culture,
That his matchless example would become the greatest power for goodness and peace in all the world.
Truly, his coming, ministry, and place in our eyes is as foretold by the ancient prophet Isaiah: “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.” (Isaiah 9:6.)
I ask anew the question offered by Pilate two thousand years ago, “What shall I do then with Jesus which is called Christ?” (Matthew 27:22.) Indeed, we need continually to ask ourselves, What shall we do with Jesus who is called Christ? What shall we do with his teachings, and how can we make them an inseparable part of our lives? In light of these questions, at this season we ask another: What does Christmas really mean? May I suggest some things that it should mean?
Christmas means giving. The Father gave his Son, and the Son gave his life. Without giving there is no true Christmas, and without sacrifice there is no true worship. There is more to Christmas than neckties, earrings, toys, and all the tinseled stuff of which we make so much.
I recall an experience I heard at a stake conference in Idaho. A farm family in the community had just contracted for the installation of an additional and much-needed room on their home. Three or four days later the father came to the building-supply dealer and said, “Will it be all right with you if we cancel the contract? The bishop talked with John about a mission last night. We will need to set this room aside for a while.” The building-supply dealer responded, “Your son will go on his mission, and he will find the needed room when he returns.” Here was the spirit of Christmas—a family sending a boy into the world to teach the gospel, and friends coming to help the family with their problems. What then, indeed, shall we do with Jesus who is called Christ?
Christmas means giving—and “the gift without the giver is bare.” Giving of self, giving of substance, giving of heart and mind and strength in assisting those in need and in spreading the cause of His eternal truth—these are the very essence of the true spirit of Christmas.
Christmas means the Christ child, the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger while angels sang and wise men traveled far to bring gifts. It is a beautiful and timeless story, and I hope each of us will read it again this season.
When I think of the Savior, I think not only of the words of Matthew and Luke, but also of the words of John: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
“The same was in the beginning with God.
“All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.
“In him was life; and the life was the light of men.” (John 1:1–4.)
Here is something more than a babe in a manger; here is the Creator of all that is good and beautiful. I have looked at majestic mountains rising high against the blue sky and thought of Jesus, the Creator of heaven and earth. I have stood on the sand of an island in the Pacific and watched the dawn rise like thunder—a ball of gold surrounded by clouds of pink and white and purple—and thought of Jesus, the Word by whom all things were made and without whom was not anything made that was made. I have seen a beautiful child—bright-eyed, innocent, loving, and trusting—and marveled at the majesty and miracle of creation. What then shall we do with Jesus who is called Christ?
This earth is his creation. When we make it ugly, we offend him. Our bodies are the work of our Creator. When we abuse them, we abuse him.
Christmas means eternity. As certainly as Christ came into the world, lived among men, laid down his life, and became the firstfruits of the resurrection, so, through that atonement, all become partakers of immortality. Death will come, but death has been robbed of its sting, and the grave of its victory. “I am the resurrection, and the life: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: And whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.” (John 11:25–26.)
I remember standing before the bier of a young man whose life had been bright with hope and promise. He had been an athlete in his high school, and an excellent university student. He was a friendly, affable, brilliant young man. He had gone into the mission field. He and his companion were riding down the highway when a car, coming from the opposite direction, moved into their lane and crashed into them. He died in the hospital an hour later. As I stood at the pulpit and looked into the faces of his father and his mother, there came then into my heart a conviction that I had seldom before felt with such assurance. I knew with certainty, as I looked across that casket, that this young man had not died, but had merely been transferred to another field of labor in the eternal ministry of the Lord.
Indeed, what shall one do with Jesus who is called Christ? Let us live with the certain knowledge that someday “we shall be brought to stand before God, knowing even as we know now, and have a bright recollection of all our guilt.” (Alma 11:43.) Let us live today knowing that we shall live forever. Let us live with the conviction that whatever principle of intelligence and beauty and truth and goodness we make a part of our life here, it will rise with us in the resurrection.
Christmas means compassion and love and, most of all, forgiveness. “Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.” (John 1:29.) How poor indeed would be our lives without the influence of his teachings and his matchless example. The lessons of the turning of the other cheek, the second mile traveled, the return of the prodigal, and scores of other incomparable teachings have filtered down the ages to become the catalyst to bring kindness and mercy out of much of man's inhumanity to man.
Brutality reigns where Christ is banished. Kindness and forbearance govern where Christ is recognized and his teachings are followed.
What shall we do then with Jesus who is called Christ? “He hath shewed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?” (Micah 6:8.)
“Wherefore, I say unto you, that ye ought to forgive one another; for he that forgiveth not his brother his trespasses standeth condemned before the Lord; for there remaineth in him the greater sin.” (D&C 64:9.)
Christmas means peace. I remember being in Europe a number of years ago at the time tanks were rolling down the streets of a great city, and students were being slaughtered with machine-gun fire. I stood that December day in the railroad station in Berne, Switzerland. At eleven o'clock in the morning, every church bell in Switzerland began to ring, and at the conclusion of that ringing every vehicle stopped—every car on the highway, every bus, every railroad train. The great, cavernous railway station became deathly still. I looked out the front door across the plaza. Men working on the hotel opposite stood on the scaffolding with bared heads. Every bicycle stopped. Every man and woman and child dismounted and stood with bared, bowed heads. Then, after three minutes of prayerful silence, trucks, great convoys of them, began to roll from Geneva and Berne and Basel and Zurich toward the suffering nation to the east, laden with supplies—food, clothing, and medicine. The gates of Switzerland were thrown open to refugees.
As I stood there that December morning, I marveled at the miraculous contrast between the oppressive power mowing down students in one nation and the spirit of a Christian people in another who bowed their heads in prayer and reverence, then rolled up their sleeves to provide succor and salvation.
What shall we do then with Jesus which is called Christ? “For I was an hungred, and ye gave me meat: I was thirsty, and ye gave me drink: I was a stranger, and ye took me in: naked, and ye clothed me: I was sick, and ye visited me: I was in prison, and ye came unto me.” (Matthew 25:35–36.)
He whose birth we commemorate this season is more than the symbol of a holiday. He is the Son of God, the Creator of the earth, the Jehovah of the Old Testament, the fulfillment of the Law of Moses, the Redeemer of mankind, the King of Kings, the Prince of Peace.
I thank our Eternal Father that mankind in these latter days has been so blessed to know of Christ with added certainty and added knowledge. I rejoice with thanksgiving that he has reaffirmed his matchless gospel truths in their fullness, and that he has restored his priesthood power and church to prepare a people and make ready for his eventual coming in great glory and power in the opening of the millennial era.
I rejoice at Christmastime that as a people, we Latter-day Saints know of his existence and reality, and receive certain direction from him.
“And now, after the many testimonies which have been given of him, this is the testimony, last of all, which we give of him: That he lives!
“For we saw him, even on the right hand of God; and we heard the voice bearing record that he is the Only Begotten of the Father—
“That by him, and through him, and of him, the worlds are and were created, and the inhabitants thereof are begotten sons and daughters unto God.” (D&C 76:22–24.)
This is our testimony to all mankind. It is our gift and blessing to the world. He is our joy and our salvation, and we will find Christmas of greater meaning in our own lives as we share these truths with others.
What shall we do with Jesus who is called Christ?
Learn of him. Search the scriptures, for they are they which testify of him. Ponder the miracle of his life and mission. Try a little more diligently to follow his example and observe his teachings. Bring the Christ back into Christmas.
BRYAN'S GIFT
Alma J. Yates
It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve. I sat at the window in the living room and looked out. The snow had piled up almost every day for a week, but now the skies were clear and the air was icy. I could hear Mom, Tara, and Laurie in the kitchen, making treats for the neighbors. Next to me the Christmas tree twinkled and there were piles of presents stacked beneath it. Usually on Christmas Eve I would feel each package and shake and smell it. I didn't care about the packages this year.
Christmas had always been fun before. As soon as all the presents were exchanged, I would call Bryan, and we would spend the rest of the morning together until it was time to visit our cousins.
I couldn't ever remember a time when Bryan and I hadn't been best friends. We did everything together. We studied together, weeded our gardens together, had a paper route together, joined Cub Scouts together.
Bryan and I were both planning to play football in the pros. He was going to be the quarterback, and I was going to be the end. What a team we'd make! But now I wasn't sure if we would ever play football together again.
Ever since Bryan had told me about the cancer in his left leg, I had prayed for him. I had even fasted two different Sundays. But the doctors still took his leg off, just above his knee. They thought that they had caught the cancer in time, and that it hadn't spread, but his leg was still gone, and right now he lay in a hospital bed with nothing but a TV and a stack of books and magazines to keep him company.
“Randy,” Mom said, coming into the living room, “you sure look glum for a Christmas Eve.”
“I keep thinking about Bryan,” I mumbled.
“He'll be fine,” Mom declared. “His mother told me that his whole family is going to celebrate Christmas Eve in his hospital room tonight.”
“But it's not the same thing. Besides, I wanted to give him something ... something super.”
“You already sent a present over.”
I nodded sadly. “A book. But that's nothing, even if he does have to stay in bed and reading is all that he can do. I wanted to give him something extra special, something that he'd never forget.” I stopped for a moment, then blurted out, “What he really wanted was a football, an official leather football so that we could practice to play in the pros.”
Mother smiled understandingly. “That's what you've both wanted for years, I know.”
“Bryan really did want a football, Mom. But you know how much they cost.”
Mom smiled again and just said, “Yes, I know how much they cost.”
I glanced in toward the tree and stared at the package wrapped in gold foil paper that was nestled under the far side of the tree. Yes, I thought, Mom knows how much footballs cost.
Then she asked gently, “Are you forgetting Bryan's leg?”
“Bryan won't always have a stump for a leg,” I told her. “They make legs. Good ones. There was a guy that had his leg cut off because of cancer, and he walked clear across Canada. If he could do something like that, Bryan will be able to play football. And if he had a football now, he'd have something to look forward to, something to work for. We're still going to play in the pros.”
Mom went back to the kitchen, and I looked out the window again. Christmas would soon be here. If I was going to do anything for Bryan, I would have to do it soon. Then an idea came so quickly that for a moment I could hardly breathe.
Hurrying to my room, I pulled on my sweatshirt, wiggled into my heavy coat, pulled the hood over my head, stomped my feet into my snow boots, grabbed my gloves, and raced back to the living room. I reached for the gold-wrapped package under the tree, called to Mom that I'd be back in a while, then slipped out of the house.
The snow squeaked and crunched under my boots, and my breath puffed out of my mouth and nose in steamy clouds as I sped down the street. Finally I reached the hospital. I pulled open the huge glass doors, walked rapidly down the long hall, and got on the elevator and pushed the third-floor button.
Bryan didn't see me slip into his room, so I whispered, “Hi, Bryan.”
His head turned toward me, and his face and eyes brightened. “Randy!” he cried. “I knew you'd come.”
“How do you feel?” I asked, setting the package on the floor by the bed.
“Oh, okay, I guess.”
“You'll be out of here before you know it,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.
“I'm glad you came, Randy.”
“I knew you couldn't have much of a Christmas here,” I told him. “A hospital is no place for Christmas. And I knew I could never have Christmas without seeing you. I just had to come—and I brought you something.” I bent over, picked up the package, and handed it to Bryan.
“But you already gave me a present. It's over there, under the tree.”
I glanced at the small silver tree in the corner. My book, wrapped in Santa Claus paper, lay with several other packages. I shook my head. “That's not my real present,” I told him. “This one is. Open it now, while I'm here.” I pushed the package across the covers to where Bryan could reach it.
He tugged at the gold wrapping paper, pulled the lid off the box, and caught his breath. Then he reached in and lifted out the football. “But, Randy, this was supposed to be yours, wasn't it?”
“But I want you to have it,” I faltered. “It's the only thing I could think of that was super special enough for you. It's one just like we've always talked about. Now we'll play in the pros for sure!”
For a long time Bryan stared at the ball. Then tears came to his eyes.
“Don't you like it?” I asked hoarsely. “It's a real one, just like they use in the pros. I just knew you'd have to have one because—” The words caught in my throat. I looked down at the flat place on the bed where Bryan's left leg should have been.
Bryan was staring at the flat place too. “I can't take your ball, Randy,” he whispered. “I don't know if I can even play anymore.”
“Yes you can—we'll still play together!” I burst out. “It's just like I was telling Mom. They make artificial legs, Bryan. Good ones. And the quarterback doesn't have to run much. You can still play. We'll still be a team.”
Bryan smiled weakly. “Maybe I ought to be the coach,” he said. “The coach doesn't have to run at all. All he has to do is yell and blow his whistle, and I can at least do that.”
Bryan stared again at the flat place. I caught my breath, starting to feel sick.
Suddenly Bryan grinned up at me and declared, “It's a super ball, just what I've always wanted. I'm glad that you brought it. Real glad.” Then his smile faded. “But I don't have anything for you.”
I shook my head. “I don't need anything. There's only one thing I really want, and that's for you to get well and leave here.” There was a terrible, hurting lump in my throat. I tried to swallow it away, but it was stuck. I bit down on my lip. “Every night I pray for you. And every Sunday in Primary we pray for you too. We never forget you, Bryan.”
“I know, and it means a lot to me. But I still want to give you something. I want to give you a super gift too.” He held his new ball tightly. “You know I've always wanted a football just like this, and to play in the pros,” he said, rubbing his cheek against the ball. He looked up at me. “You'll have to play for both of us.” He stopped, then, holding the ball out, added, “You'll need a good ball. The very best. Take this one and play for both of us.
It won't hurt so much if I know I'm helping you out, that you're playing with my ball.”
