The Gift of Heavenly Hosts by Pat Cirrincione

Billy Graham called them “God’s secret agents.” I am sure there are people who wonder if they are for real. Personally, I side with the Reverend Graham. I believe that angels are in our very midst. I think they guide us with the light of God’s love, that they wear many faces, and as Scripture shows, they appear in some strange places in our time of need.

Psalm 91:11 says, “For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways.” You may believe that there are no such heavenly beings, but like Billy Graham I believe angels exist, because the Bible says there are angels, and I believe the Bible to be the true Word of God (plus I’ve watched multiple times one of my favorite Jimmy Stewart movies, “It’s A Wonderful Life”).

Before I sidetrack myself with all the movies I’ve watched featuring angels, let’s return to Scripture. In Genesis 28:10-19, Jacob lies down to sleep and dreams of a ladder that was set up on the earth, and the top if it reached to heaven. We are told that there the “angels of God were ascending and descending on it.” Can you imagine the length of that ladder? And angels ascending and descending from the house of God to guide, appear and sing to his people on earth? What a sight that must have been! And what a feeling to know that even if we can’t see them, angels are standing here, messengers of our Almighty God.

How many times when life holds troubled moments and has us on our knees, there seems someone there to come along and comfort us? A kind word from a stranger, to lend a helping hand. A phone call from a friend, just to say they understand. Someone to help us in our darkest hours? Someone who comes alongside you and guides you. Someone who prayers with you in time of need, when you think you are at the end of your rope? Angels are associated with God himself and help in administering his works and plans in our lives. They are there to protect and assist us. And just as in God’s Word, when we see his armies fighting for God’s people in the Old Testament, they are fighting for us today, to attain victory over the forces of darkness.

In biblical times, angels intervened in human situations in human form: in a dream to Joseph (Matthew 1:20) or to Mary (Luke 1:26) or around God’s throne (Revelation 5:11). Or at the resurrection when the women looked into the tomb and saw “two angels in white, where the body of Jesus had lain” (John 20:11, 12). And they heard the greatest message the world has ever heard from two men in dazzling apparel: “He is not here, but is risen.” (Luke 24:4-6)

Hebrews 12:1-2 reminds us to “not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some have unwittingly entertained angels.” And in Matthew 4:11 angels were involved in Jesus life on earth when they ministered to him after Satan tempted him in the wilderness.

Yet my favorite angel remains the angel of the Lord who appeared to country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. As God’s messenger stood before them, they were greatly afraid. Who wouldn’t be? But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly hosts praising God and saying:

Glory to God in the highest,

And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!” (KJV, Luke 2:8-14)

What a sight that must have been. Angels, sent down to us from somewhere up above, showing up in the strangest places, with the light of God’s love.

For this year, and all years to come, let us be thankful and be a gift to each other, and sing in remembrance of that night so long ago:

Hark! The herald angels sing,

“Glory to the new-born King;

Peace on earth, and mercy mild,

God and sinners reconciled!”

Joyful, all ye nations, rise,

Join the triumph of the skies;

With the’angelic host proclaim,

“Christ is born in Bethlehem!”

Hark! The herald angels sing,

“Glory to the new-born King.”

Christmas in December . . . or not by Wil Triggs

A few weeks back, I was standing at the Sunday morning bookstall when a man I know well approached me and asked, “When did we start celebrating Christmas in December?”

“You mean the exact year?” I asked.

“You know it really didn’t happen then,” he said.

I told him I didn’t know the answer to his question, but promised to look into it and get back to him.

Well, I’ve done some research and discovered that it’s not a simple question to answer. I thought that Christmas started with the early church, but from what I’ve been able to tell, celebrating Christ's birth came about later than observing and celebrating his death and resurrection. The Bible connects Christ’s death with Passover, so we can at least know the season. But Christmas is much less tied to any such tradition. And even Luke’s gospel account of the census isn’t as clean to identify as I thought. He alludes to those days, but not specific weeks or months or seasons. I have been able to find surely stated assertions, but there are several, and they don’t agree with one another.

And churches being churches, there’s always the east-west calendar where whole parts of the world celebrate Christmas, just not in December. In our house, we don’t take down our decorations until Orthodox Christmas (January 6). Maybe it’s just an excuse to leave the lights up, but it’s also a nod to Russia and other parts of the world who observe the holiday in the orthodox calendar.

My wife wants a shout out to the minority who like to celebrate Christmas in July. She says they know who they are. And there’s our pastor’s sage comment in last week’s sermon expressing sympathy for the Puritans who banned Christmas. That makes it immaterial altogether.

If we consider the all-important decree of the newly converted Ebenezer Scrooge, “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year” does it really matter when the actual day is? What matters is that we are to strive to keep it all the year.

So now I’m way past answering the question at the bookstall and I’m wondering, “What is it that I’m to strive to keep?”

Do I strive to “take back Christmas” from wherever it might have wandered? What traditions do I strive to keep alive? (Note to self: outdoor Christmas lights are not at top of the list, and yet the gutter lights are on, but our tomato cage Christmas trees are inside by the back door possibly going up this weekend.)

And then, as I’m asking all this, our small group gathering happens. The Christmas dinner edition. Kathy’s authentic cheese tortellini and sausage soup that I’m sure is going to be served in heaven. Lois’s “Irresistible Salad.” Crusty sourdough breads, a mocha cake. I could go on, but I’m already distracting myself and surely you, too. We consider the two sides of Christmas—secular and religious—as expressed in an article by Tim Keller. As we talk, it becomes clear that we each have distinct histories and experiences related to both sides of the Christmas coin.

There’s the relief of no longer having to work in a retail context where people obsessed with deals forget to show any gratitude at all to the workers. There’s Africa, China, Bhutan, Soviet Russia represented—sometimes with no official celebration at all. We celebrate as singles and small and large extended families, open our doors to those who have no where else to go. One person moves from an explosion of excess gifts to only handmade simple gifts. Another gives charitable gifts to meet needs. One family shifts to drawing names to reduce the burden and increase the quality of gifts.

As I listen to the give and take, a Christmas pattern begins to emerge.

It’s a pattern of generosity, thankfulness and humility. That includes some places that don’t look anything like our all-American version. We like to embrace our season, yet some places people almost forget about the actual day because it’s not a holiday at all. It’s the pattern of the Incarnation that is full of grace and truth. It’s a reminder that when the true light came into the world, it filled a night sky over a bunch of shepherds who ran at breakneck speed to worship Jesus.

Yet it’s the same world where Herod took a generation of lives so he could keep his kingly power. Herod lives in our hearts when we think we can make ourselves better if we just try harder, spend a lot, give more, keep control of whatever kingdom we imagine to be in our realm, in essence, atone for our own sins.

Yet the Word prevails. May he prevail in our hearts today and this Christmas. We can't fix what needs to be fixed. There's no celebrating it away. That's good news for all of us—Africa, China, Bhutan, Russia, U.S.—the Light of the World came, comes and will come again in his time—December or April or whenever and forever. Let's celebrate this in our hearts.

Advent. Coming. Amen.

Christmas in December . . . or not by Wil Triggs

A few weeks back, I was standing at the Sunday morning bookstall when a man I know well approached me and asked, “When did we start celebrating Christmas in December?”

“You mean the exact year?” I asked.

“You know it really didn’t happen then,” he said.

I told him I didn’t know the answer to his question, but promised to look into it and get back to him.

Well, I’ve done some research and discovered that it’s not a simple question to answer. I thought that Christmas started with the early church, but from what I’ve been able to tell, celebrating Christ's birth came about later than observing and celebrating his death and resurrection. The Bible connects Christ’s death with Passover, so we can at least know the season. But Christmas is much less tied to any such tradition. And even Luke’s gospel account of the census isn’t as clean to identify as I thought. He alludes to those days, but not specific weeks or months or seasons. I have been able to find surely stated assertions, but there are several, and they don’t agree with one another.

And churches being churches, there’s always the east-west calendar where whole parts of the world celebrate Christmas, just not in December. In our house, we don’t take down our decorations until Orthodox Christmas (January 6). Maybe it’s just an excuse to leave the lights up, but it’s also a nod to Russia and other parts of the world who observe the holiday in the orthodox calendar.

My wife wants a shout out to the minority who like to celebrate Christmas in July. She says they know who they are. And there’s our pastor’s sage comment in last week’s sermon expressing sympathy for the Puritans who banned Christmas. That makes it immaterial altogether.

If we consider the all-important decree of the newly converted Ebenezer Scrooge, “I will honor Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year” does it really matter when the actual day is? What matters is that we are to strive to keep it all the year.

So now I’m way past answering the question at the bookstall and I’m wondering, “What is it that I’m to strive to keep?”

Do I strive to “take back Christmas” from wherever it might have wandered? What traditions do I strive to keep alive? (Note to self: outdoor Christmas lights are not at top of the list, and yet the gutter lights are on, but our tomato cage Christmas trees are inside by the back door possibly going up this weekend.)

And then, as I’m asking all this, our small group gathering happens. The Christmas dinner edition. Kathy’s authentic cheese tortellini and sausage soup that I’m sure is going to be served in heaven. Lois’s “Irresistible Salad.” Crusty sourdough breads, a mocha cake. I could go on, but I’m already distracting myself and surely you, too. We consider the two sides of Christmas—secular and religious—as expressed in an article by Tim Keller. As we talk, it becomes clear that we each have distinct histories and experiences related to both sides of the Christmas coin.

There’s the relief of no longer having to work in a retail context where people obsessed with deals forget to show any gratitude at all to the workers. There’s Africa, China, Bhutan, Soviet Russia represented—sometimes with no official celebration at all. We celebrate as singles and small and large extended families, open our doors to those who have no where else to go. One person moves from an explosion of excess gifts to only handmade simple gifts. Another gives charitable gifts to meet needs. One family shifts to drawing names to reduce the burden and increase the quality of gifts.

As I listen to the give and take, a Christmas pattern begins to emerge.

It’s a pattern of generosity, thankfulness and humility. That includes some places that don’t look anything like our all-American version. We like to embrace our season, yet some places people almost forget about the actual day because it’s not a holiday at all. It’s the pattern of the Incarnation that is full of grace and truth. It’s a reminder that when the true light came into the world, it filled a night sky over a bunch of shepherds who ran at breakneck speed to worship Jesus.

Yet it’s the same world where Herod took a generation of lives so he could keep his kingly power. Herod lives in our hearts when we think we can make ourselves better if we just try harder, spend a lot, give more, keep control of whatever kingdom we imagine to be in our realm, in essence, atone for our own sins.

Yet the Word prevails. May he prevail in our hearts today and this Christmas. We can't fix what needs to be fixed. There's no celebrating it away. That's good news for all of us—Africa, China, Bhutan, Russia, U.S.—the Light of the World came, comes and will come again in his time—December or April or whenever and forever. Let's celebrate this in our hearts.

Advent. Coming. Amen.

Purple, Purple, Pink, Purple

By Lorraine Triggs

I am a latecomer to celebrating the four Sundays of Advent. My first season was one of those weekends when Thanksgiving and Advent collide. That Saturday, I was in a slightly frantic pursuit of a brass Advent ring and the four candles.

"Purple, purple, pink, purple," I muttered to myself, knowing the right shades of purple and pink mattered. Then inspiration hit—the Wheaton Religious Gift & Church Supply store on Front Street would have the brass ring and candles.

Entering the store from the alley, I nodded to the kind-looking woman by the cash register, admired the Fontanini nativity sets and quickly found the brass ring.

"Purple, purple, pink, purple," I said softly.

"May I help you?" asked the smiling store associate.

"Oh, I just need a set of Advent candles. I can't seem to find any on the shelf." I pointed to an empty shelf under a display of glass Christmas ornaments.

Her smile froze. "You're looking for Advent candles today?"

"Yes for the wreath." I held up the box. "Do you have any more in stock?"

"You do know Advent begins tomorrow, don't you?" An edge crept into her voice. "Why are you just now looking for the candles? You should have been in here weeks ago. Why didn't you plan ahead?"

"Uh, I'm sorry, I'm Protestant," I said the first thing that came to mind. "I'm not used to Advent."

"Well, next year, plan ahead and come in early November," the woman admonished me. I wasn't really sorry for being Protestant, but somehow I had disappointed the shopkeeper. I wasn't really sure I wanted to embrace this Advent thing, and her tone reminded me of descriptions I had heard of nuns in parochial schools scolding children for being, well, children.

That year, we had lovely Christmas red candles in the brass ring and a white pillar candle for the Christ candle. About that Christ candle—it was linen-scented, which I thought would remind us of the cloths in which the Christ child was wrapped and the ones the resurrected Christ shed at the tomb.

Well, not exactly, the linen-scented candle clashed horribly with our traditional Christmas Eve dinner of cheese enchiladas, homemade refritos and tamales from the Mexican grocer.

Nowadays, we keep an heir and a spare of Advent candles around the house. But one year in the not-too-distant past, we couldn't find the spare, and it was another one of those Thanksgiving-Advent mash-ups.

We spent Saturday avoiding the possibility of dissapointing someone else at Wheaton Religious Gifts and checked out Hobby Lobby. No boxed sets of Advent candles there. The first Sunday of Advent dawned and our brass ring sat candle-less.

As soon as church was over, we got in the car, determined not to return home without a set of Advent candles. According to Google, the craft store, Michael's, had boxed sets of them.

We went to the Michael's on Army Trail Road and started to look for the candles. There were aisles of red and green silk flowers, a variety of plastic life-like garlands of pine, spruce, holly. We showed the image on our phone to clerk after clerk the little box  of four candles from the store's website. None of them seemed to know what we were talking about. We were directed to the home decor section, a row of regular candles, the craft aisle and finally wandered through the Christmas aisles.

And there, hidden behind Christmas glitter and glitz, was a small display of Advent candles—purple, purple, pink, purple. And, wait, it gets better, the Advent candles were 75% off and only $1.25 a box. Shoved off to the clearance rack to make room for New Year's Eve party supplies, almost no room at the inn, I mean, craft store. It felt like Michael's couldn't wait to get rid of their Advent candles. We splurged.

Like those boxes of Advent candles, Jesus' first advent was hidden from the powerful and glamorous. These people who had no time for a baby's birth. The news came to unnoticed shepherds who, when offered costly grace not just at a discount, but for free, ran rejoicing to the newborn king.

Slow down. The Promise. Wait. Bethlehem. Make room at the table. The messengers/prophets. Take the time for reflection and prayer. The Shepherds. Consider the incredibly humble journey of Jesus to the manger. Christ the King.

Purple and pink after all are the colors of royalty and joy.

Full of Mystery, Full of Wonder

A Christmas prayer and poem from Prayers for Every Occasion by College Church member Ellen Elwell.

Lord Jesus, the account of your birth in Scripture is so familiar, yet full of mystery and wonder. Year after year, I hear the story and ponder its meaning all over again. What a miracle! You—God—became man and were willing to walk beside us, leaving the glory of heaven to experience a humble life on earth.

This season is filled with activities and events that easily distract me from contemplating the true significance of Christmas. You are the most precious gift ever given to humankind. And yet, too often I leave you out in the cold, giving little thought to the monumental significance of your coming. Like those in Bethlehem, I can become so busy with other things that I don't find room in my heart for you.

Lord, I open my heart to you. I present myself to you as a dwelling place. It it only because of your mercy and forgiveness that my feeble temple is deemed worthy for you to reside in. I pray that others will see your presence in my life and be compelled to know you, not merely as a baby in a manger, but as a life-giving Savior.

A Christmas Prayer

Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894)

Loving God,
Help us remember the birth of Jesus,
That we may share in the song of the angels,
The gladness of the shepherds,
And the worship of the wise men.

Close the door of hate
And open the door of love all over the world.
Let kindness come with every gift and good desires with every greeting.
Deliver us from evil by the blessing which Christ brings,
And teach us to be merry with clear hearts.

May the Christmas morning make us happy to be Thy children,
And Christmas evening bring us to our beds with grateful thoughts,
Forgiving and forgiven, for Jesus' sake
Amen.

Summer and Winter, Seedtime and Harvest--A post Thanksgiving Prayer

Summer and Winter, Seedtime and Harvest

A post-Thanksgiving prayer from a Pastor Prays for His People by Wendell C. Hawley.

Almighty God, magnanimous God,
We acknowledge you as Creator and sustainer of all things.
We praise you that you are not an absentee landlord,
uninvolved in your creation,
for you have promised that with regularity we shall experience
summer and winter, seedtime and harvest.
The bounty of earth's produce at harvesttime
should bring praise from mankind everywhere . . .
and if many won't—we will.
We praise you for the provisions of life.

Blessed Savior, when we reflect on our past days,
we see in every circumstance your providential hand—always offered in love.
So whatever difficulty we currently face, we give you thanks.
Thank you that you can turn the disappointments of life
into divine purposefulness.
Consequently, even in our economic losses,
our companion losses,
our experiential detours,
our physical disruptions—
we await your guiding hand, leading to our eternal benefit. . . .

. . . And so with your servant David, we pray:
I am overwhelmed by how much you have done for me.
I will tell everyone abour your righteousness.
All day long I will proclaim your saving power.

Amen.

Love in Disguise by Wil Triggs

When one of my friends moved away from DuPage County, he told me that one thing he didn’t like about living here was that no one just dropped by to say hi.

He grew up in Michigan, where, he said, people commonly just stopped by and knocked on a friend’s door. It wasn’t scheduled. There was no agenda but to say hi. The door opened. Food and talk was shared—just a normal part of life.

When he told me, I had to admit that I guessed it was true.

I generally don’t just knock on someone’s door unannounced, even if it’s a close friend. There have been times when I’ve knocked on my neighbor’s door, but there’s a reason: mail put in the wrong box, a jar of ice cream sauce at Christmas, a gift for their daughter’s First Communion. We’ll visit across the fence or when we’re both shoveling snow. We’ve shared barbecues or parties with them, but it’s always been planned.

So I’m not what anyone might think of as spontaneous when it comes to people dropping by or us dropping by unannounced.

I do recall one time when there was a knock on my door.

It was Sunday. The delayed timer on our oven made it possible for us to roast a chicken while we were at church. We could come home and take most everything out of the oven and refrigerator and sit down to a very nice Sunday lunch in no time.

So it was one of those Sundays when the knock happened.

We had just sat down. Sparkling water with a slice of melon. Golden chicken. Knock. Roasted potatoes. Knock, knock. Green salad. French green beans. Knock, knock, knock. Who could that be? Knock, knock, knock, knock.

Not wanting to be separated from my food, I sighed. I got up from the table and opened the door.

A man was on the other side. I had never seen him before. He wasn't selling anything. He asked for the former owners of the house—actually, two owners before us. We happened to know the couple. I explained that they no longer lived in the home. They had moved away.

Visibly disappointed, the man looked downward, somewhat crestfallen and said nothing.

Now I had a choice. Do I close the door on him?

With the smells of what seemed to me to be a delectable Sunday meal awaiting for me, I thought to myself, What if this man is Jesus in disguise?

I didn’t mean it literally, but I did think of the Scriptures.

So the words came out of my mouth, “We’re just sitting down to lunch. Would you like to join us?”

Did I really just say that?

He looked up, his countenance changing for the better and walked through our door.

Lorraine quickly set another place at the table.

He was hungry. As we ate, he told us his story, and it was a hard one. He was out of work, had no car, was living in a motel on Roosevelt Road that rented by the week and his week was coming to an end. From many years before, when he lived in the Wheaton area on a more permanent basis, the previous owners had befriended him. We knew them from College Church and it was clear from what he said that they had a godly touch of grace with him.

On that Sunday, he was just passing through, headed to what he hoped would be a job that might lead to a place to live and a settling down. He walked the several miles from the motel where he was staying to our home in the hopes of reconnecting with his friends from the past. We told him about our lives, too, and got to talk about faith. Jesus is good, he agreed.

Instead of reconnecting with old friends, I guess he got to make some new friends that day—Lorraine and me. After a leisurely meal, one that lasted longer than normal, with dessert and coffee served one after the other, in the Russian style, we prayed with him, and he prayed with us.

I drove him back to his motel and did my best to help him with a little more. He said thank you. We shook hands and looked in each other’s eyes. I told him I would pray for him.

Years have gone by. I’ve never seen him again.

But you know what? That man blessed us. I’m glad I didn’t close the door. To share our stories, enjoy a meal together and spend time in prayer transformed the afternoon into a sacred time together. People matter.

I think of him at Sunday dinner fairly often. And sometimes, on Thanksgiving, I wonder where he’s at this year.

Who is knocking on the doors of my life this year? Will I open the door?

…thank the Lord for his steadfast love,
for his wondrous works to the children of man!

For he satisfies the longing soul,
and the hungry soul he fills with good things.

Thankfully, that final Hope

From artist Sean Shimmel: Self-absorbed Eustace transformed into a loathsome dragon is rescued by Aslan’s shredding claws in The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Heart of darkness. Apocalypse Now . . . inwardly. Who will rescue us? Thankfully, that final Hope.