Are You Ready For Christmas?
based on Titus 2:11-15
by Dr. David Rogne

On July 14, 1789, Jean Lenoir, a cobbler living in an obscure street of Paris wrote in his diary: "Nothing of importance happened today." Just a short distance away was the Bastille. On that very day a mob had stormed it, killed troops, freed prisoners, destroyed the build­ing, and started the French Revolution. That event changed the whole life of France, but Jean Lenoir missed it.

Too often, I am afraid, this is the way it is with us at Christmas. Christmas comes and we are busy with the details of preparing for a holiday. The festivities are nice, but they pass into New Year's Day without our ever getting around to considering the revolutionary impact Christmas has had on the world. 0h, we sing over and over again of the Babe born in Bethlehem, but do we ask ourselves why? Why he was born, why we sing? It is possible to go through a great event such as Christmas commemorates, and feel with Jean Lenoir that "Nothing important has happened." And truly, unless something has happened in us, it is correct to say "nothing has happened," as far as we are concerned.

What ought to happen if Christmas is to have any personal significance for us, is that we should begin a style of life which the church from the very beginning has called salvation. It is the possibility of that "style of life" which makes Christmas a significant day at all, It is that "style of life" which the Apostle Paul was talking about when, in his own theological language, he spoke of the Advent of Christ, for in his mind Christmas and salvation were tied together.

The first thing that Paul points out is that salvation has a past dimension. In the New English Bible, Paul is translated as saying, "The grace of God has dawned upon the world." I like that word "dawned," for I see in it the image of darkness being challenged. Some years ago I had an experience which helped me to appreciate what darkness means. My wife and I had arrived in Cortina d' Ampezzo in Italy in the off season, and found most of the hotels closed. The one that was open had what appeared to be a nice room that fronted on a highway going up a hill. When we went to bed we discovered that every truck in Italy was trying to make it up that hill, shifting through all sixteen gears as they went. First, I closed all the windows, then all the drapes, with only a modest effect. The room did have a wooden storm shutter which could be lowered by means of a belt. I lowered the shutter and suddenly we were cut off from the world. No sound, no light, no air. With the lights on I easily returned to bed, put out the light, and went to sleep.

When I awoke I could see nothing. I couldn't find the clock, much less see its dial. I couldn't remember what the room looked like or where the furniture was positioned. I called to Mary to see if she felt that it was time to get up. She thought so, but was not about to leave the safety of the bed. I groped about, seeking something familiar, but everything seemed unfamiliar or downright hostile. I stepped in an open suitcase, scraped my shin, there was stumbling, cursing (from where I can't imagine), and then down on all fours crawling to the wall to see if I could find the strap to lift the shutter. When I finally found the strap and lifted the shutter, light came pouring in and we could get our bearings and see clearly to avoid those things that had seemed so hostile. There was plenty of light outside, but we had been groping in the dark.

I don't wish to overstate the case, but in some respects that experi­ence parallels our human situation. In a world darkened by greed, hatred, selfishness, guilt, and ignorance, we stumble, lose our way, get lost, hurt ourselves, and hurt others. We experience the world as hostile, we become fearful, anxious, lonely, sensing that we are cut off from others. We, too, are in the dark. But upon this darkness, Paul says, the light has dawned.

There is a tombstone on an island in the South Pacific marking the grave of the first missionary who came to that island. On the tomb­stone it says, "Before he came there was no light; when he left, there was no darkness." This is how Paul sees the coming of Jesus Christ. Light has come to challenge the darkness, and the darkness can no longer keep us prisoner.

In the New Testament, Jesus' coming is referred to as the entrance of light. "In him was life, and the life was the light of humanity." (John 1:4) "The true light that enlightens everyone was coming into the world." (John 1:9) And John has Jesus say, "I am the light of the world."(John 8:12)

To return to Paul, he says that the grace of God has dawned. I read somewhere that we are receiving light from stars two billion light years away. In other words, the light that filters down to our tele­scopes from these galaxies started its journey before any life at all appeared on our earth, at a time when our earth was still a smoldering lump of molten rock and lava.

God's grace, revealed in Jesus, also has a past dimension. A definite person, Jesus, was born in a definite place, Bethlehem, at a definite time in the past, when Herod was King in Jerusalem. That coming was so inconspicuous that had Jean Lenoir been living in that area, he would no doubt have written, "Nothing of importance happened today." But something was happening: God was getting ready. A beacon was being prepared; a light to guide those who are in the dark; a light to warn of dangers; a light to attract the lost.

A number of years ago I accompanied some friends on an overnight cruise to Catalina on a small boat. We stayed longer the next day than we should have, so that on our return trip darkness fell, the clouds rolled in, the wind came up and began to stir the waves so that we felt like we were on a roller coaster. The compass began to act up, so we were no longer sure of our course. We felt lost, with nothing to guide us. After more than an hour of tension, we spotted a light, and it gave us something toward which to steer. We were not sure what it was, but it represented salvation from aimless wandering. It turned out to be the beacon at San Pedro harbor, and it guided us

to safety. Our safe return was brought about by a light which someone had erected long ago.

I want to suggest that Christmas is like that. God was preparing for our salvation a long time ago. In the person of Christ, God was reaching down into our world and offering hope. He was providing a light to guide us to safety, so we would not have to be tossed every which way with no hope of being saved. That dimension of our salva­tion was accomplished in the past.

But Paul goes on to suggest that our salvation has a present dimen­sion. The process of salvation was initiated by God. In the coming of Christ, to which we look back every Christmas, God has attempted to capture our attention. A guiding light has been provided. Christ calls us to a way of life which, he says, will bring us to fulfill­ment, but we still have to make the choice as to whether we will follow it, make it a part of our present circumstances.

Paul suggests several ways in which our salvation is experienced in the present. One of these is the exercise of self-control. Paul calls it temperance. Unfortunately, because of the influence of the rather narrow Puritans who helped start this country, temperance has come to mean abstinence from practically everything. There are those who feel that if anything is fun, it must be sinful; good times are frowned upon. Instead of the fullness of life which Jesus offered, such people make the Christian life a rather dull grey.

I much prefer the attitude of Sister Damien Flood, a nun and professor of theology at Springfield College in Illinois, who said: "If I had my life to live over, I'd try to make more mistakes. I would relax. I would limber up. I would be sillier than I have been this trip. I know of very few things I would take seriously. I would be crazier. I would be less hygienic. I would take more chances. I would take more trips. I would climb more mountains, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets. I would burn more gasoline, eat more ice cream. I'd have more real problems and fewer imaginary ones.... I have been one of those people who do not go anywhere without a thermometer, a hot water bottle, a raincoat, and a parachute. If I had it to do over again, I would go places and do things and travel lighter. I'd ride more merry-go-rounds and pick more daisies." I think that spirit is in accord with the spirit of Jesus, who was criticized by the pious people of his day because he spent time among those who were celebrat­ing and having a good time. The Christian life does not have to be dull grey.

This does not mean that we don't have to take Paul's call for self-control seriously. The Greek philosopher, Plato, compared the life of each of us to a carriage drawn by a pair of spirited horses. In the carriage the driver holds the reins and guides the horses on a straight and smooth road. But one day a heavy drowsiness comes upon the driver and he falls asleep at the reins. The horses, not feeling the restraint of the reins, go off the right path, and soon they are speeding over hill and valley. In their mad flight they come nearer and nearer to the edge of a deep gorge. At that moment a man standing nearby and seeing the threatened danger, calls out to the driver in a loud voice: "Wake up! Save yourself!" With a start, the driver suddenly awakens. In a moment he realizes his peril. Hastily he grasps the reins, and, exerting almost superhuman effort, he succeeds in swerving the horses away from the gorge, thereby saving his own life and those of his animals. These fiery steeds, says Plato, are the desires and the passions to which the hearts of people incline from their youth. The driver is the will which God has given people so that they might rule over their desires and have dominion over their impulses.

As Christians we need to affirm our appetites as God-given capacities, but we also need to be in control of them and not have them in control of us. Some things are destructive for us, and we need to know what to avoid. A temperate life style allows us to acknowledge the power of temptation, while at the same time appreciating the goodness of God's world. It is part of our salvation.

A second way, Paul says, that we demonstrate salvation in the present, is through honesty. I read an article on dishonesty recently which indicated that hotels and motels lose $1.5 billion a year in stolen towels, bedding, and fixtures. It is estimated that one in every three guests leaves with something not his own. Doctors, the article says, take stethoscopes from hospitals, and nurses take home linens to the tune of $1,000 per bed annually—money that must be recovered from patient charges. Two Washington clergymen were found to be pocketing thousands of dollars from food stamps sold through their church.

Paul calls us to a higher standard than that. Tom Watson has been called one of the greatest golfers in the world. He has won nearly every major golf tournament at least once, and many of them several times. Fame and fortune have not spoiled him. He is respected as well as admired by those who have followed his outstanding career. Both his skill and integrity were evident at an early age. He had his heart set on becoming a champion. He also had his personal code of honor firmly in mind. In the first state tournament that he ever entered, he put his putter down behind his ball on one of the greens. To his dismay, the ball moved slightly. No one saw it but him; of that he was certain. He was under great pressure to win, and there was not time to add up the pluses and minuses of the alternatives. But he knew without hesitation what he must do; he went over to an official and said, "My ball moved." That action cost him a stroke, but Tom Watson placed his personal integrity ahead of his keen desire to win. That is the kind of standard Christians are called to emu­late: being honest, even though it may be costly.

A third way in which we demonstrate our salvation in the present is by our openness toward God. Paul calls this a life of godliness. The situation of many people is not that they are atheists who deny God, or that they are wicked people who are just waiting to do something evil, but that their lives have no spiritual dimension. As a result, they are not tuned in to life's full potential. Years ago, when I was just setting up housekeeping, someone gave me a used monaural record player. It wasn't the best, but it played music. Not knowing about such things, I went out and bought a stereophonic record. It sounded terrible. The potential for great music was on the record, but I wasn't able to tap that potential with my monaural player. The life each of us is given is stereophonic. We have a physical nature and a spiritual nature. If all we are experiencing is the physical side, then we are depriving ourselves of a whole dimension of life, and living our lives monaurally. God, we are told, is a spirit. When we exercise the spiritual side of our nature, we are opening ourselves to God and experiencing salvation in the present.

The final dimension of salvation Paul mentions is the future. Again, in the New English Bible, he says, "looking forward to the happy fulfillment of our hopes, when the splendor of God appears." There is something about our salvation that is always future. If we were lost at sea in the black of night, a beacon on the shore could be the beginning of our salvation from hopelessness and lostness. If we set our course toward that light, we would be in the process of being saved. But it is not until we come into the safe harbor, toward which the beacon is guiding us, that our salvation is complete.

While we wait for our salvation to be complete, it is the light that God sent that gives us hope. A young writer had just finished his first short story. He felt that he had produced a masterpiece. Anxiously, he read it to a wise old author. It was a story about the son of a poor widow who lived in a humble cottage in the Peru Valley of upstate New York. One day the boy set out for the big city to earn his fortune. Before he left, his mother said to him: "Now remember, son, if you ever get into trouble, no matter how bad it is, you set off for home, and as you come over the hill, you'll always find a light burning in the window and I'll be waiting to welcome you." The story labored on—a lurid picture of the decline and fall of the hero, debauchery, crime, prison, and ultimate release. Then he decided to go home. Coming over the hill, he looked down on the outline of that little old cottage snuggled tightly in the evening gloom, and—there was no light burning. Immediately, the aged writer who was listening, vaulted off his chair and with vehemence yelled, "You young devil, put that light back!" As long as the light is visible, there is hope.

Of course, the light of which we have been speaking is the coming of Christ, which we celebrate in this season. Christmas is God's own doing, and we do well to look back to it. But getting ready for Christmas is something that we do ourselves, by responding to God's action, and if we have not done that, then we are not really ready, and Christmas will come and go without making any real difference in our lives. If we do respond by following the light that God has sent, then we are not only looking back on a great event that took place in the past, we are on course for that ultimate rendezvous: the spending of eternity with God.

There is in Melbourne, Australia, a building known as the Shrine of Remembrance. It was built to commemorate the people's sacrifices during World War I. It was so designed that at exactly 11:00 a.m. on November 11th for 1000 years, a beam of sunshine will shine through an opening in the dome and illumine the one word "Love" in the inscrip­tion reading "Greater love hath no man."

God, the great designer of the universe, has done something like that, for in the fullness of time he has caused the light of divine love to shine upon a child in a stable. Thereafter, through all the centuries of time, people have stood in humility and awe at the remembrance of that event, as we do today. But let us not be content with a remem­brance of what God has done; let us see it as an evidence of what God is doing now in our lives; let us receive it as a pledge of what God has in mind for the future that is unfolding before us every day.