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Time
changes at Christmas - it seems to stop - or to run backwards on a silent
tick-tockery of memory. The exercise of memory at Christmas transcends Time.
Memory
brings images of a long dead mother laughing as she with floured hands works
the dough, ices the cakes and bakes the pies for Christmas dinner. Of
fathers, long gone too, coming from work chilled - their voice so clear and
deep. Those long dead and gone into Time, somehow, again being home, in
these days of Christmas.
Look, see
the gentle grandmother’s hand flicking back a strand of black hair. Listen,
a child’s voice, like a silver bell. Over there a golden bright window in my
old home long stilled, emptied, its back broken by real time. There in the
rocker by the fire, an old grandfather, wearing the wide innocent eyes of
children as in the firelight’s glow old memories come to fore. A memory of
when the world was laughter – and life was only play. See, the good neighbor
with gift in hand, with the heart of the giver thrown in. The soldier home
from war, arms outstretched, stepping down from the train. As we sit and
turn life’s lovely pages of memory, we will want to put extra chairs around
the hearth fire and make room at the table for all our dear ones that beckon
from out of other years.
Listen,
the church bells are ringing! The magic of singing is heard. Not the grand
alleluia’s of great city choirs, but the loveliest kind that comes from the
soul. It was there in that little church that true friendships were born;
friendships that have survived many holidays long passed and gone. See, the
smiles on all the faces as the baby is laid in the manger and the Christmas
Pageant begins. The church lights are dimmed and the old, old story of the
Christ Child’s birth is read once again, reminding us of an infant, cold
with yellow straw sticking to newborn arms and legs. Of an exhausted young
mother, praising God with each labored breath for the birth of her newborn
son; pondering in her heart how it could be her arms held God’s love for the
entire world.
Listen
closely and you will hear what the animals said about the happenings in
their stable. ” I carried His mother on the long journey here”, said the
shaggy donkey.” I gave Him my manger for His bed and my hay for His pillow”;
said the cow.” We all witnessed His birth,” said the sheep. It was agreed
that they would all warm Him and His family with their life sustaining
warmth. In their home they had made room for Him.”
The old
ones among us said that at midnight on Christmas Eve, all farm animals
kneeled in their stalls to adore the newborn Jesus and praised Him with
human voices.
There is a
wonder in Christmas, a mystery, that mankind will never be able to explain.
So, let us leave the door into our hearts standing wide open, and prepare a
place for all who pull the latchstring to find room and a welcome inside.
Sigerson Clifford, an
Irish writer wrote the following:
The Kerry
Christmas Carol
Brush the floor and clean the hearth,
And set the fire to keep,
For they might visit us tonight
When all the world's asleep.
Don't blow the tall white candle out
But leave it burning bright,
So that they'll know they're welcome here
This holy Christmas night.
Leave out the bread and meat for them,
And sweet milk for the Child,
And they will bless the fire, that baked
And, too, the hands that toiled.
For Joseph will be travel-tired,
And Mary pale and wan,
And they can sleep a little while
Before they journey on.
They will be weary of the roads,
And rest will comfort them,
For it must be many a lonely mile
From here to Bethlehem.
O long the road they have to go,
The bad mile with the good,
Till the journey ends on Calvary
Beneath a cross of wood.
Leave the door upon the latch,
And set the fire to keep,
And pray they'll rest with us tonight
When all the world's asleep.
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