Pride of comparison

A few years ago, an old hospital in a small, midwestern town needed to expand. Plans were drawn for a new facility with modern equipment. The little hospital served everyone in town, plus a large community of Amish living on farms outside town. The hospital charter required that one of the directors always be Amish.

As work began, Amish craftsmen donated time and labor to build lovely furniture for the lobby. They also built elaborate custom cabinetry for the obstetrical wing. Each birthing room looked like a luxury hotel suite until cabinets were opened to reveal the latest medical equipment. The Amish took great pride in this work, since they believe work is a form of worship. But they took no pride in themselves. They believe no man is better than another in the eyes of God, and personal pride is a sin.

Shortly before the new hospital was about to open, a cash shortfall was discovered. There was no money to pay for a piece of costly equipment for the emergency room. The administrator informed the board, and the Amish member promised to "do what he could." What happened next surprised everyone.

About a week after the need was known, an Amish farmer approached the hospital on a horse-drawn farm wagon carrying bulging potato sacks. Instead of parking in the lot, he drove to the front door. He unloaded the sacks and carried them to the administrator's office. After the last sack was inside, he left without comment.

When staff began opening the sacks, they didn't find any potatoes, but only cash, cash and more cash. It took time to tally it all up. The sacks contained $80,000.00 -- all in cash.

But why cash? Why didn't the Amish who were well-to-do just write checks? Because this might set them apart as "better" than their neighbors who made smaller donations. By using only cash, they eliminated the pride of comparison. The administrator told me his staff will never forget that lesson.

My worst Christmas Eve service

Did you ever yearn to attend an old-fashioned Christmas Eve service in a country church? Many Decembers ago, I drove from my home in metro-Boston to the town of North Conway, NH. It's tiny compared to Boston, but filled with upscale stores and eateries, not to mention Mt. Washington. After some holiday shopping, I scanned the local paper for Christmas services. Sadly, I was a week early, and the only Christmas service was in an even smaller village a few miles away. Hoping for the best, I drove the rain-soaked farm roads to the village -- really just a crossroad -- where a tired clapboard church sat on one corner. Visitors were not expected, but I dripped through the door anyway. This church had seen better days. Instead of pews, there were ancient wooden folding chairs. The wall behind the alter was decorated with contact paper I'd seen at Woolworths. Instead of chandeliers, bare bulbs hung from the ceiling on cords, and as the service began, they all snapped off with a loud click, plunging the room into blackness. I regretted coming, but then things got worse. A dozen Sunday School kids lined up in front. Each one lit a candle. So far, so good. Then one-at-a-time they read (I'm not making this up) verses from Hallmark Christmas cards! After each kid read his card, he blew out his candle. Parents, many wearing dungarees, were obviously as pleased as punch. I wanted to drop through the floor, until there was just one kid standing with a lit candle -- the last girl in line. She didn't have a Hallmark card. She had a Bible, and she read, "Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not charity, I am as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal."

It was only one verse of I Corinthians, but she garbled it. Instead of "tinkling cymbal" she said "twinkling symbol." Then she blew out her candle, and as we sat in silent darkness I realized something. Until then, my Christmas had been a "tinkling cymbal" -- mindless, noisy, selfish gift buying. But Christmas isn't a tinkling cymbal, it's a twinkling symbol -- a star wise men still follow to find the infinite love of God, manifest as a babe in a manger. I asked myself, "where will I spend this Christmas, at the mall or at the manger?"

With a loud snap, the glaring overhead bulbs came on, and folks began rising from their rickety chairs. As I left, the pastor met me at the door and apologized. He said he only serves here once a month, but has a church in North Conway "where we have a real Christmas service." I told him his apology was not needed. In that worn-out old chapel, a holy angel disguised as a little girl had reminded me what Christmas really means.

100 years ago this Christmas

World War I was only five months old at the end of November, 1914. A crushing German advance had been stopped by the Allies before it could reach Paris. Opposing armies stared at each other from lines of hastily built defensive trenches. Between the trenches was no-man's-land, sometimes only 30 yards wide. Trench warfare was abominable since continuous sniping, machine gun fire and artillery shelling took a deadly toll, but the misery was relieved on Christmas day. British soldier Frank Richards wrote home, "On Christmas morning we stuck up a board that said 'Merry Christmas.'The Germans had stuck up a similar one. Two of our men put down their arms and jumped on the parapet with hands above their heads. Two Germans did the same, our men going out to meet them. They shook hands and then we all got out of the trench. We met in the middle of no-man's-land. The German company commander asked our commander if we'd accept two barrels of beer from a brewery they captured. He accepted, and a few Germans rolled the barrels over and we took them to our trench. The German officer sent one of his men back to their trench to get bottles and glasses. Officers on both sides clinked glasses and drunk to each other's health. Our commander gave them a plum pudding."

In a letter to his wife, British General Walter Congreve described how German and British soldiers exchanged cigarettes, sang Christmas carols together and played football (soccer) with a makeshift ball. Soldiers at the Western Front had not expected to celebrate on the battlefield, but even a world war could not destroy the spirit of Christmas. As a Highland Regiment officer said in The Times in 1915, "It is a great hope for future peace when two great nations hating each other as foes have seldom hated, should on Christmas day (and for all that word implies) lay down their arms, exchange smokes and wish each other happiness."

Helping a man forget his pain

Today's "crumb" was offered by a faithful reader in South Bend, Indiana, USA. It's a five-minute TV clip which may touch your heart.

In the Bible Paul writes, "I mean not that other men be eased and ye burdened, but by an equality, that now at this time your abundance may be a supply for their want..." (II Cor. 8:13-14) Wealthy individuals who share their abundance with those in need fulfill this Scripture. Here's a beautiful example you may not be aware of. Enjoy!  http://blog.theveteranssite.com/jay-leno-surprise/?utm_source=social&utm_medium=vetfan&utm_campaign=jay-leno-surprise&utm_term=20141201

On going home for Christmas

This poem was written by Edgar Guest. The illustration is by Norman Rockwell.

He little knew the sorrow that was in his vacant chair;

He never guessed they'd miss him, or he'd surely have been there.

He couldn't see his mother or the lump that filled her throat,

Or the tear that started falling as she read his hasty note.

And he couldn't see his father sitting sorrowful and dumb,

Or he never would have written that he thought he couldn't come.

He couldn't see the fading of the cheeks that once were pink,

And the silver in the tresses; and he didn't stop to think

How the years are passing swiftly, and next Christmas it might be

There would be no home to visit and no mother dear to see.

He didn't think about it. I'll not say he didn't care.

He was heedless and forgetful, or he'd surely have been there.

Are you going home for Christmas? Have you written you'll be there?

Going home to kiss your mother and show her that you care?

Going home to see your father in a way to make him glad?

If you're not, I hope there'll never come a time you wish you had.

Just sit down and write  letter -- it will make their heartstrings hum

With a tune of perfect gladness -- if you tell them that you'll come.

"Saviour, like a shepherd lead us..."

Do you know how it feels to be stuck in an airport on Christmas Eve? You'd like to be with family, but instead you're stranded with strangers. That's how passengers felt on Christmas Eve, 1876, as they travelled by steam boat up the Delaware River. Several had gathered on deck, looking out at the calm, starlit night when someone said, "Mr. Sankey is aboard!" and immediately there were cries of "let him sing for us."

Ira Sankey

Known nationally as "The Sweet Singer of Methodism," Ira Sankey (1840-1908) provided music for many of Dwight L. Moody's evangelistic crusades. Before he opened his mouth that Christmas Eve, he prayed, asking God what to sing. Instead of a holiday carol, this hymn came to his heart. "Saviour, like a shepherd lead us, much we need thy tender care. In thy pleasant pastures feed us. For our use thy fold prepare."

After hearing this song, a rough-looking man stepped forward to ask Sankey, "Did you serve in the Union Army? Can you remember doing picket duty on a moonlit night in 1862?" Sankey said yes.

"I was in the Confederate Army," the stranger said, "and I saw you standing your post. I raised my musket and took aim. You were at close range, clearly visible in the moonlight. I knew I would not miss. But suddenly you began to sing 'Saviour, like a shepherd lead us.' I took my finger off the trigger to listen, figuring I would shoot you afterward, but then I remembered how often my mother sang that song to me. When you finished, I could not raise my arm to fire my gun. I thought, 'The God who was able to save that man from certain death must be great and mighty.' I've wandered far and wide since then, but not yet found the Saviour."

Deeply moved, Sankey hugged the man who could have killed him, and that Christmas Eve the former soldier found the great and tender shepherd as his Saviour. A perfect Christmas gift!

Meet me under the eagle

In the Bible we read, "I heard as it were the voice of a great multitude...saying Alleluia: for the Lord God omnipotent reigneth." (Rev. 19:6) If that happened today, it would probably be in a church, right? Or maybe a concert hall. But in a busy store during rush hour where customers might stop buying stuff to listen? Believe it or not, yes. Here's where, and why.

When John Wanamaker opened his department store in Philadelphia, he was such a devout Christian that he refused to advertise in the Sunday newspaper. He never served alcohol in his famous Crystal Tea Room. He felt shopping should be a cultural experience, so in 1909 he hired 13 freight cars to bring the 10,000 pipe organ from the St. Louis World's Fair to his store. It was installed on one wall of the Grand Court, the seven story atrium. He expanded the instrument to more than 28,000 pipes, making it the world's largest. (The biggest pipe is so wide that a Shetland pony once posed inside it.) Wanamaker also built a transmitter atop his store so Philadelphians who owned radio receivers could hear live organ concerts at home. In addition to the organ, he purchased a bronze eagle from the St. Louis World's Fair's German Exhibit. Weighing more than a ton,  it has 5,000 bronze feathers and sits on a granite base. Since its installation in the Grand Court, all Philadelphians know what it means when you say, "Meet me under the eagle."

On Oct. 30, 2010, hundreds of shoppers searching for bargains noticed the organ began playing louder than usual during the daily noontime concert. Then they were startled when 688 singers posing as shoppers burst into the Hallelujah Chorus from Handel's Messiah.

If you have five spare minutes and would like to "meet me under the eagle" for this event, visit www.youtube.com/watch?v=wp_RHnQ-jgU  See how true "Christmas" shopping feels.