by A lump of Clay
For several years of late, the approach of December never failed to send chills down my spine. Now, I live close to the Equator, so it’s not exactly winter anywhere in town. But it’s a strange season of a different kind – sort of an insidious fifth column of the four seasons. A season where boughs of plastic holly sprout up all over the living room, replete with gaudy baubles, candy canes, miniature sleighs, glitzy styrofoam snowflakes , 3 inch santas, all highlighted with modern colourful LEDs. And magically overnight, right there in the most conspicuous corner, elves quietly erect a taller-than-me plastic fir tree, replete with tinsel and twinkling lights. And thus begins my annual struggle of trying to make folks understand my difficulty in rationalizing the new seasonal interior decor.
Not
that I’m some sort of an Equatorial Grinch. But you see, trying to strike a reasoned
balance between silly-season merry-making with family and friends on one hand,
and bungee-stretching bits of Divine Scripture to justify all the plastic that
has sprouted up in my living room? Now that’s truly a battle that’s somewhat
similar to the exasperating frustration of the IDF desperately trying to rescue
their dear hostages. And those poor hostages are nearing their 2nd
Christmas in dark dungeons! And their location is rumoured to be known only to their very dead
hostage-grabbing leaders! But I digress.
Neither am I allergic to a couple of teaspoons of annual silliness in the name
of Christmas, Xmas Saturnalia, whatever.
Especially when it lands me several
cupfuls of the tarik, not to mention a lp load of nice presents! But when this seasonal
tsunami of surreal silliness rolls out unchecked by the pulpit and spills right
into my living room, it does make me reach for my metaphorical AR15. But of
late, I have become keenly aware that this private year-end battle of mine, is
taking a toll on my aging patience. Defeat surely is imminent and as inevitable
as the expanding balding patch on my head.
And so it was, this December of 2024 too, I wearily prepared myself mentally for another annual unwinnable battle. Maybe my last? My enthusiasm was at about ankle level, as I found myself wading in between the large boxes, brought down from the attic for the very purpose of challenging my fast-fizzling resolve.
Out of the corner of my eye I watched as the
elves unboxed all the plastic glitz. First surprise, the fir tree didn’t make
an appearance. Hmmm… has it gone out of fashion already? Second surprise, my
only begotten son hauled in some two by fours and hammered out what seemed like
a cross. Naaaw…. can’t be. They wouldn’t dare. now. Or would they?
Fearing
that there were secret plans that have been secretly hatched to get yours truly
secretly crucified this December (not that being secretly crucified in any
other month would be more appealing), I quickly got into my car and drove off, announcing
the noble purpose of shopping for gifts.
Hours later, I quietly returned home. All was quiet. And when I opened the door, my heart stopped! Yes, the living room had all the expected plastic holly and bauble and twinkling lights. But there in that infamous corner, instead of the old plastic fir tree, now stood a towering 7-foot cross! With a crown of thorns on it. And beneath its haunting shadow, was laid out the nativity scene. And right beside the nativity scene were neatly laid out, a hammer and 3 big nails!
My
cataract-corrected eyes fogged up as I realized that my years of battle had finally
paid off. Hallelujah!! In 2024. I actually won the long-running December war
without firing a shot! The message has finally got through!
You see, my longsuffering friends, the
birth of the Jesus means nothing without the shadow of the cross constantly looming
over the manger. In fact, the shadow of the cross loomed over the All-knowing Creator
even before creation itself! All of the historical circumstances surrounding His birth 2,000
years ago, carry no eternal value in themselves, unless inextricably linked with
the gruesome sacrifice of His own blood and body. This Truth didn’t escape the
thoughts of the Divinely appointed prophet John, who without hesitation,
pointed Jesus out not as the celebratory “miracle baby”, but rather grimly as
“The Lamb of God”! Towards the end, Jesus Himself unambiguously set the very
symbols of His Divine sacrifice as being the exclusive means of remembering
Him. There is no Jesus without His flesh being torn and His blood being spilt
for our sins. EVER. And finally my family has got it. And have sent the elves
packing. Hopefully for good.
And
so friends, as for me and my house, my December war is now officially over. So
excuse me while I go try and sneak a peek into what presents I’ll be getting
this year. And something tells me, nothing in them store-bought presents could
match the sight of the new December decor of 2024!
“Let
this mind be in you, which was also in Christ Jesus: who, though being in the
form of God, thought it not robbery to be equal with God: but made Himself of
no reputation, and took upon Himself the form of a servant, and was made in the
likeness of men: and being found in the form of a man, He humbled Himself, and
became obedient unto death, even the death of the cross. Wherefore God also has
highly exalted Him, and given Him a name which is above every name: that at the
name of Jesus every knee should bow, of things in heaven, and things in earth,
and things under the earth; and that every tongue should confess that Jesus
Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father.” Philippians 2:5-11
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