The day after Halloween the decorations appeared. Like magic they were everywhere. Red bows, silver tinsel, colored lights and, of course, candy canes. Appropriate holiday music quickly followed. Soon we were all dashing through the snow as we all dreamed of a white Christmas and it was only early November.
One would think that with all the early emphasis on Christmas that it would be easy to keep the central figure of Christmas, Christ, central. Regretfully it is not. The pluralists (“There are so many faiths and we don’t want to offend anyone” crowd) and the Secularists (“The idea of God in public life offends me” crowd) have succeeded by there loud objections in taking Christ out of Christmas, leaving us I guess with just “mas”. It sounds silly to say happy “mas” so we say instead “Happy Holidays” or “Have a Merry” meaning and including but never excluding Hanukkah, Christmas, Kwanza, and Festivus (See Seinfeld, 1997).
The end product of all this political correctness is quite sad. We end up attending the office “holiday party” or going to our children’s “winter celebration concert” at school. We find ourselves saying “Have a Happy and a Merry” in the stores as we all dance around the real meaning of the season like it was bottled bubonic plague.
Let’s get some facts straight here. For Orthodox Jews, Hanukkah is a minor Jewish holiday which was added after the Hebrews Scriptures had been completed. Kwanza is a recent holiday born in the 1960’s to celebrate African heritage. Festivus is fictional. People in this country primarily give gifts this time of year to celebrate the greatest gift of all---the gift of God’s Son, the Lord Jesus Christ.
In reality, merchants make money, schools close, people get together, churches fill
up-- not to celebrate the miracle of the oil in the lamps during the time of the Maccabians, not to rejoice in one’s heritage, but to celebrate the birth of Jesus. Why is His birth celebrated? Listen to what the Bible says in Luke 2:10-11, Then 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 Davida Savior, who is Christ the Lord.”
So here is my choice. I can bow to political correctness and tiptoe around the real meaning of Christmas, or I can be true to my beliefs and proclaim, “Joy to the world, a Savior is born who is Christ the Lord!” The reason Jesus has been uninvited to His birthday is that we have allowed ourselves to be silenced.
As believers we are not called to be obnoxious, but we are also not called to be doormats either. Meekness is not weakness. We are not ashamed of Jesus Christ, He’s our Savior. The Bible tells us that He is the Way the Truth and the Life and that no one comes to the Father except by Him. Respect for the faith of others doesn’t mean I have to shut my mouth about my own. We don’t bow to the wishes of men, we answer to God.
So this year, help our city keep Christ in Christmas. Wish everyone a Merry Christmas. Unashamedly tell others about the Christ of Christmas. Talk about His virgin birth, His claims of deity and His death for our sins. Send overtly Christian Christmas cards, sing poignant Christmas carols and invite people to Christmas services at church. In other words “Go, tell it on the mountain, Over the hills and everywhere; Go, tell it on the mountain, That Jesus Christ is born.” Merry Christmas to you and yours.
Dave Watson, An Urban Christian
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
The Firehouse
In the days leading up to the anniversary of September 11th and on the morning of September 11th I spent time with some very special people. My local firehouse has become one of my favorite places. The guys I’ve met there are such real people. They argue, bicker and cuss at each other but they always have each other’s back. Then they race into a burning building to rescue people they don’t even know and who many others wouldn’t even care about Then they go back to their house and argue and bicker and cuss again. They perform this community service not because of the money and bennies (thought they aren’t bad). They do it because their dad or uncle or grandfather was a firefighter. They do it to keep the legacy going. Their families have ingrained in them a sense of service and this compels them to literally put their lives on the line. They actually love doing it. They want to be part of the action. I’ve decided I need to be more like these real life heroes. I am 47 years of age and I want to be firefighter.
Dave Watson - An Urban Christian
Sounds of the City
I grew up in a small town (pop. Of 825 not counting cows or other livestock) and have very fond memories of my upbringing there. At night in my small town it was and is very, very quiet. Yes, you hear an occasional car go by and the constant chirping of crickets but there is really no clue as to what is really going on in the world around you. The silence is almost deafening.
The sounds of the city by contrast provide you will all kinds of information. Take last Saturday evening for example. As dusk was settling in, from my open window I heard the moronic melody of the Ice Cream truck driving through my street bringing joy and dental bills to my neighborhood. This was accompanied by the rhythmatic pitter patter of little tykes joyously coming for a sugar fix. In the background, like a sub plot in a Aaron Sorkin TV drama, one could hear the sounds of a fire trucks rushing to a crisis around the corner. Potential glee and probable pain, the irony of the human condition, were both within earshot.
Later that same evening after the important Met and Yankee baseball game were over the neighborhood sounds spoke loudly of the outcomes. The Yankee side of my complex spoke in the hushed tones found at Matthew’s Funeral Home a midst the mourners. The Met side was loud and boisterous, like a popular Bistro on a hoping Friday night. No need for Sportscenter here. Victory and defeat were heard in the voices on the street below. The Yankees had been summarily removed from the baseball playoffs and there cross town rivals the Mets had, in convincing fashion, moved to the next round.
With very little effort one can hear the joys and sorrows of this city shouting up from the concrete. The noise at times can be deafening but it also always informative.
The sounds of the city by contrast provide you will all kinds of information. Take last Saturday evening for example. As dusk was settling in, from my open window I heard the moronic melody of the Ice Cream truck driving through my street bringing joy and dental bills to my neighborhood. This was accompanied by the rhythmatic pitter patter of little tykes joyously coming for a sugar fix. In the background, like a sub plot in a Aaron Sorkin TV drama, one could hear the sounds of a fire trucks rushing to a crisis around the corner. Potential glee and probable pain, the irony of the human condition, were both within earshot.
Later that same evening after the important Met and Yankee baseball game were over the neighborhood sounds spoke loudly of the outcomes. The Yankee side of my complex spoke in the hushed tones found at Matthew’s Funeral Home a midst the mourners. The Met side was loud and boisterous, like a popular Bistro on a hoping Friday night. No need for Sportscenter here. Victory and defeat were heard in the voices on the street below. The Yankees had been summarily removed from the baseball playoffs and there cross town rivals the Mets had, in convincing fashion, moved to the next round.
With very little effort one can hear the joys and sorrows of this city shouting up from the concrete. The noise at times can be deafening but it also always informative.
Saturday, September 09, 2006
Five Short Years
Five Short Years
Five short years have passed since our city was viciously attacked on a clear crisp fall morning. I say five short years because it seems like just a day or two ago that our sense of security was shattered and our view of ourselves and our city crumbled with those two magnificent towers. I say five short years because you and I may not remember much from a month ago but we all have vivid memories from that day, September 11, 2001.
Some of us were in office buildings downtown and were witnesses to an unthinkable horror. Others were on express buses or trains that providentially were running late. Still others were in front of a television or near a radio, eyes and ears tuned in but hands furiously dialing a loved one. Some loved ones never answered.
Many, so many, were there at ground zero. Some 2,792 never left. Many, praise God so many, escaped with their lives. But their hearts and minds could not escape. They were forever seared with memories that human beings weren’t meant to have.
A few, mostly New York’s finest and bravest, demonstrated to us with actions what words cannot fully express. Through them we have come to understand what words like sacrifice, courage and heroism really mean. All seemed willing to pay the ultimate price in doing their duty. In the end some 343 firefighters and 75 police officers were called on to give their all. We can never repay them or their families. We will eternally be in their debt.
I say five short years because though books, movies, commissions and politicians have explored and exploited 9/11 no one has really been able to explain it. The Holy, Infinite, Loving, Lord of the Universe stood by, as evil incarnate came to rob, kill and destroy. Our God chose to help us in our deepest need rather than prevent the hurt altogether. I am a theologian, a Bible student and a father, but, this side of glory I will never be able to satisfactorily answer the “why” of 9/11.
I say five short years because at the corner of Broadway and Vessey there is still a huge hole. And yet there are greater more significant holes throughout our city. In neighborhoods throughout our area there are families that will face a fifth Christmas without a dad’s laughter. There are children who will start kindergarten without mom’s gentle hand to walk them to the bus. There are dinner tables that still have an empty chair at an otherwise full family gathering. Holes of the heart are harder to mend than holes in the ground.
They say time heals all wounds. God doesn’t say time heals all wounds. “They” say it. I don’t agree. Time may dull the hurt or ache. It may change the severity. It may cause the wound to be slightly more calloused or not quite as deep, but the wound remains. Heaven heals all wounds. That’s what the Bible teaches. Revelation 21:4 promises us this, “…God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Paul reminds us “...that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18).
On September 11th I hope to be at the Staten Island waterfront viewing the Tribute of Light through the Postcards Memorial. As I look out over skyline of Manhattan and those spectacular lights, I’ll be praying. Like many New Yorkers I’ll be praying for those families of the victims of 9/11. In addition I will be praying for those who physically, mentally and spiritually are still hurting from this unspeakable tragedy. My prayer also will be that this city that I love so much will know the embrace of the God of love, that He; through His people, maybe even through me, will continue to minister His grace five short years hence… Please pray with me.
Pastor Dave Watson - An Urban Christian
Five short years have passed since our city was viciously attacked on a clear crisp fall morning. I say five short years because it seems like just a day or two ago that our sense of security was shattered and our view of ourselves and our city crumbled with those two magnificent towers. I say five short years because you and I may not remember much from a month ago but we all have vivid memories from that day, September 11, 2001.
Some of us were in office buildings downtown and were witnesses to an unthinkable horror. Others were on express buses or trains that providentially were running late. Still others were in front of a television or near a radio, eyes and ears tuned in but hands furiously dialing a loved one. Some loved ones never answered.
Many, so many, were there at ground zero. Some 2,792 never left. Many, praise God so many, escaped with their lives. But their hearts and minds could not escape. They were forever seared with memories that human beings weren’t meant to have.
A few, mostly New York’s finest and bravest, demonstrated to us with actions what words cannot fully express. Through them we have come to understand what words like sacrifice, courage and heroism really mean. All seemed willing to pay the ultimate price in doing their duty. In the end some 343 firefighters and 75 police officers were called on to give their all. We can never repay them or their families. We will eternally be in their debt.
I say five short years because though books, movies, commissions and politicians have explored and exploited 9/11 no one has really been able to explain it. The Holy, Infinite, Loving, Lord of the Universe stood by, as evil incarnate came to rob, kill and destroy. Our God chose to help us in our deepest need rather than prevent the hurt altogether. I am a theologian, a Bible student and a father, but, this side of glory I will never be able to satisfactorily answer the “why” of 9/11.
I say five short years because at the corner of Broadway and Vessey there is still a huge hole. And yet there are greater more significant holes throughout our city. In neighborhoods throughout our area there are families that will face a fifth Christmas without a dad’s laughter. There are children who will start kindergarten without mom’s gentle hand to walk them to the bus. There are dinner tables that still have an empty chair at an otherwise full family gathering. Holes of the heart are harder to mend than holes in the ground.
They say time heals all wounds. God doesn’t say time heals all wounds. “They” say it. I don’t agree. Time may dull the hurt or ache. It may change the severity. It may cause the wound to be slightly more calloused or not quite as deep, but the wound remains. Heaven heals all wounds. That’s what the Bible teaches. Revelation 21:4 promises us this, “…God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain, for the former things have passed away.” Paul reminds us “...that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us” (Romans 8:18).
On September 11th I hope to be at the Staten Island waterfront viewing the Tribute of Light through the Postcards Memorial. As I look out over skyline of Manhattan and those spectacular lights, I’ll be praying. Like many New Yorkers I’ll be praying for those families of the victims of 9/11. In addition I will be praying for those who physically, mentally and spiritually are still hurting from this unspeakable tragedy. My prayer also will be that this city that I love so much will know the embrace of the God of love, that He; through His people, maybe even through me, will continue to minister His grace five short years hence… Please pray with me.
Pastor Dave Watson - An Urban Christian
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