After the tragic death of the recent president of the National Conference of Christians and Agnostics, Hollis Ferloren, certain papers were found in his breast pocket. We pass their contents on to you. Mr. Ferloren is survived by his widow, the former Hope Flickering of Toledo, Ohio.

As Christianity has been accused of excessive fondness for antiquated ideas, it is my responsibility to present it to you in terms pleasing to the modern mind. Surely such a worn-out phrase as “Sell all you have and give to the poor” would explode with new force were we to say, “Translate your bonds and debentures into ready capital to provide an upgraded standard of living for the lower-lower class”; “Love thy neighbor” could become “Display empathy in a psychic ethnocentricity”; and “Fear not: I have overcome the world” could ring clear as a bell as, “Unblock your libido: the existential predicament has been transcended.” Just a little thought and Christianity can be lifted out of the coarse fabric of everyday life and given, along with human engineering, archery, and training in running a slide-projector, academic respectability.

If I am to do my part in making Christianity acceptable to everybody, I must give you the true modern meanings of five traditional terms. For it is the old-fashioned vocabulary that is responsible for the impression that Christianity is a difficult religion, demanding a specific behavior from its adherents without an iron-clad guarantee of fame, riches, and the presidency of Rotary International. If I can explain what these five terms mean in modern language, and do it to your satisfaction, I am confident that within a month the present handful of hypocrites within the church will be joined by millions of their brothers at the moment outside.

First, then, we meet the expression “The Kingdom of God.” Surely the modern American equivalent of this is “the Democracy of God.” Who, in these United States, can tolerate that word “kingdom?” Is it not much more pleasant to send pious thoughts soaring to the democracy of heaven, so that we may meditate upon the angels as a Senate, the saints as a House of Representatives, and the apostles as a slightly enlarged, and therefore even more democratic, Supreme Court? Old-fashioned Christianity, in those days when most nations were also kingdoms, perhaps could rest content with a God whose will was absolute, but is it not heartwarming to think that in Heaven, as in our country, if the executive says, “In every part of our territory you are to love your enemies, so I cannot sign your weak civil rights bill,” it will be possible to override his veto? Surely if we stress the democratic spirit of Christianity, many will enlist in its ranks who were before frightened out by the prospect of submitting their wills to the dictates of an absolute monarch. Therefore I advocate that the old Kingdom of God be henceforth always referred to as the democracy of God, and the expression, “Thy will be done,” be removed from all seals, church bulletins, stone doorways, and monuments, to be replaced by the phrase “Remember the veto.” As to the objection that if this expedient be followed we should have to speak not of the democracy of God but the democracy of Us, I regard this as a mere quibble since, as the apostle says, “If God be for Us, who can be against Us?”

Second, I should like to take up that antique word, Disciple. Although it be true that this word is near-allied to another word, namely, discipline, one must proceed to point out that the best discipline is self-discipline, and that self-discipline exists merely to make effective self-expression possible, and that therefore a true disciple is one who is dedicated to self-expression. An understanding in depth of this factor is sufficient impetus to throw at once into the trash-heap all morbid superstitions like self-denial, prayer, Bible-reading, church attendance, politeness, respect, and modesty. How greatly the art of finger-painting would advance were not art students forcibly exposed to the tedious discipline of learning to use a brush! How much time would be saved getting from place to place did not young man feel a gnawing compunction to hold the car door open for his mother, date, or fiancée! How rapidly Christianity would spread were all college students convinced that the heart of the Gospel lay not in a book but in their most ardent desires! Think of the unnecessary arguments that could be cut off before they started could we avoid such phrases as, “I think this is what the Bible means,” and say instead, “This is what Christianity means, and my proof, sir, is this: that is what I say it means!” When self-expression beckons, what Ulysses would keep the plugs of old-fashioned discipleship in his ears?

We move naturally then to our third term, the authority of Scripture. At first this may appear to be in opposition to our second point, self-expression; but when one reflects that the Scriptures contain man’s best wisdom, it becomes clear that “authority of Scripture” is merely a veiled expression for “sovereignty of individual conscience.” For nothing could be plainer than that “man’s best wisdom” means the best wisdom a man can produce, and that in proceeding immediately to our consciences, and thus omitting the laborious searching of Scripture, we can procure immense gain by the kicking out of a pesky intermediate step. It is the same thing as dealing directly with the wholesaler, and thus avoiding the middleman. Of course in cases of this sort one does not get the lifetime guarantee, but what does this matter if one does get a workable product? You must then be informed that the authority of Scripture is merely a fancy phrase for the authority of the individual conscience. I should like to write a panegyric in praise of this understanding, but time limits me to pointing out that while the Bible commands us not to do certain things, conscience only gives us a kick in the shins or a dig in the stomach after we have done them. Thus we are no longer forced to obey the moral law so long as we still acknowledge it, and like young children we can deal with a stomachache when it comes in exchange for a pound of candy right now. Who will kick against conscience as an unreasonable tyrant when he reflects that conscience allowed the English to burn St. Joan and Hitler to destroy 4 million Jews?

But as conscience does at times produce that latter twinge, after the act, we are led to our fourth old term, forgiveness. If you will allow me to refer to the Bible, which, if unnecessary, is still interesting, our Old Testament reveals to us that one Hebrew word for forgive literally means “to cover.” What greater proof is needed that the main meaning of “to forgive” is “to excuse?” Therefore you should know that when the Church talks of God forgiving you for what you have done, its plain intention is to show you that you may always make excuses for what you have done. What burdens this knowledge can remove from troubled shoulders! For when excuses are available for our misdemeanors, like glass milk-containers they can be used again and again. Has not one of the omnipresent barriers to the acceptance of divine forgiveness been the gnawing suspicion that God might say, “Go, and sin no more?” But that comes from a first century story, and we are living in the twentieth: with our modern comprehension that forgiveness means the right to make excuses, can we not afford an almost imperceptible change in emphasis and say, “Go, and mourn no sin?” Surely it is useless to extinguish our transgressions with repentance when we are able to distinguish them with excuses.

Our fifth old term is sanctification, the ancient synonym for which was “growing in grace.” This term stood for the idea that God’s grace enabled a man to grow in his capacity to follow the biblical precepts through the activity of the Spirit of God within. Now I hardly need remind an intelligent public that to a realist growth in character is only possible for a few rich executives and their wives who can wage the battle through the aid, at $125 per week, of their analyst, onto whom they can unload their aggressions, suppressions, anxieties, hostilities, repressions, and libido blockings. For the ordinary man naturally such growth in character is impossible. But this does not mean that we should be victimized by despair. When it is realized that the true and contemporary meaning of sanctification is not growth in the ability to do the will of God but rather growth in the ability to theorize about the will of God, it will be seen that from high school age up all men are professionals at the trade. For who is without a viewpoint on predestination? Who, from Plato to Bertrand Russell, is not competent to create a better world in his mind than the one God gave us on earth? Who does not know, better than the pastor, what he should have said in his sermon? Is it not clear that if sanctification means “the ability to theorize about the faith,” we are all steadily growing in grace, day by day?

There are the five points of up-to-date Christianity, or a religion for everyone. There is a sixth point, but it is hardly worth mentioning. However, perhaps I should put it in. Antiquated Christianity used to talk of its teachings as leading to eternal life. In our modern version that expression has been changed to eternal death. A small point, but perhaps worth mentioning.

Associate Professor of English

Muskingum College

New Concord, Ohio

DOWN TO EARTH

Has the Christianity we profess become a practical reality in our lives? This is a question every Christian should ask himself, for entirely too many of us are fooling ourselves.

Attendance at church, activity in church programs, or identification with the church as an organization are to many people synonymous with Christianity. It is that so few Christians exhibit qualities emanating from supernaturally transformed lives that the cause of Christ lags and unbelieving people see little in us to attract them to the altogether lovely One.

Shortly before his crucifixion, our Lord spoke to his disciples on the imperative of living close to him. He likened this truth to something they could see and understand, namely, a vine and its branches.

“I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.”

This profound truth, so simply expressed, should arrest and humble every person who names the name of Christ.

Strange to say there are Christians who feel capable of living their own lives when it comes to “minor” matters, and only turn to God when the going gets rough or when a problem of seeming magnitude confronts them.

However, none of us can clearly distinguish between what is truly of minor importance at the moment and what may prove to be a pressing issue of life, for often it is a little thing that blossoms out into a matter of tremendous import.

Unwilling to take our Lord’s words at face value, some persons will insist they are getting along very well. They may look at nominal or non-Christians and point out that they are obviously successful. We see all around us business and professional people who are unquestionably successful and we are foolishly led to think that Christ did not mean what he said.

But what is success? If we are to judge success by worldly standards we must think of it in terms of material and social gain. But how foolish can we be? Christ punctured such a criterion in one sentence: “For what shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?”

It is the confusion of worldly standards with things eternal that leads to folly, for God looks at us with eyes that penetrate the facade of religiosity to the deep recesses of our souls. “For the Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart,” is a truth that should humble each one of us to the dust.

We fool ourselves with the superficiality of Christian pretense, but we rarely fool anyone else. God knows our hearts and those with whom we come in contact soon sense whether or not our profession is real.

In God’s sight (the only perspective that counts), success is measured in the light of eternity. The apostle Paul’s words express the same truth: “… we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things which are not seen: for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal.”

Therefore, when Christ affirmed that without him we can do nothing, he was telling us that anything done outside his holy purpose will eventually perish, and that it is only by a vital relationship with him that we can accomplish anything which will last for eternity.

The apostle Paul tells of the time of testing, and of the one foundation, and of the superstructures that Christians build thereon:

“For other foundation can no man lay than that is laid, which is Jesus Christ. Now if any man build upon this foundation gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble: every man’s work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man’s work of what sort it is.”

Will the life each of us is living stand under the fire of God’s testing? This is a solemn question, and the day of inevitable reckoning is involved in it.

For entirely too many of us, Christianity is a nebulous experience having little or no practical value. Actually the very opposite should be the case. Christianity should mean a new way, a transformation from death to life. Our Lord’s affirmation that we must be born again clearly indicates that for the individual a conversion to Jesus Christ should be the greatest and most important event in human experience.

What does Christianity mean for us? Do we sense his holy presence and power in our lives? Have we with Christ a relationship that is as real and life-giving as that of the branch to the vine? Are we not often playing at being Christians?

Christianity is tremendously real and practical. It means having Christ take up his abode in us. It involves our seeing the fruits of his Spirit a natural manifestation in us of his supernatural presence.

Our Christian faith should be evident in every walk of life and in every relationship. We need to recognize that we live in an alien and hostile environment. No Christian wants to appear “peculiar,” but unless there are evidences of Christ’s transforming presence and power in our lives, how real is the faith we profess?

These are days of testing. Matters which endure and point our vision to the ultimate are being crowded into the background while the glitter of immediate things take over our attention. How can we stand firm when tested? How can we honor God in our daily tasks? In short, how can Christianity become a vitally practical matter at the level of everyday living?

First and foremost there must take place in us an experience with Christ that results in conversion. Conversion is not a matter of outward emotion but of inner transformation which is increasingly evidenced to ourselves and to others.

Stemming from the vital and new relationship there must be a constant inflowing of divine grace, and apart from prayer and Bible study no Christian can hope to receive into his own heart and life the blessings essential for daily Christian living.

Just as life flows from the vine to the branch, so divine life flows into the Christian through his living close to the source of life itself.

Prayer is a gift from God whereby he speaks to us and we speak to him. It is as essential to spiritual life as breathing is to the body.

Bible study is another means of divine grace, for in the written Word we meet the living Word. The intense practicality of daily Bible study can never be overstated, for as we read God speaks to our hearts and His Word becomes a means of guidance, wisdom, warning, and hope.

We live in a time when iniquity abounds and when the love of many is growing cold. If we are to bear a consistent witness as Christians, it must be through the Christ who dwells in us.

“For without me ye can do nothing.”

L. NELSON BELL

THE BELLS

There’s the ringing of the bell,

The doorbell;

I must go to find out

what this fellow has to sell;

Or it is the tot next door,

With her sister and four more,

Ringing, pounding on the door;

No, a van is at the gate—

“Yes, this house is 308,

But my name is not McGuire

And I did not buy a dryer.”

Now again I take my pen,

and blot the puddle where it fell—

There’s the ringing of the bell,

The doorbell,

The pestilential, residential

ringing of the bell.

There’s the ringing of the bell

The phone bell

Dutifully I answer it,

although I know quite well,

Telephone communication

Has its ground for installation

In the endless conversation

Of the younger generation.

All the latest parent polls

Show beyond doubt

Just for whom the Bell tolls

Must be paid out.

“Hello, this is Eutychus

A moment please. O Sue!

Kathy on the telephone;

She would like to speak with you.”

As I close the study door

So that Sue can be alone

I know that for an hour or more

She has quieted the phone,

Stopped the ringing of the bell,

The phone bell,

The electronic, un-Poe-etic

ringing of the bell.

There’s the ringing of the bell,

Alarm clock bell.

What a warm and dreamy haze

it riots to dispel!

And the trauma it inflicts

When I find it’s half past six!

Someone set it, what a crime,

A quarter hour ahead of time.

Now the phone is ringing, too.

“O, yes, pastor, so it’s you.

Yes, I am an early riser,

Though I think it might be wiser

To remain in bed. O, yes.

I can make those calls, I guess;

Phone my friends about the meeting,

Push some doorbells with our greeting.

Yes, the church that rings the bell,

Rings the bells,

Rings doorbells, phone bells,

church bells, bells.”

EUTYCHUS

THE ELECTION

In my opinion the decision just made by the American electorate will be revealed by the long perspective of history, to be as fateful as the Dred Scott Decision. The American people have faced themselves with an unhappy dilemma. Either they will win back lost liberties, which is good, by a strife of brothers, which is bad, or, peace will be preserved, which is good, at the price of liberty, which is sorrowful to contemplate. In either case the question raised by Lincoln in the Gettysburg Address is now before us, whether the lovely thing so sacrificially begun by our founding fathers “can long endure.”

The question is not whether a Catholic should be President or not. It would be a great day for America if a Catholic were to be President, or a Jew, or a Negro. Similarly for a Southerner, or a woman! The question is about the Catholic church in its relation to the state, not about an American citizen who happens as an individual to be a Catholic. That never was in question, though those who feared the right question tried to make it seem as if that was indeed in question.

The Catholic church is a perfect institution for the evasion of responsibility in a matter like this. The few hierarchs would be unimportant without the millions who follow them. Yet the decisions are made not by the millions but by the few hierarchs. The millions are irresponsible. The hierarchs cannot be called to account.

The Catholic church has a position (“thesis”) where it can establish it, and a next best position (“hypothesis”) where the normative position is not immediately attainable. There are theologians and even a few hierarchs who sincerely oppose this. But the classical position has never been set aside. It contemplates a special status for the Catholic church in relation to other churches. It considers it a matter of right to instruct Catholic rulers and citizens when it chooses to do so. The recent instance of the bishops in Puerto Rico is a textbook example. The Vatican—final repository of all decision—explicitly stated that the Puerto Rico hierarchs were within their rights when they forbade the faithful to vote for Muñoz Marín on pain of sin.

Now we come to the question of sanctions, the real weight of the foregoing considerations. The Roman church is not a church as Protestants are likely to understand the term. The being (esse) of the church is the clergy, especially the bishops, more especially the pope. The people do not comprise the church but are in it, as in a building, or around it, as children are around a mother. Nor does religion mean in the Roman church anything resembling what the term connotes to Protestants. To them the religious subject is decisively involved in the central religious matter: “do you acknowledge Jesus Christ to be your Lord and Saviour?” In the Roman system the Sacraments constitute the religious matter (res), and the Sacraments are altogether objective, beyond the subject.

Now then. The hierarchy has unshared control of the Sacraments, the “power of the keys.” The layman has no rights in the matter. None. If the Sacraments are withheld from him his eternal destiny is gone. He may gain the whole world and lose his own soul. He will think long before he defies the hierarchy when they mean business.

They may hold their hand. As long as they do the Catholic politico and we are in luck. Similarly for the Catholic part of the electorate. But meanwhile the decision remains not with the political figure, not with the Catholic electorate, not with America, but with men who in this matter are not Americans but hierarchs of the Catholic church.

As long as the historic position is in effect, supported by such sanctions, no Catholic should be President. Now that one has been elected, a decision as fateful as the Dred Scott Decision has been made.

CLIFFORD L. STANLEY

Department of Theology

The Virginia Seminary (Episcopal)

Alexandria, Va.

When the tumult and the shouting die, we shall slowly realize that God has willed it so.… Perhaps, among other reasons, to make us Protestants re-examine our loyalty to Him, to the mighty acts of His intervention in Christ, to the quickening power of His Word in the hands of the Spirit, to His saving grace as our sole hope of glory.

WILLIAM CHILDS ROBINSON

Columbia Theological Seminary

Decatur, Ga.

ON APOSTOLIC SUCCESSION

The article “Is There an Apostolic Succession?” in your Oct. 24 issue by Dr. Philip Edgcumbe Hughes, an Anglican scholar, is a very stimulating presentation. I admired its forthrightness. However, there is the other side, equally interesting and substantial.

THOMAS THEODORE BUTLER

Diocese of Long Island Lynbrook, N. Y.

The “Lambeth Quadrilateral” sets forth as one of its “principles of unity,” “a ministry acknowledged by every part of the Church as possessing not only the inward call of the Spirit, but also the commission of Christ and the authority of the whole body.” The Bishops meeting in Lambeth in 1930 made it clear that “a ministry acknowledged by every part of the Church” means “the historic episcopate.” This was reiterated again by the Bishops in 1948, and in the Anglican Congress of 1954.

C. OSBORNE MOYER

Christ Church

Holly Springs, Miss.

He speaks for himself, not for the Episcopal Church or the Anglican Communion.

JAMES BRICE CLARK

St. Barnabas Church

Omaha, Neb.

If the doctrine as believed in by the historic Church is false and without reasonable foundation why concern yourself with it? Could it be that this doctrine which is officially held by the three branches of the Holy Catholic Church (Anglican, Roman, Orthodox) … is unsettling the faith of too many thinking Protestants?

RUFUS L. SIMONS

Saint Stephen’s in the Field, Episcopal

Elwood, Ind.

I write this on the eve of the Protestant Reformation celebration. And I grieve to think of all the individualism which will most certainly be preached tomorrow.… I do admit that the events of the 16th century were the result of a tyrannical Church. But that tyranny has been replaced by the much more devastating tyranny of individualism. And look at the littered wreckage which has resulted! I look upon Protestantism as a great, empty, helpless mass of froth and chaff. Stumbling, straining at gnats, incapable to marshall any unity to combat the powerful challenges of the day, or meet the needs of even its own members. If ever the Church needed Apostolic direction and unity, it is today.…

But our differences go much, much deeper than this. All our ecumenical discussions are superficial, if they do not begin at the beginning. We don’t believe in the same God! We disagree on His very Nature, His purpose in Creation, His destiny for Man, to say nothing about the means by which these purposes are to be accomplished.

E. O. WALDRON

St. John’s Episcopal Church

Mt. Vernon, Ind.

I am very happy that Dr. Hughes wrote what he did on the question of an apostolic succession. His thesis that there is an apostolic succession of doctrine rather than one of any ecclesiastical order is the very doctrine which Luther stressed, as did also Calvin of course. And that apostolic doctrine is set forth in the New Testament, though supported also by the Old Testament, for both testify of Christ.

To me it seems almost miraculous that in this time of confusion and dogmatical double talk there should appear so many learned men with divinely guided insight to stress greatly needed basic scriptural truths.

J. THEODORE MUELLER

Concordia Seminary St. Louis, Mo.

EVANGELICAL RESURGENCE

Thank you so much for Dr. Ockenga’s article on “Resurgent Evangelical Leadership” (Oct. 10 issue). I have read nothing that points out more clearly the origins, problems, differences, similarities, and objections of the various theological concepts. This will help a lot of us to redefine and re-evaluate our positions. As for me, I am more proud than ever before to call myself an evangelical!

RANDALL GREEN

Maple Grove Baptist Church

Louisville, Ky.

Dr. Ockenga apparently has not yet realized that many of us have been through the fundamentalist grist mill and have found a more liberal theology far more meaningful. What would Dr. Ockenga suggest? That we become hypocrites and proclaim our belief in the plenary inspiration of scripture, the virgin birth, etc., as “essential beliefs,” when in all honesty we do not?

RALPH SILVIS

Hamersville Larger Parish

Congregational Christian Churches

Hamersville, Ohio

Dr. Ockenga seeks to define evangelicalism as fundamental in creed, liberal in churchmanship.… Can you renounce separatism without thereby becoming an inclusivist?…

There is one flaw in Dr. Ockenga’s proposal that we infiltrate the citadels of liberalism with the fire of a new evangelicalism. The modernists did not hesitate to practice deceit and even bold misrepresentation of their views to infiltrate the major Protestant denominations. We cannot match their dishonesty without losing our integrity.

OLIVER W. PRICE

Bible Lovers League

Oklahoma City, Okla.

On his principles there would have been no Reformation. For when did Rome officially repudiate her historic confessional basis? Does she not confess the Bible to be the word of God and the ancient ecumenical creeds to be her confession of faith? While we’re infiltrating, let us infiltrate Rome as well.

THEODORE J. GEORGIAN

Covenant Orthodox Presbyterian Church

Rochester, N. Y.

SAY, ABOUT THAT BOOK LIST

I studied with considerable interest the “Evangelical Book List” (Sept. 26 issue) …, and was considerably astonished by the absolute omission of any volumes authored by one of Scotland’s most celebrated theological writers, Alexander Balmain Bruce.… Three of his works especially deserve inclusion, The Training of the Twelve, The Humiliation of Christ, and The Parabolic Teaching of Christ.

RAYMOND L. COX

Hillsboro Foursquare Church

Hillsboro, Ore.

On page 18, it is erroneously stated that two books by Muhlenberg Press are “out of print.” They are J. L. Neve, A History of Christian Thought (1943, 1946), and T. G. Tappert, The Book of Concord.

W. D. ALLBECK

Both titles are currently available.

Springfield, Ohio

I would most heartily recommend your Evangelical Book List to serve as a foundation for all church libraries. Our church library, containing 300 volumes, includes 34 books from your list and contemplates adding 25 more in the future.

DAVID A. DENISCH

Towson, Md.

QUERY ON HOG-WASH

Pray tell me why you waste good paper and print on such hog-wash as “The Power Of A Godly Pen” (September 26 issue). The shortage of preachers and teachers in our churches and schools has been worn thin during the past two or three decades in all publications from the daily newspaper to the “once in a lifetime publication.” And now you add the “alarming” shortage of Christian writing. Of course this all makes good reading copy for the uninitiated—but aren’t there more urgent and weightier matters to bring to the attention of readers today than such misleading articles? It doesn’t require a microscope to see that newness, freshness, and creativeness are not welcomed in any of these three fields. The nauseating sounds of “traditionalism” and “conformity” resound throughout! Match up to surface qualifications; show that you have been in step with the past—experience (bah!); and at least have half of the alphabet trailing your name, and then perhaps you’ll make it in. You say, quote: “It is time for publishers to become spiritually literate.” I could make that far stronger, and not only for publishers. New discoveries have never been made in history through rocking chair conformity. And new talent will never show up today as long as those in command fear to launch out and dare to be different from the proud status quo.

I had better quit spouting off before I damage this typewriter.…

VINCE FISHER

San Diego, Calif.

I very much appreciated the article on the Christian novel. What we need is a Protestant counterpart to The Devil’s Advocate. Dorothy Clarke Wilson has turned out some very beautiful material on the lives of Protestants, but as you say, we have nothing that seethes with the stuff of which most people’s lives are made. As a consequence, most people are terribly misinformed, almost completely uninformed, about the work that the Church is doing today.

THEODORE E. KIMMEL

Cherry Grove Church of the Brethren

Lanark, Ill.

TO ERUPT GOOD WILL

In the wake of the exposition of a new concept in education, the Engagement Quotient (E.Q.) in Religious Education (July–August, 1960), I would love to address a request, through church leadership, to parent-teachers associations, how to erupt the good will of the nation for the battle of reversing the now increasing trend of juvenile delinquency into a decreasing one. The main idea is that home and school clubs, etc., should have a committee of education whose chairman could be contacted, on a free and voluntary basis, by school guidance whenever the E.Q. oscillation of a pupil would fall below the threshold level 120. The chairman would alert the religious organization of the child’s affiliation and offer proper inspiration and persuasion.

E. F. MOLNAR

St. Luke’s Presbyterian

Bathurst, New Brunswick

FIDEL UNVISITED

In the September 12 issue in … “Castro Allegiance Divides Cuban Christians” … there are certain references made to me which I would like to clarify.… I have never seen Dr. Fidel Castro personally, not even from a distance, and only on television programs. I have never heard any mention of the possibility of the creation of a National Protestant Church.

Matanzas, Cuba

RAFAEL CEPEDA

Second in a Series

We must now indicate why neo-orthodox theology, as we see it, unwittingly prepared the way for the rise of neo-liberalism. Sooner or later declension and reaction threaten every theology not fully governed by biblical presuppositions or not fully conforming to biblical details. Why has the theology shaped by Barth and Brunner not held the field against the speculations of Bultmann?

THE SWING TO EXTREMES

From the standpoint of Bible-controlled theology, the neo-orthodox revolt against liberalism’s theology of immanence (which minimized or virtually eliminated the transcendence of God) must be criticized as a reaction, equally objectionable and unjustifiable, leading to a one-sided stress on divine transcendence. In other words, dialectical theology is a theology of exaggerated transcendence which distorts the immanence of God, even as classic liberalism was a theology of exaggerated immanence which distorted the transcendence of God.

The basic premise of the theology of transcendence—that God is “wholly other”—is made to support a dialectical view of divine revelation that limits God’s communication to personal confrontation. Theological terms are today often lost in a semantic wilderness, so that the bare verbal statement of this position may conceal its real intention. But the speculative character of this doctrine of revelation, and the extent of its departure from the historic faith of the Christian Church, become apparent once its implications are clear. While this dialectical theory asserts God’s personal confrontation of individuals and the necessity of individual illumination by the Spirit, it does so in open hostility to a biblical view of the reality and nature of divine revelation. The dialectical theory holds that God’s revelation is not given in the form of human concepts or words, nor in historical events; revelation assertedly is given only subjectively. The Spirit alone is the locus of revelation, which is communicated only along the moving frontier of man’s obedient response.

What happens, then, to the sacred Scriptures as authoritative revelation? To Jesus of Nazareth as the historical incarnation of Deity? To the Cross and the Resurrection as revealing events? Although the “crisis” theologians contend that dialectical theology rises above the traditional antithesis of subjectivity and objectivity, they have repeatedly had to face the question whether the dialectical view in fact threatens the objective realities essential to the Christian religion.

Here we are dealing obviously with a concern more fundamental than side issues (important as these may be) such as whether post-Reformation theology has adequately depicted the Holy Spirit’s role in illuminating and personalizing Hebrew-Christian revelation to each new generation successively addressed by the Gospel, or whether God is personally active in the disclosure of revelation, or whether truth remains unappropriated apart from personal decision: these issues are not in debate at all.

The decisive issue is between so-called dialectical disclosure and historical and propositional revelation. Is divine revelation (as champions of the Hebrew-Christian religion insisted before the rise of these modern speculative theologies) given once-for-all in historical events, intelligible concepts, and words? The dialectical theology contends that events, ideas, words are never to be identified with revelation itself; at most, they are but “sign-post,” “witness,” “testimony” to divine revelation. Divine revelation, it is contended, is communicated only in the immediacy of a divine-human encounter; it is never given objectively, but only subjectively.

SOME INNER DIFFICULTIES

The revisions and reversals this viewpoint has required of its champions are evidence that it forces the discussion of special revelation into categories alien to biblical theology. Let us note some significant examples.

When he wrote The Mediator (1926), Emil Brunner depicted the atonement not as an historical event accomplished about the year 30 A.D., but as a present reality. By the time Brunner wrote Revelation and Reason (1942), however, he stressed the death of Christ on the cross as a revelation of God’s very nature as agape. But, we then ask, is history at this point—or is it not—a bearer of absolute meaning? Is divine revelation after all (despite the dialectical denial) acknowledged as communicable in historical events (at least in the deed of the Cross)? Can Brunner’s later emphasis on the revelation-value of the historical death of Christ really be reconciled with the dialectical schematization of revelation in terms of subjectivity?

The claim of biblical writers to convey the very thoughts and words of God faced Brunner with a related problem. It was easy enough for Brunner, given his critical view of the Bible, to brush aside the apostolic doctrine of inspiration (2 Tim. 3:16) as a post-apostolic misunderstanding, even if this cavalier dismissal cannot really account for the sense of divine authority that pervades the Epistles. But the Old Testament posed a special dilemma through its explicit and oft-repeated identification of the words of the prophets with the words of the Lord. In Revelation and Reason, Brunner acknowledges the special problem this fact creates for the dialectical theory’s contention that divine revelation is not expressed in concepts and words. Brunner’s “solution” is remarkably evasive. He tells us that in the prophetic literature we are presented with a lower order—in Brunner’s words, “an Old Testament level”—of revelation. But the real issue, we must note, is not whether these concepts are lower or higher, but whether or not this is revelation. Are the thoughts and words of the inspired prophets to be identified with revelation or not? Does the dialectical theory of revelation really allow Brunner (as he would like) to assimilate the words of the prophets to revelation in this way, after the possibility of an identification of concepts and words with divine revelation has been disallowed?

Karl Barth’s dogmatics falls into frustration along similar lines. The provocative nature of his early references to Jesus of Nazareth is all too familiar, specially the statement in Die Kirchliche Dogmatik that alongside other founders of religion Jesus was a quite unimpressive historical figure: “Jesus Christ in fact is also the Rabbi of Nazareth, historically so difficult to get information about, and when it is got, one whose activity is so easily a little commonplace alongside more than one other founder of a religion and even alongside many later representatives of his own ‘religion’ ” (The Doctrine of the Word of God, Vol. I, Part 1, p. 188). This affirmation is the more remarkable because the insistence that Jesus of Nazareth is the Christ is the elemental New Testament affirmation. Barth’s earlier expositions locate the reconciling work of Christ, and particularly his resurrection, in a sphere of time and experience quite distinct from ordinary historical time. The many revisions of his Römerbrief (1919) reflect his movement away from Kierkegaardian existentialist categories. In recent years, in part because of Bultmann’s widening influence, Barth has more and more emphasized the objective historical aspects of Christian redemption, including the bodily resurrection of Christ as belonging to the revelation of God in history.

Despite the existential motifs in his early writings, since renounced, Barth’s theological temperament seems all along to have embraced a certain accommodation of history to the divine (as his standing insistence on the virgin birth) which is lacking in Brunner’s expositions. Yet the emphasis on the historicity of the Resurrection, on the objective factor in God’s revealing activity, is a later development. In respect to the Bible, Barth has all along had, and still has, difficulty speaking of the objectivity of revelation. He stresses the “inspiringness” of the Bible (that is, its ability to inspire us, to become a vehicle of revelation in subjective encounter), not the objective “inspiredness” of Scripture. The Bible, in whole or part, he regards simply as a normative witness or pointer to revelation, despite the Apostle Paul’s readiness to identify the apostolic preaching (1 Thess. 2:13) no less than the sacred writings (2 Tim. 3:16) with revelation itself. This neo-orthodox denial of the objectivity of revelation, moreover, constantly imperiled the universal validity of the Gospel.

Yet in respect to the knowledge of God, Barth stresses more and more that we must know God truly (even if for such knowledge he relies on internal miracle rather than on Scripture as an authoritative source). Faith becomes a call to cognitive understanding in Barth’s Fides quaerens intellectum. Anselms Beweis der Existenz gottes (1931). Barth’s demand for authentic knowledge is to be welcomed, of course, in the aftermath of a century of speculative liberal theology which (influenced by Kantian skepticism toward agnosticism in metaphysics) defined religious experience in terms of trust (fiducia) and downgraded cognition (assensus). Even more is this emphasis on knowing God “truly” to be commended because Brunner, in one passage, suggests that God may even reveal himself through falsehoods: “God can, if He chooses, speak his word to a man even through false doctrine” (Wahrheit als Begegnung, p. 88). But what room remains in Barth’s theology, within the basic dialectical premise that divine revelation is not expressed in concepts and events, for the notion that we must know God truly is wholly unclear. Barth himself takes the heart out of his own plea when, in another mood, he continues to assert that “we have concepts only of objects that are not identical with God” (op. cit., p. 22). It is in fact their insistence on the nonconceptual, nonverbal, nonhistorical character of revelation which has driven contemporary dialectical theologians in the Barth-Brunner-Bultmann traditions to constantly distinguish doctrines (or “truths”) from revelation, the Bible from revelation, and, for that matter, Jesus of Nazareth from “the Christ.”

The fact that Barth and Brunner compromise the basic dialectical premise at strategic points is to be explained only in this way: that the Judeo-Christian view itself makes demands which break through the narrow and artificial limits of the theological dialectical theory. The primary issue—really evaded by Barth and Brunner—is not whether in this point or that (historical event or concept or Bible declaration) we must somehow (even if inconsistently!) acknowledge the reality of divine revelation. The primary consideration rather is that this event, this knowledge, can be confidently identified with revelation only if we first reject the dialectical dogma that revelation is not communicated in concepts, words, or historical acts.

THE ROAD TO BULTMANN

Bultmann enters this controversy over the relation of revelation to history, science, and truth—over the connection of revelation with subjectivity or objectivity—by applying the basic dialectical premise itself in a more consistent and more devastating way.

Barth and Brunner had ambiguously related faith to science and to history no less than to reason. Brunner found it possible to say, on one side, that modern science cannot really touch the essence of Christian revelation, and, on the other, that “Orthodoxy has become impossible for anyone who knows anything of science. This I would call fortunate” (The Word and the World, p. 38). While the crisis-theologians have built a positive theological structure on the foundation of higher criticism, they have asserted that neither science nor history bisects the content of revelation. The implication is that whatever assaults scientific criticism and historical criticism may make on the Bible, they cannot in any manner really impair the content of the Gospel—because revelation assertedly is not communicated in the historico-scientific realm.

As already indicated, Barth and Brunner compromise the consistent application of this principle. In deference to certain strategic elements of the biblical witness, they “protect” the historical nature of the atonement (Brunner) and the resurrection of Christ (Barth); insist on authentic knowledge of the supernatural God (Barth); and even affirm a low-level revelation status for parts of the Bible (Brunner).

Bultmann wants none of this. He will not accommodate the dialectical philosophy to such core elements of Hebrew-Christian theology derived actually from a biblical (and non-dialectical) revelation situation. And Bultmann’s plea for a thorough and uncompromised application of the dialectical view of revelation has caught the fancy and imagination of young intellectuals in many German divinity schools.

Lost Christmas

Somewhere, buried under tissue,

Bent beneath the load

Of our hurried, harried giving,

Christmas lost the road.

Christmas, that was sweet and simple,

With a song, a star,

Christmas that was hushed and holy,

Seems so very far!

Let us stop and look for Christmas:

Maybe, if we tried,

We could find it somewhere under

All the gifts we tied.

Christmas waiting, wistful, weary,

May be very near—

Christmas lost, a little lonely,

Wishing to be here.

HELEN FRAZEE BOWER

Samuel M. Shoemaker is the author of a number of popular books and the gifted Rector of Calvary Episcopal Church in Pittsburgh. He is known for his effective leadership of laymen and his deeply spiritual approach to all vital issues.

Every year Christmas finds us bewildered, wondering what to give to that certain someone, and puzzled by the vast array of choices. Often we are unsure of the appropriateness of our selection right up to the moment of presentation. We quiver while the package is being opened, or until we hear that happy exclamation: “Oh, it’s just what I wanted!”

Ralph Waldo Emerson recognized such perplexities and, in 1856, wrote a brief essay titled “Gifts” on the theme. It is a straightforward statement of the problem of choice and its reading should be a requirement of all Christmas shoppers.

Emerson begins his essay by classifying various types of gifts. We might illustrate the classification by a staircase symbol. At the first level, the plane at which we admit that we just do not know what to give, Emerson lists flowers and fruit—“flowers because they are a proud assertion that a ray of beauty outvalues all the utilities of the world.… Fruits … because they are the flower of commodities.” Proof of the former is evident to any husband: his wife is far more delighted by a cluster of carnations than by a new dusting mop, no matter how little or great may be the respective utilitarian value of each. And of the tangible objects or commodities, the decorative basket of highly-polished fruit remains an attractive gift as evidenced by the popularity of this choice among modern business people.

On the first step above flowers and fruit Emerson places the gift of necessity and states that “one is glad when an imperative leaves him no option.” To illustrate his point he draws the picture of a man in need of shoes. Shall we offer him a paintbox? The obvious answer to his purposely ludicrous suggestion is a negative one and reminds us of Christ’s query: “Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent?” (Matt. 7:9, 10).

The level above the fulfillment of a man’s need is the gift which one associates with the recipient. Here the giver must recognize the hobby, the interest, or the avocation of the one to whom he gives. To the musician he gives a biography of an outstanding composer or performer; upon the connoisseur of fine art he may bestow a token that suits the whim of the collector. Such a presentation assures the receiver that personal consideration has been granted him by the donor.

The highest point in Emerson’s scale of gifts is that which is associated with the giver as a piece of his own craftsmanship or creativity. Emerson states, “The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me.” He shows the poet bringing his poem; the shepherd, his sheep; the farmer, and painter bringing their goods. These are the worthy gifts, representative to the recipient of the nature of the giver. Emerson decries the purchasing of baubles and trinkets from the mass producer and calls it “a cold, lifeless business when you go to the shops to buy me something which does not represent your life and talent but a goldsmith’s.”

Of the receiver of gifts Emerson has much to say. He warns the idealistic giver that “the hand that feeds us is in some danger of being bitten.” His point appears to be directed mostly toward the relationship between the patronizing benefactor and his unfortunate subject. The fact is true that often men would rather starve than sacrifice their independence by eating from the hand of an unworthy giver.

Emerson next considers the beneficiary of a wealthy, lavish giver. His characteristic predilection for the broad generalization accuses “all beneficiaries” because they “hate all Timons.” His reference, of course, is to Shakespeare’s overly-generous hero in the play Timon of Athens. The reason for his accusation is not the obvious one, namely, the inability of the less-affluent receiver to match the cost or size of that which he has been given. Rather, Emerson looks with a cynical eye at the supposedly greedy receiver whose jaundiced view of life causes him to evaluate the gift he has received only in comparison with the greater wealth that remains in the possession of his particular Timon.

Emerson’s concluding paragraphs are his peroration, given in theological fashion in keeping with his training and experience. His analysis of the problem that confronts the giver and receiver is that “there is no commensurability between a man and any gift.” Therefore our affection for those we love can never be judged by the pricetag on our gift to them, or by the scope of their gift to us. To attempt such an evaluation is to cheapen the relationship we cherish because “no services are of any value, but only likeness.” If then we are to show our appreciation for what we have obtained from others, we can only repay in kind.

Emerson’s point is underscored in our minds when we remember the significance of the event commemorated at the Christmas season. If we are to acknowledge God’s gift to mankind, his Son Jesus Christ, we may only do so by the complete consecration of our lives to Him.

“What shall I give Him, poor as I am?

If I were a shepherd, I would give a lamb,

If I were a wise man, I would do my part—

What shall I give Him? I’ll give my heart.”

Carol in Minor Key

Come ring a round of Merry Mount

And sing for new-born joy;

Wave rainbow banners, faded thin,

Above an infant boy

While angels rant a rondelay—

A rabble, bathrobe choir

With pipe and horn

Proclaiming morn

While stars still snap with fire.

Dance floodlite in a space-born host

With sequined copper haloes,

And pantomime in startled rags

Newly informed hoboes.

Come one and all in day-glo red

To hover by a candle glow

And squint as flights

Of star-shaped lights

Reflect our shallow echo.

Give all your gifts in pseudonym

St. Nick will love the credit;

Those who receive forget the source

Or often will regret it.

Oh “christmas” gold, My Sin, and clove

Are neat to offer others,

And rocket toys

For peaceful boys

And CARE for all our “brothers.”

Today we cannot chant of lambs,

Wool would scratch our memory;

We dare not offer thanks for life,

It also knows our enemy.

Dance while the grace of God is on

In proud and pious dress

Lest others see,

Reality

Denies what we profess.

CHARLES WAUGAMAN

Samuel M. Shoemaker is the author of a number of popular books and the gifted Rector of Calvary Episcopal Church in Pittsburgh. He is known for his effective leadership of laymen and his deeply spiritual approach to all vital issues.

A young minister’s two-mile walk in the rain provided the inspiration for “How Great Thou Art,” most recent addition to the great hymns of our time.

The story of the hymn gains interest through the Soviet origin of the version most commonly sung, and its delayed but amazingly swift rise to popularity.

Though as late as five years ago the hymn was still virtually unknown in North America, its lines date to 1885. The Reverend Carl Boberg of Mönsterås. on the southeast coast of Sweden, was 25 years old when he wrote the lyrics after trekking through a thunderstorm from a church meeting two miles away.

His inspiration yielded a poem of nine verses published in a local newspaper under the title, “O store Gud” (O Great God). Several years later, Boberg heard that the poem was being sung to the tune of an old Swedish folk melody. The tune is essentially the same as is used today, but it never became popular in Sweden; neither did an English translation made in 1925 (“Mighty God”).

Boberg became editor of a Christian weekly and later served 13 years as a member of the upper house of the Swedish parliament. He died in 1940 without having seen his hymn gain any extensive acceptance.

In 1907, Boberg’s poem was translated into German by Manfred von Glehn as “Wie gross bist Du” (“How Great Thou Art”). Von Glehn lived in Estonia, which included a large segment of German-speaking inhabitants. Twenty years later I. S. Prokhanoff published in Moscow a Russian translation of the Estonian-German version.

An English missionary, the Reverend Stuart K. Hine, came across the Russian version in the western Ukraine soon after it was published in 1927, and he and his wife used it as a duet during evangelistic meetings. Later he translated three verses into English and brought them back to London. He sang them regularly throughout the war years. In 1948 he added a fourth verse and a year later the hymn was published. It spread quickly through the British Commonwealth, even to Australia and New Zealand. It was introduced in the United States by James Caldwell at the Stony Brook Bible Conference on Long Island in 1951. The hymn was brought to my own attention at Harringay Arena in London in 1954, but I did not give it a fair trial until our crusade in Toronto, Canada, in 1955. There it made an immediate hit with the choir.

“How Great Thou Art” subsequently became the best-loved hymn of the Billy Graham crusades. We used it over and over again. We have heard it sung in every country we have visited, for the words are now translated into many languages. In New York in 1957 it was used more than 100 times by Bev Shea and the choir in the 119 meetings. Two years ago it became the theme of the “Hour of Decision” weekly radio broadcast.

Aside from the melody, the secret of the hymn’s popularity and effectiveness is its direct and simple manner of worship and praise to God. The attention is immediately focused upon the Lord.

Many polls indicate that “How Great Thou Art” is now one of the most beloved hymns in America and elsewhere. Some surveys rank it even higher than “The Old Rugged Cross” and “Rock of Ages.”

Another factor in its popularity lies in its wide distribution by Manna Music Company, which owns the American and Canadian copyrights to the Hine translation. We have known the Manna president, Tim Spencer, for a good many years and his desire has been to make this hymn one of the best known Gospel hymns in the world. He has allowed us to print the song as extensively as we wished for distribution to audiences and choirs. Moreover, the Manna people have themselves printed thousands of copies for distribution. They have given away as many copies as they have sold. As a result, the hymn has become available to many people who would never have heard of it had it merely been printed in a book. Hymnal inserts, for instance, are available even if they cannot be paid for.

A year ago, meditating on the words of “How? Great Thou Art,” I noted the absence of the wonderful fact of the Incarnation. In a matter of moments two verses came to me that expressed this glorious truth. These Christmas verses are reproduced here for the first time for general use. I hope they add to your enjoyment of this wonderful and blessed hymn.

Samuel M. Shoemaker is the author of a number of popular books and the gifted Rector of Calvary Episcopal Church in Pittsburgh. He is known for his effective leadership of laymen and his deeply spiritual approach to all vital issues.

When Matthew quoted the glorious prophecy of Isaiah, “Behold, a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel,” he was inspired to add a simple explanation, “which is, being interpreted, God with us”; and I, for one, am very thankful for the interpretation.

Without it there would merely be the prosaic information “They shall call his name Immanuel,” which wouldn’t mean much more to us than “They shall call his name William.”

But the explanation is there, and the page lights up like a dull morning in December when the sun suddenly and unexpectedly explodes in the eastern sky, warm with love and fragrant with hope. “Immanuel.… God with us.” The word comes as a whisper, a still small voice, soft as the glow of altar candles, and too low to awaken the Babe sleeping in the manger.

Bishop Phillips Brooks caught the spirit of it,

How silently, how silently,

The wondrous gift is given.

FOREGLEAMS OF THE DAWN

In a sense, “God with us” is not a new message. What is new is the language in which it is spoken. But it is a mistake to think that the world was without God until Jesus was born.

We understand the doctrine of Providence to mean that God has always been so concerned for his people that he has never left them wholly to their own devices, but has overshadowed them with his presence, even when they knew it not.

The Old Testament says, “He made known his ways unto Moses, his acts unto the children of Israel,” and we accept that statement as true by the evidence of history. The more we know of the other nations of antiquity, the more marvelous does the Jewish nation appear.

We look a little more closely at the Old Testament and find that the basic idea contained in “Immanuel” is not unknown to the other writers of the sacred books. “God with us” is something in which they earnestly believed. Listen to them:

“Certainly I will be with thee.”

“The Lord thy God is with thee withersoever thou goest.”

“My presence shall go with thee.”

“Cast me not away from thy presence.”

“In thy presence is fullness of joy.”

Yet in all these affirmations, there is something insufficient, something lacking. Were God only in creation, only in providence, in history, in conscience, or in the Old Testament, we would be unsatisfied.

Were there nothing more, we would ever cry, “My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God.… O that I knew where I might find him!” And our faith would be like that of the Indiana farmer who, commenting on his poor harvest, said, “My wheat didn’t do as good as I thought it would—but then, I never thought it would!”

The Old Testament closes with the book of Malachi, which means that for the Jew the revelation of God ends there. But the Jew is not content. The Patriarchs and Prophets of Israel confessed longings and hopes too deep to be satisfied with anything they had received. They acknowledged the incompleteness which they sensed; their greatest desire was to be able to say with utter finality and assurance, “God with us.”

THE BIRTH IN A STABLE

And indeed the vital Christian message did not begin until Bethlehem, in “a lowly cattle stall,” and with the chant of adoration:

Glory be to God on high,

And peace on earth descend:

God comes down, He bows the sky,

And shows Himself our Friend!

Charles Wesley

“Immanuel—God with us.”

“God hath spoken unto us—in a Son.”

The stupendous thing to which the Old Testament writers constantly referred was the deliverance of the Children of Israel from the bondage of Egypt—that amazing manifestation of might by which the Children of the Covenant were brought to safety and freedom.

But the great thing to which we look back is the birth of a weak and helpless Baby in all the poverty, filth, and stench of an Eastern stable.

God always surprises us with mysteries. His ways are not our ways. Can you imagine a more unlikely way for the Son of God, the Saviour of the world, to come to earth than the way he came? It shows how little God thinks of our nice distinctions, our ideas of what is becoming, proper, and fitting. We say, “the best for the best, and the poorest for the poorest.” God works in the opposite way: “The things that are despised hath God chosen.”

Christmas, if it means anything at all, means the consecration of the commonplace. For what could be more common than animals in a stall, hay on the ground, a cot or cradle, or more ordinary than a baby? Washing, feeding, crying, laughing, growing, grumbling—these human activities are so common that we live through them and with them without thinking. Christmas is a continual reminder that God in Christ has consecrated the commonplace things of life to confound those that are mighty.

There is no human standard by which the importance of Bethlehem can be reckoned. Bethlehem is itself the standard by which the importance of all human activity must be judged; but, like the Cross, Bethlehem is “unto them that are perishing, foolishness.”

Bethlehem is a parable of the whole life of Jesus. He was born an outcast, in a rough stable, with the winds of God beating upon him. For years he earned a livelihood for himself and the rest of the humble family to which he belonged: with taut muscles and calloused hands he did the work of a manual worker.

The day came when he, whose dwelling had been heaven, had nowhere to lay his head. A certain village once refused him a night’s lodging. “He came unto his own, and his own received him not.”

He was despised and rejected of men, a Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief. Then he died an outcast, crucified on a hill outside the city wall, with the winds of God beating upon him.

Everything in the life of Jesus fits into one great design—the Cradle and the Cross, the Manger and the Ministry. All the parts of his life tell us that he came for one purpose, and that in everything his purpose was one. He was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor, that we, through his poverty, might become rich.

From the Manger to the Cross, through all the tortuous wanderings and fluctuating fortunes of that unique life—in all that he ever was, more than in all he ever said, there is one amazing message.

We see the message of his life as he stands before his frenzied parents in the Temple at the age of 12.

Toward the end of his earthly life, we see it as he weeps over Jerusalem, and as he rides a borrowed donkey for his triumphal entry. We witness it as He calmly tells a perplexed Roman governor that the power which he thinks comes from Caesar actually comes from God.

And in the agony of his death we behold it as he cries, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” The message is there from the poor manger of Bethlehem to the bitter Cross of Calvary.

Yet having eyes we see not: having ears we hear not.

We come, year after year, to Bethlehem, and whether we are Wise Men, which is very unlikely, or just simple shepherds, which is far more likely, we kneel by the manger. But what have we learned from our annual pilgrimages?

We come, year after year, to Calvary. Through 40 days of Lent we follow the wandering steps of the Master as they lead to Bethany, to Jerusalem, to the Garden of Gethsemane, to Pilate’s judgment hall, to Golgotha. We see him condemned, scourged, and crucified. But what have we learned from our annual vigils?

Have we ever tried to relate Christmas to Good Friday? Do we not realize that they have the same common denominator?

Too many of us have minds like concrete—made up of innumerable fragments, all mixed up, and permanently set. We sentimentally sing,

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,

The little Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head.

The stars in the bright sky

looked down where He lay,

The little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay.

Martin Luther

But what does it mean?

The way he entered the world which he had made, and the way he left the world which had no room for him, and the whole pattern of his life reveal glory in humiliation, sovereignty through suffering, perfection through limitation, victory through defeat, Godhead inherent in manhood, “Immanuel—God with us.”

“All praise to Thee, Eternal Lord,

Clothed in a garb of flesh and blood;

Choosing a manger for Thy throne,

While world on worlds are Thine alone.”

Martin Luther

We may well ask ourselves, “Why should this incredible thing happen?” The most important part of the answer was given by St. Augustine: “The chief cause of Christ’s coming was that men might know how much God loves them.”

In the presence of the Babe, argument ends in admiration, the rich fall down in homage, and the poor stand up in hope.

The second and subsidiary part of the answer has already been given, namely, to consecrate the commonplace. The consecration of the commonplace is the dynamic nerve-center of the Christian faith. For it was by his incarnate human life that the Lord Jesus made common things important and glorious.

That is why the Gospels are central to the Christian way of life, for they tell us all that we know of God’s gracious acts in a human context.

Christmas is a reminder to us that when we take the mystery out of Christianity we are left with a moralistic sect, of no relevance to life save only to the eccentric.

In choosing a manger for his throne, God was giving his love to us. “God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son.” It is the way of love to give, and the measure of the love is the measure of the sacrifice involved in the gift.

God’s gift is him whom we call “Immanuel,” and we rejoice that it means “God with us.” As we look again at that stable and view glory in humiliation, we know he is with us. We may receive him and rejoice in

God’s presence and His very self,

An essence all-divine.

John Henry Newman

Samuel M. Shoemaker is the author of a number of popular books and the gifted Rector of Calvary Episcopal Church in Pittsburgh. He is known for his effective leadership of laymen and his deeply spiritual approach to all vital issues.

The city of Nijmegen in the Netherlands lay still in the sleep of morning. The noisy burr of motorbikes and the gentle whirr of bicycles were distinctly absent. All was still and dark on the Saturday morning before Christmas, 1959. All was still, that is, except for four people, four Americans awake and stirring in the Netherlands—Bob and I, and our two young sons.

This was no ordinary Saturday morning for us. Christmas vacation had begun for the boys and we were planning a one-day trip into Germany. Nijmegen is close to the German border, and one may see a great deal on a one-day excursion into it.

But today, the Saturday before Christmas, was to be different. We were not going into Germany to see the Cologne Cathedral with its two graceful spires pointing to the sky. Nor were we going to Düsseldorf, shiny and bright as a new penny. We were going to see three tiny villages in the Ruhr Valley—three drab villages which I’m quite sure many Germans have never heard of, let alone Americans. Who knows or cares about Puffendorf, Ederen, or Linnich when Europe is packed full of magnificent things to see? And why visit unknown villages when you have only 10 months to spend in Europe?

The answer was that these were Bob’s 10 months. He had come to the Netherlands as a Fulbright Research Scholar. Naturally we would be seeing the famous sights of Europe, but these three villages in the Ruhr Valley meant something to him, for he had lived in them in 1944—he and the big Army howitzers. Now, after 15 years, he wanted to retrace his war steps; he wanted to see the three villages again.

Furthermore, there was another thing he wanted to see—Margraten. Margraten was the huge American War Cemetery near Maastricht in the Netherlands where one of Bob’s friends lay buried. Surely this was destined to be a somber sort of day, this Saturday before Christmas, at least for us.

We finished breakfast quickly, and the four of us took off in our little “foreign” car down the road into the dark December morning.

As we drove along, I looked up at the many stars which were still shining. How close they seemed to be, closer than ever before. Of course we were farther north than ever before. We were in the Netherlands, not Michigan, and these plump stars were Dutch stars in a Dutch sky.

CHRISTMAS IN A CEMETERY

I wished secretly that we were not going to visit war villages and a war cemetery. Why did we have to see such reminders of tragedy? How much more appropriate would it be to go to fine art galleries and look at the famous paintings of the birth of the Prince of Peace. War at Christmas time? No!—Why not think of peace?

Somehow I had remained a stranger to war. True, Bob had spent over three years in the American Army, and 18 months in Europe. But God had blessed our family. We had come out of it all unscathed, and I preferred to forget that the Red Horse of War had ever ridden.

I had had premonitions of what we might see this day. The people in Nijmegen had seen the Red Horse, had heard him tramping through their city night after night, day after day, and they had often told us of the days of terror and depression. We had heard them tell of hunger and cruelty and death; and they always spoke as though it had happened yesterday. One friend told of the following incident. Nijmegen had been liberated by the Americans one day in 1944, and the next day there was a celebration in the bombed-out town square. Her husband had been on his way to the square when suddenly a remaining enemy stepped out from behind a building and threw a large grenade. What was left of her husband was put in a cigar box. And that was the day after Liberation! And so we had heard account after account of the riding of the Red Horse of War.

I knew one thing: I did not want to see the Red Horse of War on the Saturday before Christmas. He would surely destroy the joy and peace of Christmas.

Quietly we rode on toward Puffendorf, Ederen, and Linnich. Gradually the stars disappeared and the dawn came, and by the time it was light we had reached the war area. Burned-out tanks graced the landscape. This was farming and orchard area, but nature had not obliterated the marks of war.

Then we saw the villages. Here stood a handful of houses, ugly and scarred. Each one had its deep artillery wounds. The Red Horse had been here all right. Over there stood a house, or half a house, I should say, with a family living in the front of it and damaged bricks piled high behind it. A lonely pig could be seen scrounging for food in the debris. All around was evidence of destruction. We thought of the age-old phrase, “They make a desolation and they call it peace.” Peace was here, silent and joyless. But this was not the peace of Christmas, the joyful peace of the shepherds who welcomed the Christ-Child.

We rode on. In Ederen we saw the Purple Heart Corner. This corner had been ceaselessly shelled, and countless American boys had been wounded. Now there was no sound of artillery to shake the countryside. No guns boomed or whistled; no soldier dashed for cover. And yet, although 15 years had elapsed, it seemed as though the Red Horse had just ridden through. We could see men rebuilding one of the houses and using the old wounded bricks.

On we rode in silence. Our thoughts lay too deep for tears. Later we stopped for lunch and then continued our drive along the countryside. But never were we able to forget the three war-scarred villages of the Ruhr—“the Villages of the Red Horse,” I called them.

Now we had one more thing to see: Margraten. We crossed the border back into the Netherlands. Our young boys were the first to spot the sign for Margraten, and we turned in.

Until the Saturday before Christmas, 1959, Margraten had meant nothing to me. Now, as we stepped out to look over the grounds, the place overwhelmed me. It was all so green, and so still.

Against the rich green of the grass gleamed the tremendous white stone monument with the names of at least 500 American men engraved upon it, and standing for at least 500 separate sorrows. Their bodies were lying here at Margraten, unidentified, and occupying unknown graves. And around about we saw the white crosses, almost 9000 of them—9000 white crosses on a carpet of green. So intensely white were they and so thick that everything seemed blurred to my eyes. Infantry men were here from the Battle of the Bulge who died that Christmas in 1944, and here were pilots and artillery men. Nine thousand American boys lay in the white and green of Margraten, and yet it all seemed bloody red with the hoofmarks of the Red Horse.

We stood a long time, then climbed into our car and headed toward Nijmegen. Darkness came quickly now; it comes early in December in the Netherlands. And gradually the stars reappeared. Bright and large and seemingly very near, they shone down upon us. Suddenly the meaning of this day, this Saturday before Christmas, came to us. We understood it anew. The birth of the Prince of Peace had a fresh and poignantly beautiful meaning.

As suddenly and unexpectedly as the stars reminded us of the Star of Bethlehem, so suddenly and unexpectedly the darkness, sadness, and desolation slipped out of our hearts. The Star of Bethlehem was truly shining on us and speaking to us. And—strangest of all—the Red Horse was leading us straight to the Prince of Peace.

We began to realize how appropriate the day had been. It was in the world of war that the Prince of Peace was born. We knew that although the Red Horse could ride through the world and trample it under his hoofs, he could never triumph over it. The Prince of Peace had come and would come again, riding on a pure white horse with a Cross in his hand, and he would vanquish the Red Horse forever.

We had seen the Red Horse. But we had also seen in a new and striking way the Prince of Peace. That Saturday before Christmas, 1959, the mild Babe of Bethlehem was transformed into the triumphant Prince of Peace. And we heard great voices saying: “The Kingdoms of this world are become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of his Christ; and he shall reign forever and ever.”

Unto Us … Is Born

Unto us?

Lord, unto whom?

The fair-skinned, favored,

genteel few?

Just to them?

Or unto Jew,

Oriental, Negro,

Sioux?

Unto these?

Yes, unto all

the human family,

great and small.

Christ Child,

with your arms stretched wide,

forgive our prejudice

and pride!

HELEN EARLE SIMCOX

Samuel M. Shoemaker is the author of a number of popular books and the gifted Rector of Calvary Episcopal Church in Pittsburgh. He is known for his effective leadership of laymen and his deeply spiritual approach to all vital issues.