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The Gift in Swaddling Clothes

This evening, Christmas Eve to be exact, the fire in the hearth hisses and crackles at me. The warmth soothes my weary bones, like the stones upon which the firelight flickers against, warming them, bringing them back to life. Late this afternoon I took a break from wiring the Retreat and took a much overdue walk. It was an early Christmas gift to myself, you might say.

The sky was a perfect Carolina blue with the sunlight filtering through the barren branches of the forest. My body felt sluggish, not something I had remembered in recent times. From the recent medical prognosis, it was apparent that I would never be as fast or as strong as I once was physically. Those sub-five-minute miles will only be a memory from now on (unless, of course, I’m driving in a car). In fact, as the saying goes, “I’ll never be as good as I once was.” It wasn’t quite the gift I had expected. As my weary legs finally carried me back to the Retreat, I was thankful just to have been able to walk along the whispering creeks and waterfalls.

The family was still gone on some last-minute Christmas Eve errands. So many spent the recent days hurrying and fretting over preparations for the perfect day when family and friends will fill their homes. I was thankful to be free of that burden and able to relax for a change. Back inside my little cabin in the woods, I stoked the fire back to a roar and sat back sipping on a hot brew As the burgeoning flames cracked and popped, my mind pondered the recent scripture that would not leave my head; from the book of Luke. It is probably the most quoted gospel this time of year.

From the point when Mary has received the direction of the Arch Angel Gabriel, to the immaculate conception, there is a story within itself. “And the angel answered and said unto her, The Holy Ghost shall come upon thee, and the power of the Highest shall overshadow thee: therefore also that holy thing which shall be born of thee shall be called the Son of God.[1] Like the spark that lights the fire, the hand of God came upon Mary, and in that instant, the being of God in the form of human flesh began to develop in her fetus. The “Most High” overshadowed her. The Greek word for “overshadow” is comprised of two words, which basically describe a cloud of energy that enveloped Mary, at which point, Christ was literally conceived. To understand in our simple humanness is more than a struggle. Yet, the indescribable doesn’t stop there.

Later, when Mary and Joseph reach Bethlehem, as it was foretold, Jesus would be born in a lowly manger, a trough from which animals eat. Remember the prodigal son and how it was described that he fell so far that he literally ate out of the same troughs as the pigs which he tended. Our Lord and Savior was born in such a condition, in a feeding trough. And when Mary had wrapped him in swaddling clothes, rags if you will, he was ready to receive the many guests that would soon arrive.

Unbeknownst to Mary and Joseph, out in the neighboring fields of Bethlehem, shepherds were standing watch over their flocks at night, when another Angel came to them. Now before I jump into the scripture that you have probably heard a thousand times, allow me to precede it with something that you may have never thought of before.

As I have already alluded, this was not just a common birth. This was literally God being born for the first time ever, in the form of human flesh. It was a sentinel moment in the history of God. This was a moment in eternity in which the significance, although entirely missed by the spiritual leaders of the time, would so impact the entirety of Glory above that it would be as if all of heaven’s Angels, for a moment, would stop everything and come to earth to attend the birth of a Savior, the son of God. For the first time in all of creation, God was coming to earth, to be born of a lowly handmaiden, in a stable. Had those Pharisees and Jewish leaders understood the prophecies of which they supposedly had learned so well, they too could have joined the unimaginable moment with all of creation, but they would not. They would be lost to the moment and forever because of their unbelief. What they would miss would be the gift of a lifetime, of an eternity. God would come to earth to live and die like one of his own creation’s so that he would feel our pain, know our suffering so that when he would eventually defeat death, and his blood would flow freely down the cross, we would know that God had given us the most precious gift mankind would ever know; His Son.

Now, reread the scripture with that picture in your mind, “And there were in the same country shepherds abiding in the field, keeping watch over their flock by night. And, lo, the angel of the Lord came upon them, and the glory of the Lord shone round about them: and they were sore afraid. And the angel said unto them, Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you; Ye shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling clothes, lying in a manger. And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men. And it came to pass, as the angels were gone away from them into heaven, the shepherds said one to another, Let us now go even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.”[2]

Notice how the shepherds feared the initial Angel and how it comforted them until they were somewhat at ease. It was then, once they had been calmed that the enumerable multitude of Heavenly hosts appeared before them. So great was the light that it could be seen beyond the local pastures of Bethlehem. Luke would later recall, in separate writings, how many philosophers, scientists, and spiritual leaders would recall seeing the bright light in the sky and how each of them would separately interpret the scene. Imagine the lowly shepherds, uneducated, poor, and of simple faith, and how their hearts might have stopped but for a moment in awe at the sight before them; the heavens filled with Angels on high. The angelic illumination was so bright that the mere mortal shepherds would have nearly been blinded, without and within. They literally had been moved beyond belief as can be seen by the following passage.

And they came with haste, and found Mary, and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger. And when they had seen it, they made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child. And all they that heard it wondered at those things which were told them by the shepherds.”[3]

These men, who were in charge of other men’s flock, left their post and ran into town. The mere fact that they abandoned their livelihood to seek out the babe in swaddling clothes would tell you of their sheer panic. Adrenaline rushing through their veins, they sought the length of the city for the child.  They didn’t stop until they found him. When they finally reached the stable, covered in sweat, breathing heavily, they hesitantly entered, knowing that this was no normal child for which they were to admire. There before them, glowing underneath the watchful eye of his mother, was the babe of whom the Angel had spoken. Mary had instinctively picked up her baby to protect him when this mass of strangers began to enter the stables. But to her disbelief, they now fell at her feet and began to worship her child. They would eventually share with her and Joseph the reason for the worship and awe of the infant child. From there, the shepherds would not stop. They would leave the stable and go far and wide sharing their story. Eventually, they would return and share with her the wonderful reactions and praises for which the Christ child had heralded. Mary’s head had to be spinning at all that had transpired in just a matter of months. She had gone from a simple peasant to the mother of the Son of God. She had to be dreaming, she might have told herself more than once. And as you can imagine, “But Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart.[4]


Luke’s interview with Mary and her recanting this story, as it was likely shared with her many times by those exact shepherds, so impacted Luke, a physician, that he kept it just as it was told to him. In fact, all of the story, from the immaculate conception to the birth is recounted through the eyes of this glorious and wonderful physician, as he was known in his time. That being said, you can now perhaps better understand the significance of the timeline for which these events took place. Perhaps, even more, that you may think about this precious gift we all have been given, even now, as the realm for which God gave his only begotten Son so that any who should believe shall be saved.

Tomorrow, if not already, you will hopefully have family and friends over to open gifts and to celebrate Christmas. When the wrapping paper is finally collected, and everyone has had time to contemplate their gifts, both given and received, some may take time to reflect upon the reason behind the most significant holiday on our calendar, at least to most people. If allowed, ask them to listen for a moment, and share with them something special. Share with them the greatest story ever told.

In life, we reach a point when we only reduce our biological stability, perhaps maintaining for a while, but eventually, we will slow a few more steps, rise a bit slower, and recall even less. Yet, through it all, we should be thankful in our daily walk, no matter the struggles, and remember that we have been given the most precious gift known to man. Nearly 2000 years ago, a present was wrapped in swaddling clothes and placed in a manger, not under a tree. Those who were there to receive did not need to unwrap their gift to know its importance.

Tomorrow, pause for a moment and give thanks to God above for the greatest gift of all.

Thanks be to God.


[1] Luke 1:35

[2] Luke 2:8-15

[3] Luke 2:16-18

[4] Luke 2:19

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The Birth of Hope…

imagesCANET9ZXThis past Sunday I had the privilege of filling for Tom Lee during the part of the service where he normally delivers what is called the, “Children’s Message”. Tom and his wife were blessed to be called away that morning to the birth of a new grandson named Jacob. Ironically, my message involved the birth of another child, yet this would not be the birth of our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ as you might be expecting. No, this was not a Christmas story you might come to anticipate this time of year, so first allow me to explain why I was lead to share this story.

Earlier in the week I had a unique dream which I wrote about in a previous blog, “Flames of the Spirit”. To summarize; in the dream I went back in time and met people rejoicing in the spirit and met an ancient being who told me that we had to carry on the special gift we’ve been given, passing it on from one generation to the next. To some degree I was perplexed by what the elder I met in the dream meant by his words, but the more the week went by, the more I understood what he had been telling me. Then a couple days later I saw a trailer for a movie to be released in 2014 and it all became clearer. The movie is called, “Noah” and stars Russell Crowe and Emma Watson.

Here is a link to the trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_OSaJE2rqxU

We all know the story of Noah, but not until recently did I understand how Noah fit into the family lineage of Enoch. Enoch as you may recall is only one of two people that were taken to Heaven without dying, Elijah being the other. Enoch was afforded a view of Heaven before leaving and was allowed to return to earth for 30 days in order to tell his son Methuselah what he learned so that mankind could record the events of the past, present and future. I’ve been studying the books of Enoch as part of the references I am using in my sequel to “Bruecke to Heaven”. As I mentioned earlier, this story had to do with another birth but this was not the birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, but rather the birth of Noah.

So unusual and strange was Noah at birth that his father Lamech was alarmed, as were all that saw the imagesCAK6UHLKnewborn child. His skin was as white as snow and as red as a rose; his hair was as white as a white lamb’s wool. His eyes were the like sun’s rays that lit up the room and his face beamed as something from another world. The nursemaid held him up to show everyone and as she did, the newborn baby levitated from her hands into the air. Everyone was scared and afraid of the infant and cried out. Lamech was so bothered by the condition of the child that he immediately went to his father Methuselah and pleaded with him to go to his father Enoch and ask him if there had been any tampering or foul play by angels with his wife to cause this calamity.

You have to understand that this was a time when angels were known to visit earthlings and copulate with them, creating giants (Nephilim) and other creatures which began to defile mankind. So adamant was Lamech about it that Methuselah agreed and went to the ends of the earth and called out for his father, who by then was already in Heaven permanently. Remarkably, Enoch heard his son’s cries and answered him. He assured him that the baby was indeed the son of Lamech and his wife and that there was no interaction or tampering from angels to be worried about. However, he told him that the child was indeed special and chosen by God and that his name would be Noah. He went on to tell him that mankind had become so full of sin and unrighteousness that God had no choice but to destroy the world with a great flood; all would die except for Noah and his family.

Methuselah returned and told Lamech of the words of his father and how Enoch had said that from now until the end of time, even after the great flood, that mankind would continue to become more and more unrighteous until one day, there would finally come a generation that would arise up and defeat all sin and darkness.

Yes, eventually a generation would rise up and defeat all sin and darkness, halting the unrighteousness.

It was upon reading this that my dream came back to me and how the elder had been so clear about the wealth we possessed and how it was imperative that it be passed from one generation to the next without it being allowed to expire.

Then like a light switch turning on, it finally dawned on me that the wealth, treasure and inheritance the elder was speaking of was right in front of me; The Word of God and the story of his love for us all. For there to be that future generation, we have to pass on our inheritance and educate our children so that they too can carry on when we are gone, keeping the Word of God alive; our hope is our future just as is the birth of a new life.

untitledYes, it is the season of birth of our Lord and Savior, Jesus, through whom we all inherit eternal life, if we only choose to accept him into our lives and continue to share the story and to continue to have hope of life eternal.

After all, it is most undoubtedly the best Christmas gift of all.

Merry Christmas.

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The Doctors’ Street…

The following article was written following a recent fieldtrip taken by the Goldston United Methodist Church’s writers’ group, “The InkSpots”. We were blessed to have had the unique opportunity to tour the Street family homestead and to hear the stories of healing and faith. We found a treasure trove of inspiration from which to write and hope that someday, this precious gem of history will be preserved for generations to come to visit and be likewise inspired. Thanks to our hosts, Al Simmons and Paul Paschal whom without, this journey would not have 5049398450_bd137a0d54_zbeen possible.

 

We turned off the main road onto the lane that led past a small pond to the homestead of the Street family. The structures were weathered and gray as one might expect from buildings that were over 100 years old. We were not there to learn as much about the buildings as we were to hear about the people that made them come alive with hope and relief. The family that lived here were as much about the spirituality of living as they were the physicality. The Streets, as they were named, would become known far and wide for their care and perseverance for their patients; this was the homestead of the Doctors’ Street.

2013-08-02 15.17.21Considering the age of the buildings, they were all in very good shape. There had evidently been many hands over the years that had maintained these aged edifices as well as preserving the story of the families that made them the historical structures for which they were known. Large oaks and cedars surrounded the buildings providing shade in areas of the fresh mown lawn. Here, often at the first light of dawn, the doctor would find the yard filled with wagons and in later years, cars, which had parked waiting for the good doctor to awaken. In other words, the grounds surrounding the office and home became the waiting room for patients who made the long trek during the night, being too ill to wait for morning.

The original structure of the doctor’s office was built in the late 1700s and used as a law office of a former governor of North Carolina. The law office would later be used by the first Doctor, Richard Street. The Richard returned from the civil war and took up medicine, practicing initially only in the former law office, and then eventually expanding the building adding on a back structure, shaped as a “T”, that would house additional rooms for examination, pharmaceuticals and an administrative office. It was not known if Richard had practiced medicine in the civil war, but there was an old medical saddle bag on display which was very worn that could have easily have been used on those ancient battlefields. What motivated the young Mr. Street to become a doctor one can only speculate. Having lived through the horrors of war, there were likely more than enough traumatic battlefield scenes which could have easily been the impetus for his lifelong pursuit.

Throughout the doctor’s office, there were large brown bottles of chemicals and compounds used to make medicines2013-08-02 15.02.27 that the doctor would administer to his patients. Likewise, there were volumes of ledgers, medical manuals and various reference materials. I quickly got the feel that Dr. Street was a beacon of hope in the darkness in a landscape of medical poverty. He not only applied his craft but continually strove to further his abilities to do so. When we read the signs outside of most modern medical facilities we read the term, “Medical Practice of…”. In the case of the late Dr. Street, this was not only a statement, but a fact made obvious by his self-imposed continuing education. He was not only the doctor, but also the pharmacist, specialist, surgeon and even eventual caretaker. From the act of bringing life into the world to the act of consoling the families of those patients that he could not save, the dust on the books of memories belied the stories within that a painful heart would have been driven to pursue excellence beyond the weathered walls in which he inhabited. We were made aware that often, his patients would stay for extended periods of time in his home either to recover or to prepare for eventual medical needs like giving birth. As I stood in one of the upstairs rooms of the home, I could almost sense the lives that entered and passed to and from this world in that room comforted by the man they called Doc.

In addition to continuing his self-education, Dr. Street also strove to educate his fellow medical peers by speaking and writing about the need for more “Diagnostic Medicine”. He felt that too many young doctors were coming out of medical school and going into specialized surgery rather than focusing on the diagnostic medical practice. More than once our host and descendent, Al Simmons, found reference in letters to the doctor of how his diagnosis of some rare ailment or disease would sometimes years later be confirmed. In other words, when Doc Street told you that you were sick, you could count on it.

Dr. Richard StreetIn the book cases filled with countless medical volumes, there were also several worn Bibles. My interest was piqued since I knew that many times the family genealogy would have been preserved in the “Family Bible”. Upon inspection of the Bibles on hand, I didn’t find any genealogy information but I did find line after line of scripture references, obviously favorites that someone had written for easy access, either for future reference or when a spiritual chord was struck. I was moved to find that the Street’s were as known for their strong Christian faith as they were for their medical practice. A local church even began in one of the front rooms of the house. This only confirmed my belief that this place was a haven of recovery and health for the whole being; an Eden in the wilderness.

Here I found the true meaning of “Practice”, with regard to medicine. Over the years, through countless struggles to preserve the health of those terminally ill, through tomes of medical literature the good doctor would pour until he had exhausted all known medical knowledge; he then would turn to the Almighty for prayer. Each painful loss only fueled his drive, his passion to prevent it from happening again. Each time, he would become better at what he did, continually striving to better himself, not only as a doctor, but also as a Christian. In essence, he practiced what he preached, and strove to become a better man while here on this earth for it.

As I watched my children observe, listen and record this visit to an underappreciated historical treasure and landmark, I could only hope that in some far away recess of their minds a spark was lit to pursue life in the same manner in which the good doctors had done.  Dr. Richard Street had made such an impact on his community and family that eventually not only his son, but his grandson would likewise follow in his footsteps, practicing medicine and making the world a better place. In life, we often struggle and toil in the moment, sometimes losing focus for what matters most. When our livelihood entails life itself, our perspective changes and suddenly the reality of mortality changes us making us either better or worse for it, depending upon our character. It was obvious from the archives and treasures left behind by the family of doctors that they had all been better for it, and so were we.

What began as a casual conversation with Paul Paschal and I before Christmas of last year turned out to be a discovery of healing and faith. I saw a lady in her seventies turn into a little girl once more and saw teenagers enthralled by the antiquity of a medical practice almost unheard of in today’s fast paced world. God leads us in paths we never can imagine, and last Friday was one such day I’ll not soon forget.

 

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