Gesu Bambino on Boxing Day

 Gesu Bambino on Boxing Day

“Upon a winter night,

Was born the Child, the Christmas Rose,

The King of Love and Light.

The angels sang, the shepherds sang,

The grateful earth rejoiced.” Frederick Martens, music by Pietro Yon (1917)

My younger brother and only sibling died in 2014 on the day after Christmas, Boxing Day, or the Feast Day of St. Stephen. I still miss him.

On a past Christmas Eve, as I prepare in the early morning to go to the eight o’clock service, I hear on our National Public Radio Station (NPR) a piano arrangement of Gesu Bambino. This is an Italian Christmas Carol with O Come All Ye Faithful for the chorus, with the music written by Pietro Yon and the lyrics by Frederick Martens. 

Suddenly, I feel my brother’s presence. My brother sang this solo at a Christmas program when he was ten or eleven in the basement of the Baptist church in our hometown, West Point, Virginia. He was taught Gesu by the minister’s son, Bobby Pleasants, an organist and my piano teacher. I wonder where he is now. I thank Bobby for the gift he gave me today by teaching my brother to sing this ethereal Christmas anthem so many years ago. I see and hear my young brother singing like a cherub in the candlelight, lifting his head and eyes as he strains for the high notes, singing with all his might.

This is a Christmas gift from my brother. He was physically powerful, while I now have numerous mobility issues. On that particular Christmas Eve, we had four services at St. Mark’s since this was a short Advent, with the fourth Sunday of Advent and Christmas Eve falling on the same day. I was concerned about whether I could physically serve as the deacon at all these services, which would attract almost a thousand people. However, that morning, I was empowered. I felt my brother’s strength beside me. I did not doubt that I could do this.

On this second day of Christmas, I pray that each of us is empowered by God’s love as manifested in those before us whom we love and love us so that we can do the ministry God calls us to do.

Love is born at Christmas. It is gifted to each of us. That love never dies.

Joanna     https://www.joannaseibert.com/

Where are We in the Christmas Story?

Where are We in the Christmas Story?

Guest Writer Eve Turek

One of the best and most creative ways I have ever heard to make Scripture fresh and relevant to your daily life is to imagine yourself as a character in a familiar story—the Christmas Story, for instance. Now, I don’t do this myself nearly as often as I should, but here are some thoughts for your contemplation. Who would you be in this story? Who do you most identify with today?

Would you be Mary? Challenged to believe something about yourself that seems literally impossible, so much so that you are risking your reputation, your future with your beloved, in fact, perhaps your very life, to say “yes” to this new role?

Or maybe you could be Joseph, steadfast, faithful, loyal. Steeped in tradition that dictates only one response, a response that has crashed into your love for your betrothed. So you plan to compromise, send her away quietly, saying yes completely neither to love nor to law…and then, you have a Dream. Now the choice is even harder. Go all in for love over law, and undertake the first of what will be several perilous journeys, to shelter, protect, and nourish what God is bringing forth into the world?

I kind of like the Shepherds. Watching over their sheep, sleeping under the stars, taking turns watching in the night. Sounds reasonably peaceful and bucolic. Yeah. I could do that. Oh, wait—what was that?!? What is that Sound?? What is that Light?? I am in an open field, I have nowhere to run, nowhere to hide… Angels? Holy Child? Go see and then go tell?? Notice the first impulse, the first response is terror. Honestly, that sounds like what my response would be, too. They found the courage to believe the improbable and follow through. Do I? Can I bear witness to what I believe I have seen and heard? How about you?

Or maybe you relate more to one of the Three Travelers. Some traditions name them Kings—wielders of both power and authority. Other traditions call them Wise Men, sages, mages, or even astrologers. We don’t know precisely how they met, but they each received the same sense of calling, to follow a star and bring gifts to a newborn Child-King. Notice their response, what it was, what it wasn’t. It wasn’t rejection, jealousy, guarding their own position, possessions, and power. It was humility and recognition that Someone Greater was coming on the scene.

And that brings us to a fourth king, Herod. He could have made the same choice as the Three Travelers. Instead, he chose the opposite path, of protecting his earthly dominion at any cost, including subterfuge, lies, and eventually, even mass murder. His own personal royal power mattered more to him than anything else. As a king, Herod stands in stark contrast to the Three who journeyed on to find and worship the Christ Child.

He is the one figure missing in every nativity scene. He couldn’t bring himself to believe and receive. He held on to what he thought he had, rather than risk, as all these others did, moving beyond what their lives had always been and embracing a new reality and a new identity for themselves and for the larger world.

For we are no longer estranged, but embraced, as Mary and Joseph.

No longer alone, but accompanied, as the Three Travelers.

No longer silenced and shunned, but seeking and sharing, as the Shepherds.

Who are you in the Story?

Eve Turek

Joanna Seibert joannaseibert.com

12/24/68 and a Messy Story of Love

12/24/68 and a messy story of love

“But the greatest of these is love.”—1 Corinthians 13:13.

Earthrise 12/24/68 from Apollo 8

If you were alive on December 24, Christmas Eve, 1968, to see this picture from Apollo 8, do you remember what else you were doing? I remember much, but also remember so little. My husband and I worked as interns at John Gaston City of Memphis Hospital that night, so we missed the traditional Christmas Eve services. Instead, we went to St. Mary’s Cathedral’s quiet Christmas Day services the next morning. We were not married until the following year, but it was a special Christmas, the first holiday we could be together.

I can not remember the patients I cared for that night. It may have been one of the many African Americans coming in with a stroke, and at the time, we could only offer supportive care. I can remember looking at a patient unconscious with a stroke, and knowing there must be more that we can offer. I do not remember the presents we gave each other for Christmas. I do remember our best friend, Charles Stallings, who taught us how to make gold-and-red Christmas ornament balls we hung on that first tree. We still have some large balls, and we try to tell our grandchildren about them as they traditionally now have fun throwing the decorative balls on our tree each year.

However, the most memorable part of that Christmas was meeting Robert’s parents for the first time at their home for Christmas dinner that night. I don’t remember what we ate, but I do remember the red dress I wore. I was so nervous. I was damaged goods, and I feared they would not like or love me. I was divorced, and Robert was in the process of being divorced. Yet, I remember how they openly accepted me and treated me as if I were a lovable person from the start. Their unconditional love and care never ended. I still feel their presence today, even though they have been dead for some time.

The only way I can continue to return that love is to pay it forward today to my children, their children, and their spouses’ families. I remember that when Elizabeth died, I prayed that if she continued to watch over her grandchildren, I would care for her husband, Bob. Unfortunately, I didn’t keep up my part of the bargain as well as she did. I could always have done more.

I know that love never dies. Bob and Elizabeth have taught me that. I still feel the unconditional love they showed me in so many ways, even today, over fifty years later. It is a presence. It is a feeling. It is not knowledge but wisdom. It is present in their only son, who knows much more about unconditional love than I do. I also see it in their three grandchildren, whom they loved dearly. I know love can change the world, one person, and one family at a time. I have seen it.
This is my messy story of the love that came down at Christmas.

Joanna https://www.joannaseibert.com/