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There are over 900 stories and commentaries on this blog. It is added to daily.
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Take the year 1809. The international scene was tumultuous. Napoleon was sweeping through Austria; blood was flowing freely. Nobody then cared about babies. But the world was overlooking some terribly significant births.
For example, William Gladstone was born that year. He was destined to become one of England's finest statesman.
That same year, Alfred Tennyson was born to an obscure minister and his wife. The child would one day greatly affect the literary world in a marked manner.
On the American continent, Oliver Wendell Holmes was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
And not far away in Boston, Edgar Allan Poe began his eventful, albeit tragic, life.
It was also in that same year that a physician named Darwin and his wife named their child Charles Robert.
And that same year produced the cries of a newborn infant in a rugged log cabin in Hardin County, Kentucky. The baby's name? Abraham Lincoln.
If there had been news broadcasts at that time, I'm certain these words would have been heard: "The destiny of the world is being shaped on an Austrian battlefield today."
But history was actually being shaped in the cradles of England and America.
Similarly and to an infinitely greater degree, everyone thought taxation was the big news-- but no...the eternal angel announced news of the day...was that Jesus was born. I am Christmas. I am the wide eyes of a child at break of Christmas Day; I am the somber look of an old man's memory; I am the holy look of Christ's worshipers in prayer; I am the glad, gay cry of the carolers in the winter night.
Take the year 1809. The international scene was tumultuous. Napoleon was sweeping through Austria; blood was flowing freely. Nobody then cared about babies. But the world was overlooking some terribly significant births.
For example, William Gladstone was born that year. He was destined to become one of England's finest statesman.
That same year, Alfred Tennyson was born to an obscure minister and his wife. The child would one day greatly affect the literary world in a marked manner.
On the American continent, Oliver Wendell Holmes was born in Cambridge, Massachusetts.
And not far away in Boston, Edgar Allan Poe began his eventful, albeit tragic, life.
It was also in that same year that a physician named Darwin and his wife named their child Charles Robert.
And that same year produced the cries of a newborn infant in a rugged log cabin in Hardin County, Kentucky. The baby's name? Abraham Lincoln.
If there had been news broadcasts at that time, I'm certain these words would have been heard: "The destiny of the world is being shaped on an Austrian battlefield today."
But history was actually being shaped in the cradles of England and America.
Similarly and to an infinitely greater degree, everyone thought taxation was the big news-- but no...the eternal angel announced news of the day...was that Jesus was born. I am Christmas. I am the wide eyes of a child at break of Christmas Day; I am the somber look of an old man's memory; I am the holy look of Christ's worshipers in prayer; I am the glad, gay cry of the carolers in the winter night.
I
am Christmas. I have looked on the first star of Bethlehem, I have
watched the ages pass and Christmas change. I saw, on the first
Christmas eve, three wise men; I felt the presence of shepherds in their
awe; I perceived the Christ child in his crib.
I
am Christmas. I have gathered many symbols around about me. I have my
fir tree from the pages of German time, I have my yuletide from Jol in
Iceland, I have my jolly old Saint Nick from the land of the dikes, I
have my mistletoe from Celtic Britain, I have America's particular gift
of commercialization; I have the story of the Nativity from that book so
close to men of all nations-the Bible.
I
am that bright and shining joy that celebrates an event that reminds us
our God is a God who loved us and loves us and always will love
us...and when angels celebrate a birth by filling the heavens with
song...that just underlines the majesty of it all.
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