A Christmas Parable – Author Unknown

Years ago, there was a very wealthy man who, with his devoted young son, shared a passion for art collecting. Together they traveled around the world, adding only the finest art treasures to their collection. Priceless works by Picasso, Van Gogh, Monet and many others adorned the walls of the family estate. The widowed father looked on with satisfaction as his only child became an experienced art collector. But the day came when war engulfed the nation, and the young man left to serve his country. After only a few short weeks, his father received a telegram that his beloved son had been killed while carrying a fellow soldier to a medic.

On Christmas morning a knock came at the door of the old man’s home, and as he opened the door, he was greeted by a soldier with a large package in his hand. He introduced himself to the man by saying, “I was a friend of your son. I was the one he was rescuing when he died. May I come in for a few moments? I have something to show you.”

“I want to give you this.”

As the old man unwrapped the package, the paper gave way to reveal a portrait of his son. Though the art critics would never consider the work a piece of genius, the painting did feature the young man’s face in striking detail, and seemed to capture his personality.

The following spring, the old man became ill and passed away. The art world was in anticipation! According to the will of the old man, all of the art works would be auctioned.

The day soon arrived, and art collectors from around the world gathered to bid on some of the world’s most spectacular paintings. The auction began with a painting that was not on any museum’s list. It was the painting of the man’s son.

The auctioneer asked for an opening bid. The room was silent.

“Who will open the bidding with $100?” he asked.

Minutes passed with not a sound from those who came to buy. From the back of the room someone callously called out, “Who cares about that painting? It’s just a picture of his son. Let’s forget it and go on to the important paintings.”

There were other voices which echoed in agreement. But the auctioneer replied, “No, we have to sell this one first. Now, who will take the son?”

Finally, a friend of the old man spoke. “I knew the boy, so I’d like to have it. I will bid the $100.”

“I have a bid for $100,” called the auctioneer. “Will anyone go higher?” After a long silence, the auctioneer said, “Going once. Going twice. Gone.”

The gavel fell. Cheers filled the room and someone was heard to say, “Now we can get on with it!”

But the auctioneer looked at the audience and announced the auction was over. Stunned disbelief quieted the room.

Someone spoke up and asked, “What do you mean it’s over? We didn’t come here for a picture of some old guy’s son. What about all of these paintings? There are millions of dollars worth of art here! We demand that you explain what’s going on!”

The auctioneer replied, “It’s very simple. According to the will of the father, whoever takes the son… gets it all.”

Whoever takes the Son, gets it all!

Merry Christmas!

Pastor James <><

In the fourth century there lived an Asiatic monk who had spent most of his life in a remote community of prayer, raising vegetables for the cloister kitchen. When he was not tending his garden spot, he was fulfilling his vocation of study and prayer.

Then one day this monk named Telemachus felt that the Lord wanted him to go to Rome, the capital of the world — the busiest, wealthiest, biggest city in the world. Telemachus was terrified at the thought. But as he prayed, God’s directive became clear.

How bewildered the little monk must have been as he set out on the long journey, on foot, over dusty roads westward, everything he owned on his back. Why was he going?  He didn’t know. What would he find there? He had no idea. But obediently, he went.

Telemachus arrived in Rome during the holiday festival. You may know that the Roman rulers kept the ghettos quiet in those days by providing free bread and special entertainment called circuses. At the time Telemachus arrived the city was bustling with excitement over the recent Roman victory over the Goths. In the midst of this jubilant commotion, the monk looked for clues at to why God had brought him there, for he had no other guidance, not even a superior in a religious order to contact.

Perhaps, he thought, it is not sheer coincidence that I have arrived at this festival time. Perhaps God has some special role for me to play.

So Telemachus let the crowds guide him, and the stream of humanity soon led him into the Coliseum where the gladiator contests were to be staged. He could hear the cries of the animals in their cages beneath the floor of the great arena and the clamor of the contestants preparing to do battle.

The gladiators marched into the arena, saluted the emperor, and shouted, “We who are about to die salute thee.” Telemachus shuddered. He had never heard of gladiator games before, but had a premonition of awful violence.

The crowd had come to cheer men who, for no reason other than amusement, would murder each other. Human lives were offered for entertainment. As the monk realized what was going to happen, he realized he could not sit still and watch such savagery. Neither could he leave and forget. He jumped to the top of the perimeter wall and cried, “In the name of Christ, forbear!”

The fighting began, of course. No one paid the slightest heed to the puny voice. So Telemachus pattered down the stone steps and leapt onto the sandy floor of the arena. He made a comic figure — a scrawny man in a monk’s habit dashing back and forth between muscular, armed athletes. One gladiator sent him sprawling with a blow from his shield directing him back to his seat. It was a rough gesture, though almost a kind one. The crowd roared.

But Telemachus refused to stop. He rushed into the way of those trying to fight, shouting again, “In the name of Christ, forbear!” The crowd began to laugh and cheer him on, perhaps thinking him part of the entertainment.

The his movement blocked the vision of one of the contestants; the gladiator saw a blow coming just in time. Furious now, the crowd began to cry for the interloper’s blood.

“Run him through!” they screamed.

The gladiator he had blocked raise his sword and with a flash of steel struck Telemachus, slashing down across his chest and into his stomach. The little monk gasped once more, “In the name of Christ, forbear.”

Then a strange thing occurred. As the gladiators and the crowd focused on the still form on the suddenly crimson sand, the arena grew deathly quiet. In the silence, someone on top tier got up and walked out. Another followed. All over the arena, spectators began to leave, until the huge stadium was emptied.

There were other forces at work, of course, but that innocent figure lying in the pool of blood crystallized the opposition, and that the last gladiatorial contest in the Roman Coliseum. Never again did men kill each other for the crowd’s entertainment in the Roman arena.

The difference of one.

 

Peace.

What a nice word.

There are some words in the English that are great words. Peace is one of them.

Who doesn’t want peace? Who doesn’t love peace?

When most of think of peace, we think of peace as the state of being in perfect harmony, free from distractions and strife. A state of tranquility and delight.

Those moments are nice. But that’s not the peace the Bible speaks of.

• Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27).
• The Apostle Paul says, “And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7)/

The peace that the Bible speaks of is not the absence of trouble, hardship, trials, and strife. The peace that God promises us is a peace that transcends all human experience so that even in the midst of strife and hardship, we can have and know peace.

One of the most beloved Psalms is Psalm 23. In it we picture peace. But remember where that peace is located.

• “The Lord is my shepherd, I lack nothing. He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters…Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for Thou art with me. Thy rod and staff they comfort me”

The valleys of the shadow of death. I don’t know about you, but that sounds pretty scary and miserable to me.

The point is that even in darkness, in hardship, in death, and in the valley of the shadow of death, God is there. God is there to lead, to guide, to protect, and to usher his children into his presence.

Peace.

What a beautiful word.