Astronomical anomaly sows tumult, mass hysteria

A strange, radiant light has been recently reported to be hovering above Bethlehem’s night sky in Judea, prompting the Babylon-based Mysterious Astronomical, and Geophysical Incidents (MAGI) bureau to dispatch a team of astronomers to investigate the incident.

“It may be a planetary conjunction, a comet, or a nova. No one really knows for sure,” according to MAGI’s press statement circulating in newsrooms yesterday. “Weird events are reportedly happening out there; it may be a Divine sign that the political turmoil in Judea is coming to a head.”

Bethlehem, a nondescript locale 6 miles south of the Judean capital city of Jerusalem, is the scene of a spate of bizarre events which has spurred the Royal House of Herod in Jerusalem to impose stringent security measures in the area. A group of shepherds were reportedly rounded up for rumor-mongering. One of them allegedly confessed that an intergalactic visitor named Angel Gabriel urged them to visit a newly-born baby who is reportedly the true heir to the throne of David.

Similar “angel” tales abound in the area and may have links to the appearance of this strange light. Some locals have attributed it to references of a heavenly vision in the Jewish Scriptures. “It’s the Shekinah Glory, the dwelling presence of God on earth! That’s why it is so bright!” exclaimed an innkeeper who refused to be identified for fear of possible arrest.

Authorities have dismissed these reports as a product of “mass hallucination” and “hyperactive imaginations” brought about by “bouts of melancholia” that often afflicted randy shepherds long accustomed to chasing loose women. “How can they claim that it was an angel? Angels are supposed to have wings, eh? Besides, how could a baby mount a revolt?” asked Herod Antipas, son and likely heir of Herod the Great, in an ambush interview two days ago as he was leaving the Temple’s entrance.

Palace insiders disclose, however, that the king’s orders for vigilance in the town of David betray a growing concern over a perceived political threat. Chief priests and teachers of the law were allegedly executed after linking the purported birth of the Messiah-king in Bethlehem to a prophecy.

In a related development, the Judean health ministry is currently validating reports of unsanitary birthing practices in Bethlehem. Rumors of a young girl’s birth to a baby boy in an animal stable have prompted local health authorities to evaluate child-delivery services and facilities. In recent months, the influx of census registrants and taxpayers has put a strain to the fragile infrastructure in Bethlehem, resulting in overcrowded houses and inns.

Bloggers’ note: We have just presented a likely news story that could have headlined a newspaper at the time of Jesus’ birth, if newspapers were already in existence back then. We find little difference in the worldview described in the gospels and the one we see today: any good news, especially of the miraculous kind, is met with sensationalism at best and skepticism at worst. All too often, we simply find it hard to understand, much less believe, that a Very Important Person was born 2,000 years ago in the most humble of circumstances only to die for inconsequential mortals like you and me. Perhaps we are too caught up with sentimental scenes of shepherds and kings hovering over a new-born baby in a manger. Or maybe too engrossed with our gift lists to bother seeing beyond Santa Claus and puto bumbong. Yet the message remains the same despite the passing of time: the Messiah came to this world to die…so that we may live and be reconciled with God. The Christmas crib leads us all the way to the cross at Calvary. On Christmas day, instead of being swept off by the revelries, why not take the journey back to understanding what Jesus’ coming means to humanity? Take the Bible as your navigator and discover what your Savior has done for you. We invite you to join us in the succeeding pages and find out why we rejoice in Jesus Christ.

AN EVANGEL OF L♥VE

I had first met Toni in an Internet prayer website; later on I learned that due to a previous severe injury to her vertebra there is no medical reason why she should be walking around and actively serving the Lord in counseling ministry, not to mention her loving husband, Peter, as well as raising their four godly children. After ten years she has just finished writing Reclaiming Victory In Jesus Christ, a bible-study book for pastors and anyone who wants to fulfill the Great Commission. Their website is http://reclaimingvictory.org/.

The church they pastor is Rushing Wind Fellowship in Tigard, Oregon.

Here is her true story that she shared with me last Christmas; with her permission, it is my joy to share this with others.

THE HUMMELS
by Toni DePaoli

My father’s parents lived very simply in a small, run-down duplex on the old side of New Rochelle, New York. Come Christmas time, that little apartment became the Mecca of delicious old-world cookies and pastries. Besides the Christmas tree that Grandpa would string with Grandma’s cookies, their only other decoration was the nativity set.

Grandma’s nativity was a limited edition set of fine porcelain made by Hummel. There were three wise men, Mary and Joseph, baby Jesus in his manger, a cow and donkey, a couple of shepherds and an angel. Most of the pieces stood about eight inches high and were painted in muted earth tones. Each Christmas Grandma would make a grand production of displaying the Hummels in her place of honor for all to see…on top of their portable television set.

Grandma would always take the time to walk me up to the nativity and lovingly point out one piece or another. Each visit, I was promised that someday this wonderful nativity set would be passed on to me. I would just sit and stare at them with little-girl wonder year after year. For twenty five years I would watch those pieces with the same awe. My sentiment for them would deepen with each holiday. As I grew and left home, memories of Grandma and Grandpa would always be of big Italian meals, Christmas cookies and the Hummels.

My family had many changes as I grew. My parents divorced and remarried. I moved to Oregon when I married in 1980. Grandpa passed away in 1984. Finally, in 1990 Grandma passed away on the day she finished knitting a baby sweater for my fourth child, my first daughter who would be born a month later.

Soon after, my father called me and asked me for a favor. “You were always promised the Hummels. I know that. But I would like to hang on to them for now. I want to put them out each Christmas just like mom did, but you will get them…I promise.” It truly never occurred to me that the Hummels meant as much to others as they did to me. How could I deny him this tradition?

Understanding his attachment, I voiced a concern. If Dad were to display the Hummels every Christmas, it would establish a tradition with his new family. I pictured them growing as attached to the nativity as he and I were. I couldn’t even imagine giving up this wonderfully tender part of my history with my grandparents; it was all I had left of them.

My dad promised that, no matter what, one day he would see that the Hummels would be in my possession. He had even come up with a plan to mail them. He would put each figure in a small box filled with foam and then put each small box in a huge box and surround it with packing “popcorn”. Each box would be mailed separately. He was certain that this would insure the safe arrival of each valuable piece on the long trip from New York to Oregon.

Five years later, my father, who was rarely sick and even more infrequently went to the doctors, called to tell me that his concerned wife had coerced him to get a checkup because of the flu like symptoms he had experienced for quite some time.

After telling me about his appointment, Dad told me to keep a look-out for a box he had sent. He would often send little gifts for the kids or me. His boxes had a reputation all their own and always brought a laugh. No matter how inexpensive the contents, sometimes he just sent a pencil, Dad would send everything receipt requested, unrealistically insured and packed in enough popcorn to feed a herd of elephants. The popcorn was his own twist because he loved to think of my four little ones gleefully spreading it all over the house…which they did with gusto. It would always give him a big belly laugh when I’d recount how I’d find packing popcorn under someone’s pillow or in their shoes.

Dad called a few days later to tell me that he had advanced liver cancer. He was given a prognosis of six months to live. I was devastated. How could this be? The man was never sick! That night and many others to come I cried myself sick.

A few days after Dad’s call the postman came to the door and handed me a large box. As I took it from him I could hear “clink, clink, and clink!” Whatever was inside was broken. The package wasn’t insured, which was very unusual for my dad, so I figured it wasn’t anything important, just some funny little joke of his.

My children crowded around as I opened the box to see what used to be inside. I had been squatting next to the box as I opened it. When I saw its contents I fell flat back with a thump and just stared openmouthed. To my absolute horror I saw what was left of the Hummels. It was obvious from the first glance that the pieces were shattered.

For whatever reason, Dad had simply wrapped each figure in a paper towel, put them all together in the box, one on top of the other with just a couple handfuls of “popcorn” thrown in for good measure. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

Like a widow piecing through the ravages of an earthquake looking for her loved ones I pulled each piece out of the box. I cried as I lifted Mary with her shattered dress and arm, her head hanging down being held on by the inner material used to support the fine porcelain. As I lifted every paper towel the pieces disintegrated in my hands. The cow was in at least twenty pieces. It sounds silly, I know, but I sat on my floor and cried over that old cow.

My children looked on with wide eyes while I choked back sobs. Joseph, like Mary, had his head broken off and was hanging by a string. My four-year-old daughter thought Joseph looked like our friend and commented sadly, “Look, Mommy. Mike Banke’s head falled off!” It made me laugh and then cry all the harder.

I was sick with grief. All the years of hoping and waiting for this wonderful set, and now look at it! It was like losing Grandma all over again and now, if possible, it made my father’s coming death all the more devastating. I couldn’t look any more. I closed the box and set it in my room.

When my husband came home that night he knew something was wrong as soon as he opened the door. My four little heralds ran to meet him with the news. He thought they were just rambling until he looked at my face. I couldn’t even talk to him. I just choke up and turned away. The kids led him to the bedroom and pointed to the box as I numbly followed behind. Peter knew how much the Hummels meant to me. When he looked inside at the shattered contents he got choked up and said, “Oh, Honey. I’m so sorry. Oh, Honey, Honey, look at this. Oh, no! What happened? “

Later that evening, when I could talk without crying, I told my husband that even though the Hummels were destroyed I couldn’t bring myself to throw out the shattered bits. I wanted to keep them in the box for now until I could figure out what to do.

A few days later I spoke with my father. He asked if the Hummels had arrived. I simply told him that they had gotten there, but never told him HOW they arrived. I just thanked him and said I hoped it didn’t cause any problems between him and his wife. He assured me it didn’t and then said, “Well, honey, now you can keep the tradition going and pass them on to your children. Grandma would be so happy.”

I hung up the phone and the tears flowed again. In fact, every time I would look at the box in my closet or tell one of my friends about it, I would get all choked up. The box stayed in my closet, filled with broken pieces, stashed away under important papers and old clothes.

Two years passed and one day my husband arranged for a babysitter for the kids and said he was taking me for a ride with him to Dundee, Oregon, a one-traffic-light town stuck between other little towns. We didn’t know anyone there and the town wasn’t known for any particular place of interest. Why on earth were we going to Dundee? Peter just smiled and led the way.

We pulled up to a simple house and a young woman met us at the door beaming. Peter introduced her as Kelly and she greeted me with familiar warmth, even though I didn’t know her from Adam. I looked confused at Peter and he just smiled. Then Kelly said excitedly, “They’re in the dining room. Go on in.” Peter bowed as if he were the headwaiter of a great restaurant and gestured for me to go ahead.

There on the table was a Hummel nativity identical to mine. I wistfully looked at it and said, “Oh, look! It’s just like Grandma’s.” Peter, who got all choked up, said in a husky voice, “It is Grandma’s.”

My heart skipped and my eyes watered and I whispered, “What do you mean ‘it is Grandmas’?” Peter explained it grieved him to see me all broken up about the Hummels. Because he knew how much they meant to me he had searched and searched to find someone to restore the broken pieces. Kelly’s talent was her ability to repair broken porcelain and glass. She smiled and said it was her therapy.

I could not believe it. This truly was Grandma’s Hummels, those shattered splinters, completely restored.

From a distance, you would never be able to tell there was a break or a crack. I walked slowly toward them as if in a dream. I absolutely could not believe what I was seeing. Upon very close examination I could only see a slight line around some of the necks, otherwise the paint was the same and each figure was whole.

I didn’t want to touch them in case they would shatter. Kelly assured me they were as good as new and safe to handle. She went on to tell us the painstaking process she had gone through. Her greatest triumph was when she had one little piece to find, a pinky finger, which was stuck inside one of the pieces of popcorn. She explained that the only true difference was that the pieces, which before were possibly worth thousands, now had no value.

Grandma’s set. I almost couldn’t breathe as I looked through tear-filled eyes. There it was. Grandma’s Hummels. Kelly charged us less than $80 for the priceless gift my husband had just given to me.

Through the years, God has woven a story in my heart created by the Hummels. Only one of the twelve pieces wasn’t broken; the baby Jesus. God is always there, whole, when everything else seems to be falling apart. When my life seems shattered, totally in splinters and looks beyond repair, He is the one who can put all of the pieces together to make something even more precious than it was before.

Each Christmas, just like my father and his parents before him, we lovingly set out the Nativity set in a special place. Each year I turn the cow upside down. Underneath you can see the many cracks where the pieces were fit together. Those cracks bring a flow of liquid love to my eyes for a husband who shared my grief and brought such joy, for the love of generations that were and the generations to come that will love the Hummels.

-The End-

We Need a Little Christmas from the movie Auntie Mame
Sung by The Lettermen
Courtesy of YouTube

“The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me,
Because the LORD has anointed Me
To preach good tidings to the poor;
He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
To proclaim liberty to the captives,
And the opening of the prison to those who are bound;
To proclaim the acceptable year of the LORD…”
- Isaiah 61:1-2

My Search for the Messiah

I searched for the Messiah in churches and cathedrals with their stained-glass windows, high-ceiling domes and jutting spires as though reaching out to heavens in supplication…

But I realized that the Messiah could not be confined on cold marble, pale ceramic, twisted metal, and other handiworks of men because the earth is God’s footstool.

I searched in vain for the Messiah on the pollution-smeared skies above, the denuded mountaintops, the garbage-filled beaches, the sadness mirrored in eyes of animals doomed to die…

But I could only see the shallow traces of His creative powers in the natural world that continues to groan from its bondage of decay.

I searched for the Messiah in other people’s company, hoping that they have innate goodness in their nature that would lead me closer to my quest…

But I found out that humankind is inherently evil and humanity has been mired in sin since Adam’s fall and there is madness in the hearts of men.

I searched for the Messiah in the pleasures of this world and the path that I hoped would lead me to success, glory, and fulfillment in life…

But I realized that the search for worldly pleasures and wisdom was just the “vanity of all vanities”; that there’s nothing new under the sun; that everything is meaningless; and the same destiny overtakes all: death.

I thought I could find Him by capturing the essence of Christmas festivity which commemorates His advent…

But I got lost amid the swirl of shopping frenzies of the crowd, images of Santa Claus and Frosty the Snowman in a winter wonderland, and the gross materialism that have obscured the significance of His incarnation.

I looked deep inside of me, trying to discover or awaken the so-called miracle in me, as what the New Agers and “feel-good” preachers foist on the unsuspecting crowd…

But I only became too acutely aware of my own sins and shortcomings and the great chasm between me and God.

I searched for the Messiah on the pages of the Scripture without the guidance of the Holy Spirit…

But I could not understand why He has not returned after leaving this planet 2,000 years ago.
I did not find the Messiah.

In fact, He was the one who found me. I was in His heart and mind before the foundation of this world. He has always loved me before the advent of time. “For He chose us in Him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in His sight. In love, He predestined us to be adopted as His sons …” (Ephesians 1: 4-5).

He was thinking of me -an inconsequential sinner, when He left His glorious place in heaven to be born in a lowly manger.

His thoughts were with sinners like me headed for eternal damnation when He endured the pain, the shame, and the humiliation while hanging at the cross.

And all I ever needed was to respond to His love and grace by asking Jesus to enter my life and cleanse me from all unrighteousness.

Now, I know that the Messiah lives in me as He walks with me through the snares and vicissitudes of life. I have finally realized that He has not really left this world but the Holy Spirit continues to live in the hearts of millions of believers as His kingdom advances to the end of this age.