"Do you believe in me or not?" (Jacob Marley in "A Christmas Carol" by Charles Dickens) - December 20, 2022
Spiritual Thought
One of the most impactful non-scriptural Christmas stories is A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens. Each year thousands relive this timeless story and recommit to honor Christmas, to honor Christ, more devotedly throughout the new year. Many place themselves in the position of Ebenezer Scrooge and realize the places in which they are falling short of the standard expected of disciples of the Savior. In their own way they repeat Scrooge's promise to allow the spirit of Christmas to live in their hearts throughout the year.
At the beginning of this story Scrooge's deceased business partner, Jacob Marley, appears to Scrooge and tells him of the three spirits which will visit him over the course of that night. After speaking with Scrooge for a time Marley questions "You do not believe in me, do you?". Scrooge's response is that he does not and he claims Marley could merely be an hallucination caused by a "bit of bad beef or an undercooked potato." At this Marley leaps to his feet and shouts in frustration "Man of the worldly mind! Do you believe in me or not?"
During this Christmas season that question has lingered in my mind. I have imagined our Savior saying to me exactly what Marley said to Scrooge: "Man of the worldly mind! Do you believe in me or not?" Christmas is an incredible and sacred opportunity each year when we are immersed in and surrounded by symbols large and small which will help us edify and sustain our witness of the Savior for the coming year. If we will allow them to, that is. Too many of us will quickly forget what we have felt once the tree is removed and the Christ-centered music is again drowned out by the music of the world. Even more tragically, too many of us could not or would not see Christ as the meaning behind it all over this past month. Christmas could be viewed as a lifeline thrown each year to those drifting out to sea as they drown in the tide of worldliness quickly engulfing them or beleaguered by the weight of the burden inherent to living as imperfect people in a fallen world. One way or the other that description should include all of us. Too many, however, see the buoy in front of them for these four short weeks but refuse to grasp it as they are preoccupied speculating on what exciting new beach toys will be waiting for them on shore. Or worrying over whether the rescue boat will have a plate of perfectly arranged and decorated sugar cookies shaped like snowmen waiting for them when they are pulled aboard. Or, perhaps worst of all, they never even notice the buoy as they float on their backs, blissfully enjoying the sun on their face as they drift towards a whirlpool of spiritual ruin. To portray this as the ghost of Christmas present did to Scrooge, year after year too many allow greed and want to seep into a profoundly sacred but fleeting season, "and together [those two] spell 'doom.'" As we near the end of another Christmas season I imagine the Savior urgently looking at those who stubbornly refused to allow his birth to change and heal them and exclaiming "Do you believe in me or not?"
At the conclusion of A Christmas Carol the third and final spirit shows Scrooge the scenes of his own death. As Scrooge sees nothing but indifference or even outright relief by others in response to his passing he refuses to believe the deceased man is himself. He protests repeatedly that it must be some other person. When he sees some of London's least respectable persons bartering over his possessions he reasons that they must have found close replicas, this man must have had personal effects bearing an uncanny similarity to Scrooge's belongings but surely they could not be his things. Finally this ghost of Christmas yet to come takes Scrooge to a graveyard and motions for him to clear the snow covering the name on one of the headstones. Sensing what he will find waiting for him beneath the snow Scrooge asks if what he has been shown "are the shadows of things which will be or of those things which might be if they remain unchanged by the future?" No response is given. Finally Scrooge kneels down, wipes the snow from the top of the headstone with a trembling hand and finds the name "Ebenezer Scrooge" looking ominously back at him. At this Scrooge breaks down in emotion and pleads "tell me that I may sponge away the writing on this stone."
Family and friends, brothers and sisters, that "spong[ing] away" is precisely why we celebrate Christmas. To Ebenezer Scrooge, to you, to me and to each and every man, woman and child, from Adam to the end of the world the infant lying in a manger answers "Yes. Through me, through your faith in my sacrifice, you may sponge away the writing on that stone and the stain of all other transgressions or injustices." Perhaps he would gently remind us he was born for the ultimate reason of making such a blessing possible. The truth is that we do not now nor will we ever deserve the baby in our nativities. We will never merit his gift. We will never be able to recompense his death. We will never deserve Christmas. To adapt another sober warning given to Scrooge, we truly are "Less fit to live than millions like this poor man's child." Yet, the miracle of Christmas which far surpasses any star in the heavens or night without darkness is that the life, the sacrifice and the baby were still given in love by a Father in heaven and his Son who loved both his Father and us.
I express my immense gratitude for Christmas. Not for the gatherings, gifts or festivities, as pleasant as those may be. No, I am grateful and give my witness of the gift, the one who promised to "gather [us] as a hen gathereth her chickens" long before Christmas parties or feasts were thought of. Scrooge's nephew had it right when he said "I have always thought of Christmas time, when it has come round…as a good time; a kind, forgiving, charitable, pleasant time; the only time I know of, in the long calendar of the year, when men and women seem by one consent to open their shut-up hearts freely, and to think of people below them as if they really were fellow-passengers to the grave, and not another race of creatures bound on other journeys. And therefore, uncle, though it has never put a scrap of gold or silver in my pocket, I believe that it has done me good, and will do me good; and I say, God bless it!" And so say I, as I give my witness of a Savior who stands as constantly and unfalteringly as the star marking the path to his cradle.
In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.
Weekly Update
Alright everyone, typically I'd have some sort of semi-wity lead-in for this email or start with the spiritual side of the week first but there's something so shocking bottled up inside of me that all the norms are going the way of the dodo. I told you a few weeks ago about the rat that leapt through the window during a lesson. Well, this week we were in another lesson and I noticed movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned towards it and saw a big, fat, beady-eyed little (huge) rat on a dead sprint straight at me. The rats here (or maybe all rats, I don't know) will run up your pant leg if they get the chance. It hasn't happened to me yet (thanks be to all that's good and holy under heaven) but I've seen it happen to other people and I'll carry the terrible images it's produced with me until I'm six feet under. This little demon creature looked like it was dead set on making my pant leg it's next new frontier to explore and I was not about to let that happen. My left leg shot up so high my knee was at least level with my ear. My right leg started frantically stomping the ground like a jackhammer. The rat was still running towards me when this happened and probably thought it could avoid my foot randomly hitting the ground. I thought it could too. We were both wrong. On the fourth stomp I felt something soft but also kind of hard under my foot. Then again on the fifth. And again on the sixth. At this point I need you to imagine four different sounds we find in nature in order to fully envision my reaction. Firstly, the shriek of horror a seven year old girl makes after she finds the frog her brother hid in her lunchbox. Secondly, the sound of utter disdain which scientists believe can only be produced by a disgusted sophomore girl. Thirdly, the sharp, terrified intake of breath (complete with random flailing of the arms and indecipherable hand motions) all mothers across the globe instinctively make the first time their child turns across oncoming traffic. Finally, the cackle of satisfaction the sixty year old wife of a North Georgian red neck makes after she gives a possum a haircut with her riding lawn mower. Imagine a four-part combination of those sounds and you have a pretty good idea of how I reacted. Notice also that all four sounds are produced by women. Anyone listening at the door could have made many feasible guesses as to who made the strange sound inside. 15 year old cheerleader whose parents just told her she can't date for another year. Anxious 25 year old mother of triplets. The witch of Coatzocoalcos screeching with the other souls in purgatory All would be very reasonable guesses. A 20 year old male who typically spends his days in relatively masculine, testosterone-conducive activities would not have been a reasonable guess, however. What did I find when I built up the courage to move my foot? The rat was still there except it wasn't running anymore. In fact, it won't be doing much of anything ever again after being hit in the head by my adrenaline charged stomping three times. That's right, not only did I step on it three times, I stepped on its head three times! It’s head! Now do you see why I need moral support? Please, please help me to overcome this ordeal in any way you can. I'm begging you!
Let me clear my mind for a minute after reliving that horrific moment in my life…I'm better now. The rest of the week was great! The people in Fianarantsoa are incredible. Multiple people have told me they're the most humble in all of Madagascar and I can believe it. We had the baptism for a 14 year old girl named Elysa on Saturday. It was another great experience! She asked me to baptize her which I am always excited to do. I'm not really sure why everyone asks me to baptize them but it's fine with me. Maybe it's because they feel bad for the big dumb guy who can't even talk to them so they let me feel important by doing their baptism. We have more baptisms coming up on the 31st of this month and 7th of next month, including several priesthood holders which these branches desperately need. The goal is to try and have a district created in Fianarantsoa in the next year or two and we are trying to baptize priesthood holders to make that possible.
I think that about sums up another week. Thanks for tuning in and feel free to send me an email with any advice, criticism, updates or favorite recipes you stole from last night's episode of "Beat Bobby Flay."
I hope you have a great week!
Holding a tiny little crab that was mixed in with a bunch of crayfish someone was selling.
We took a brief detour one day to look around a fish market. This is just one of the coolers filled with fish.
A catfish.
Some sort of fish that I knew the name of in English at one point but now I can only think of the Malagasy one. This is Makomba if that means anything to anyone.
A shark. This is going to be our Christmas dinner.
A mosque.
A turtle someone we are teaching had in their house. People let live animals roam around their house freely until they decide to eat them one day. You let your kids play with them and it's like a two for one combo on food storage and a free babysitter.
I made banana bread…sort of.
I also became a millionaire this week! I'm looking forward to a long and happy life of blissful retirement.
Waiting for the bus we needed to take.
Somebody had a self made bench press in their yard! I tried it out and it was a little unsettling to have two concrete blocks wobbling precariously above my head on flimsy pole as the bench was creaking and groaning like it would give out any second.
Giving directions to the church by drawing in the dirt.
A coffee tree.
With Elysa before her baptism.
Weird mutant banana with two fused together.
I finally made it into my dream school! All the hard work paid off and I'm a student at the University of Fianarantsoa ready to be the new big shot on campus!
Comments
Post a Comment