Did not the same One form us both within our mothers?
Job 31:13-15
We hold these truths to be self-evident
that all men are created equal…
Thomas Jefferson, The Declaration of Independence
Before I make any connection between this astonishing scripture in Job and the immortal words of Thomas Jefferson, let us consider its context.
Context is vital whenever you cherry-pick one verse out of the Bible, but especially so when that verse comes from the Book of Job. The Book of Job is, like all scripture, God-breathed and God-inspired. But within this inspired writ, you will find many verses, in fact sometimes entire chapters, that consist of nothing more than flawed human wisdom. Job’s friends—and with friends like these, who needs enemies—go on and on AND ON FOR CHAPTERS, basically reiterating their entire premise: “Bad things happen to Bad people who do Bad things. Bad things have happened to you, Job. Therefore, you are a Bad person who has done Bad things.” Even when Job speaks, you need to be careful. Many times he speaks with great honesty and faith, but sometimes bitterness and self-pity and anger with God seep into his words.
Ye have heard of the patience of Job…
But when you get to Chapter 31, the last time that Job fills an entire chapter with his own words, I believe we are reading genuine honesty and integrity. Weary from hearing the harangues of his supposed buddies, he simply lays out what he knows to be righteous actions as opposed to unrighteous actions, and how he has carried out his life accordingly. At first glance you may think he is bragging or justifying himself. But I don’t think so. How would bragging about himself ameliorate for one second his wretched condition? And as for justifying himself, he admits his flaws in the midst of the list of these good and bad actions, including in the chief passage that I quoted above. Why else would he mention his servants’ grievances, if they never had occasion to voice them? No, I think he is just sincerely and honestly telling the truth about himself. But here is where the real hidden gem of this passage comes to light.
No one knows when the Book of Job was written, but we can see for ourselves that there is no mention of Israel, or the Law of Moses, included in this epic poem. And we also learn right from the start that Job lived in the land of Uz. Uz wuz (sorry, my blog, my cheezy spelling) a son of Aram. So Job was an Aramean. A Gentile. For reference, Naaman the leper was an Aramean. The guys who were trying to stop Elisha from using his prophetic gift to provide military intelligence against them were Arameans. And why does this matter? Because Job 31 provides a window to us, showing us what a Gentile, without the Law, knew “by nature” what was right and wrong in God’s eyes.
Indeed, when Gentiles, who do not have the law, do by nature things required by the law, they are a law for themselves, even though they do not have the law. They show that the requirements of the law are written on their hearts, their consciences also bearing witness, and their thoughts sometimes accusing them and at other times even defending them. Romans 2:14-15
…the separate and equal station to which the Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God entitle them…
Thomas Jefferson, The Declaration of Independence
The entire 31st chapter is illuminating for this purpose, but let us now focus on what Job says in verses 13 to 15 about treating all people fairly because all people are created by God–”created equal.” These three verses show us what God had written on the hearts of man concerning the equality of man under God. And women, too. Job doesn’t forget to mention the ladies, even if Thomas Jefferson does. It was always there, and it was always in God’s heart.
So now Thomas Jefferson takes the stage. Do I think Thomas Jefferson got his ideas from the Book of Job? Probably not. But I think he got his ideas from the same source that Job did. I think Thomas Jefferson was writing as a prophet. What, a Deist prophet? Hey, why not? If God could use a donkey, He could use a Deist. Remember, even Balaam himself spoke God’s truth. Even Caiaphas did. And “was not [wicked King] Saul also among the prophets?”
What I’m getting at is this: God used a flawed man, Thomas Jefferson, who wrote about liberty and equality, yet had slaves—many slaves—and kids from slaves—who themselves became his slaves–to pinpoint a truth that had been ignored by mankind for millennia. All men are created EQUAL. And even if you are in a place of authority over me, or if I am in a place of authority over you, we better remember the One who fashioned us both. For He is no respecter of persons.
Maybe T.J. didn’t have a clue about what his words ultimately meant, but what prophet does? Do you think Isaiah knew what it fully meant when he wrote “a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Emmanuel”? Jefferson’s prophetic words laid the foundation upon which this country would be built, and the truths that he penned would eventually be applied as God intended them: to everybody. Man. Woman. White. Black. Native American. Immigrant American. Because did not He who made me in the womb make them? Did not the same One form us both within our mothers?
So this year, our 250th, when the firecrackers start to crack, and the wienies start to roast, take a moment to look up to heaven and thank God for a nation that finally began to line up with what He had written on the hearts of man countless centuries before. Began to, I say. It’s been a really long haul, and we still have miles to go before we sleep. But it was Freedom, and Liberty, and Equality that were brought to birth on that 4th of July, 1776.
A scene from the Longfellow movie ‘I Heard the Bells’, which I heartily recommend, despite what I may say here
Last year at Christmastime I was listening to some very inspirational–the religious word is “anointed”–Christmas music, while I was folding the clothes, if you must know. One song that caught my attention (even though I can’t remember now which song it was) was celebrating the peace that Jesus brings—peace of mind, peace of heart, peace in our inner life, where it matters the most. Then I was reminded suddenly of some Christmas-related songs that also talked about peace, but in a far different way, in a negative way. And I realized that those songs don’t really get it. They missed the point of Peace On Earth.
If you’ve ever lived in Pittsburgh and listened to WDVE around Christmastime, I GUARANTEE you have heard this song, maybe a hundred times: “I Believe in Father Christmas” by Greg Lake of Emerson, Lake, and Palmer, and before that, King Crimson. And of course, people all over the world have heard it. But have you ever really listened to what he is saying? Here are some of the lyrics:
They said there’ll be snow at Christmas They said there’ll be peace on earth But instead it just kept on raining A veil of tears for the virgin birth…
They sold me a dream of Christmas They sold me a silent night And they told me a fairy story ‘Til I believed in the Israelite…
They said there’d be snow at Christmas They said there’ll be peace on earth Hallelujah, Noel, be it heaven or hell The Christmas we get, we deserve
So what he’s basically saying is, you promised snow on Christmas, there wasn’t; you promised peace on earth, there isn’t; so the whole thing is just a big fairy story. Happy thought indeed. Can you just feel the love.
Greg Lake, who believes in Father Christmas, but not much else
Another song I thought of–and it’s a lot more obscure; if you never heard it before, you’re not missing anything–was a song actually called “Peace On Earth” by U2, with words like this:
Heaven on Earth, we need it now I’m sick of all of this hanging around Sick of sorrow, sick of the pain Sick of hearing again and again That there’s gonna be Peace on Earth
Jesus can you take the time To throw a drowning man a line Peace on Earth To tell the ones who hear no sound Whose sons are living in the ground Peace on Earth Jesus in the song you wrote The words are sticking in my throat Peace on Earth Hear it every Christmas time But hope and history won’t rhyme So what’s it worth? This peace on Earth
In other words, Jesus, you promised peace on earth, but there ain’t any. It must be Your fault. These two songs remind me of a verse in Proverbs (Chapter 19, verse 3): A person’s own folly leads to their ruin, yet their heart rages against the Lord. Or, as a more modern translation puts it: People ruin their lives by their own foolishness and then are angry at the Lord. Or, as an even MORE modern translation says: Some people ruin themselves by their own stupid actions and then blame the Lord.
Wars are caused by man’s stupid actions—greed, hatred, lust for power, etc. It’s not Jesus’ fault. As we read in James 4:1 What is the source of wars and fights among you? Don’t they come from the cravings that are at war within you?
Bono, you should have known better, dude
But the next song I bring up might surprise you, especially since you can find it in most of our hymnbooks. “I Heard the Bells On Christmas Day” started life as a poem by one of America’s greatest poets EVER, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. And I do love this song, as well as the poem that it comes from (“Christmas Bells”). But I’ve come to the conclusion that Longfellow kinda missed it, too. You’re probably familiar with the lines: And in despair I bowed my head/“There is no peace on earth,” I said;/”For hate is strong/And mocks the song/Of peace on earth/Good will to men!” But unlike the first two songs that I mention here, he comes around to a happy ending: Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:/“God is notdead/Nor doth He sleep/The wrong shall fail/The right prevail/With peace on earth/Good will to men!”
But why do I think that he kinda missed it, much like Greg Lake and U2? Because the Bible never really says “Peace on Earth, good will to men.” In fact, to the contrary, Jesus made these astonishing statements in the Gospel of Matthew: Don’t assume that I came to bring peace on the earth. I did not come to bring peace, but a sword. For I came to turn a man against his father, a daughter against her mother, a daughter-in-law against her mother-in-law; and a man’s enemies will be the members of his household (Chapter 10, verses 34-36). And in Chapter 24, verse 6 He says: You are going to hear of wars and rumors of wars. See that you are not alarmed, because these things must take place, but the end is not yet. What ????
Even Longfellow kinda missed it. Just kinda.
The King James Version, which would have been the version familiar to Longfellow, actually puts it this way in the very familiar Luke 2:13-14: And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God, and saying, Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will TOWARD men (emphasis me).Later translations put it this way: Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom His favor rests. Or: Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace among men with whom He is pleased.
See, the angels WERE referring to a war, but not to any of the wars between men. Otherwise, why would it say “on earth peace, goodwill TOWARD men”? The comma could have just as easily been an “&”: “On earth peace & goodwill toward men.” “Toward” of course means coming from one location or source and heading in the direction of another location, or in this case, recipient. Yes, we’re dealing with a war here, one that started a long, long, LONG time ago. Its shadowy beginnings are alluded to by two Old Testament prophets, Isaiah and Ezekiel:
How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer [“light bearer”], son of the morning! How art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations. For thou hast said in thine heart, I will ascend into heaven, I will exalt my throne above the stars of God…I will ascend above the heights of the clouds; I will be like the most High.Yet thou shalt be brought down to hell, to the sides of the pit. Isaiah 14:12-15
Your heart is proud, and you have said, ‘I am a god;I sit in the seat of gods’… ‘You were the seal of perfection,full of wisdom and perfect in beauty. You were in Eden,the garden of God. Every kind of precious stone adorned you…prepared on the day of your creation. You were anointed as a guardian cherub, for I had ordained you. You were on the holy mountain of God; you walked among the fiery stones. From the day you were created you were blameless in your ways—until wickedness was found in you… So I drove you in disgrace from the mountain of God, and I banished you, O guardian cherub, from among the fiery stones. Your heart grew proud of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom because of your splendor; so I cast you to the earth. Ezekiel 28:2, 12-15, 16b-17a
On one level, both prophecies were initially directed to earthly kings, but in the big picture, there’s a whole lot more going on here. God threw the devil out of heaven, and the devil has been at war with Him ever since. And when Adam and Eve brazenly disobeyed God in the Garden, they unwittingly joined a war. On the wrong side. Mankind was now at enmity with God, and has been ever since. As C.S. Lewis has described in multiple places (Mere Christianity and Out of the Silent Planet, for example), we live in enemy-occupied territory. On a Rebel Planet. And that’s not a good thing. This ain’t Star Wars.
And that’s where the unimaginable Glad Tidings of Great Joy completely blindsided us in the Christmas story. The God who was our enemy (our choice, not His) was reaching down to us, extending peace and good will toward man. Not just giving us His hand, but giving us Himself.
But you may have noticed a potential snag here. The peace and good will is extended to “men on whom His favor rests” and “men with whom He is pleased.” And the most honest among us knows…we don’t merit that. But it has nothing to do with merit. It has everything to do with faith.
Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we havepeace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ…For if, when we were enemies of God, we were reconciled to Him through the death of His Son, how much more, having been reconciled, shall we be saved through His life! Not only that, but we also rejoice in God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have now received reconciliation. Romans 5: 1, 10, 11
And you were dead in your trespasses and sins, in which you used to walk when you conformed to the ways of this world and of the ruler of the power of the air, the spirit who is now at work in the sons of disobedience… you were separate from Christ…But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near through the blood of Christ. For He Himself is our peace… Ephesians 2:1-2, 12a-14a
And that’s what “peace on earth, good will to men” is really all about, Charlie Brown.
Many people rejected Jesus in His day because He didn’t beat the Romans. Many still reject Him as the Messiah today for that same reason. They wanted Him to beat one enemy (Rome), for one people (Israel), at one moment in time (the first century). But instead, He came to beat these enemies: Sin, Death, Hell, and the Devil. For all people. For all time.
My mom, Patricia Ann Blackham, who passed away in August of this year, had it in her blood. Oh, she told me when she thought she first got it. Very early in my life she told me about the time when, as a young girl, she watched a gang of bullies chase a group of African-American kids out of her local public pool in Pittsburgh. She vowed from that time to never mistreat people, any people. All men are created equal. She taught me at a very young age the complete name of The Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Junior, and I used to go around the house repeating it. This was even before he died. And I was 4 when he died.
Patricia Ann “Pat” Treat (1940-2024), my mom.
But what she didn’t realize was that it was in her blood. Her great-great grandmother, Elizabeth Ulery (“Lib”) Treat, was a young woman who defied the prevailing thoughts of her day, including those of her father, by writing newspaper and magazine pieces calling for the abolition of slavery. Alas, no known copies survive. Born Elizabeth Jane Ulery on December 26, 1838 in Hillsborough (now called Scenery Hill), Washington County, in Western Pennsylvania , she was valedictorian of the Women’s Seminary of Waynesburg College of Pennsylvania in 1856. In addition to her Abolitionist free-lance writing (she also touted Temperance), she painted and designed wallpaper.
It’s still a family mystery how she met John Jay Treat of Hannibal, Missouri (yes, the town of Mark Twain), a railroad engineer to whom she would be married in 1860. But that’s how she ended up a Western Pennsylvania abolitionist in the violent hotbed that was Civil War Missouri. Her husband “Jay” worked for the railroad AND was a Union soldier—at the same time.
Elizabeth with her husband John Jay Treat (1834-1907). “Jay” worked for the Hannibal & Saint Joseph Railroad while also serving with the Marion (Missouri) Home Guard Battalion in the Civil War.
On October 11, 1862, the 23-year old “Lib” Treat wrote the following letter to her young twin sisters Arabella and Isabella back home in Pennsylvania:
Dear Ara and Isa:
As Eddie is asleep at last and Jay out on guard tonight, I believe I will write to you. I don’t believe I shall feel so lonely when I am writing to you even if it is at the distance of many hundreds of miles from you. We are all very well at present. Eddie is beginning to look fat and hearty, As soon as he got over the whooping cough, his teeth began to trouble him. So that he had begun to look very poor and bad but now he has got two teeth and he begins to improve in health and appearance too he is a very mischievous boy. He gets into all the mischief possible. He has a little kitten that he thinks a great deal of which is about as full of fun as he is. Jay has been on guard since last night at eight o’clock. He has just now got home. He is not a regular “sojer” and never was but all the Union men in Mo. are expected to act in that capacity when called upon. There are a good many men who have been in the regular army since the war began who have perhaps seen less of actual service and fighting than Jay has. Well little girls this is Sunday evening. Since writing the first page, I have been a great deal scared and very uneasy. The Secesh under Porter made a descent upon Palmyra the county seat of this county distant about twenty miles and about a half hour’s travel from here on the cars. They released all the Secesh prisoners and stole everything of the provision kind they wanted and after shooting one man they heard the train from Hannibal approaching and they left. There was a great excitement here in Hannibal the church bells ringing and whistles blowing the greater part of the forenoon. Only a short time ago the Hannibal companies were called out to go in pursuit of Rebels. They overtook and captured several prisoners and one of them, a lieutenant who had broken his oath was shot. Jay was there when they put him to death of which according to the rules of war he was worthy but I never could enforce such a rule or look upon its being carried out. I am not half such a coward as I used to be. Sometimes I almost wish I were a man for a little while. I would like to show traitors what it is to be a true patriot. I believe I would like to be in a battle, I feel so sometimes at least and yet I believe the “Terrors of War”, the sight of the battle field when all was over, the groans of the wounded and dying would kill me. I never could endure to see anyone suffer physical pain. One of our nearest neighbor women a Hungarian, got a letter a day or two ago informing her of the death of her husband. Poor woman, they said she was almost crazy. And so it appears that I am not entirely forgotten at home, “especially by Katy Pheaster”. This is gratifying intelligence indeed! Poor old Katy! She knows I was her friend and she has gratitude enough to remember me… Oh how I would like to be home with you this lovely Sunday. There is no place here that it is any satisfaction to visit. Jay told me the other day I might go home in the spring and it is likely that I will. I would like very much to see you all But I don’t like to go anywhere unless I know I would be welcome and as pap cannot take even the trouble to write to me, much less to come to see me I think he must care very little whether I come home or not. Under the circumstances, it is very doubtful about my coming. I believe you little girls would be glad to see me and I know nothing in the world would please me more than to see you. I hope I shall see you sometime anyhow. Pap thinks I ought to be careful how I write about abolitionism. Tell pap I am not a man and therefore have not my faith pinned to any political demagogue. I conclude I have a perfect right to my own opinion and as this has always been called a free country I expect to say what I think although I should think differently from everyone else. I think I always have said that slavery was wrong, as every American ought to feel, and that it was a stain and a disgrace to our great free country. And, one would think that since it has brought us into such trouble everyone would denounce it. But no! By many North as well as South it is still a sacred cherished institution. I like to see folks consistent. I like to see a Democrat who believes the whole world should be a great Democracy and feels that every man white, black, yellow, or red are fellow beings and created by God to enjoy the same privileges of Light and Liberty — Well I will stop by saying that my best prayer is that another year may not roll away till we have begun a new strong free life as a nation. That slavery shall be ended and all the traitors be relieved from further trouble with the cares of this world. I Wrote a long letter for the Review not long ago but as I have not got the papers regularly since, I don’t know whether it was in printed or not, but I guess I touched too much on slavery to be printed in the Review. But as I said before I must “say what I think” if I say anything. Write and tell me how many of my letters have been in the Review, I wrote two. I think your dresses were very pretty. I know the reddest one was Isa’s before you told me. Isa likes bright colors. I don’t blame her for I do too though I would rather see little girls wear them. Now little girls, I want you to write me soon again and won’t you please write me longer letters? Why don’t Jacob and Rufus write? I was so pleased with Rufy’s letter I have got it yet and I would not take a good deal for it. Give my love to all especially yourselves and pap and all the rest of my friends at home — if there is such an article there and don’t on any account forget Katy Pheaster! No more at present only take good care of yourselves and write to me often.
Sister
The “Eddie” that she refers to is her first-born son, my great-great grandfather Edwin Chapin Treat (1861-1930), who eventually relocated to Canonsburg in his mother’s Western Pennsylvania and is buried there.
Edwin Chapin Treat (1861-1930), first-born son of Elizabeth and John Jay Treat.
Elizabeth and John Jay Treat (who survived the war) would have eight children, five of whom would make it to adulthood. Sadly, the brave Elizabeth Ulery Treat, my great-great-great grandmother, would die in childbirth along with her eighth child Wilbur on January 1, 1877 in Hannibal, Missouri at the age of 38.
But thanks to her, it’s in my blood, too.
Arabella Crumrine (1850-1943) and Isabella Simon (1850-1930), both nee Ulery, twin sisters of Elizabeth Treat and the recipients of the above letter back when they were twelve years old. Which one is which? Ummm…..
Without question, my favorite cinematic adaptation of A Christmas Carol is the 1984 version with George C. Scott as Scrooge. While remaining very faithful to the book, it adds some relevant dialogue and fleshes out some characters, or introduces some new ones, as all dramatic adaptations do. Everyone knows Bob Cratchit and his son Tiny Tim, but we are introduced to Messrs. Poole and Hacking, the two charitable gentlemen who Scrooge initially rudely rebuffs, but eventually befriends. We also meet a homeless couple, Ben and Meg (to whom I have given the surname of Greer), whose family the invisible Scrooge encounters towards the end of his supernatural jaunt with the Ghost of Christmas Present. In these Added Staves that follow, we suppose what transpired with these characters in the days following Mr. Scrooge’s conversion; because A Christmas Carol is nothing less than a conversion tale.
I dare not presume that the following lines are anything that even approaches the genius of Mr. Dickens, except for the last few, which have been “lifted” from him without apology.
Stave Six
It was a most uncomfortable dinner that Bob Cratchit shared with his employer at the Four Coopers Tavern on that Boxing Day. Understandably so, since Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge had never so much as shared a cup of tea or biscuit with his clerk in all the years that he had him in his employ. But also because of the singular joviality with which Mr. Scrooge recounted the previous day’s revelry that he had enjoyed at his nephew Fred’s home. “The man is indeed human after all,” thought Bob.
Then suddenly Scrooge’s face took on a serious look. I should not say a grave look, for the light in his eyes still remained; but instead of projecting mirth, they now glowed with kindness.
“Bob, what can be done for Tiny Tim? What do the physicians say?”
“We have only been able to take him to the surgeon in our neighbourhood, a man who is, sad to say (and I repent even as I say it of him), given to much wine. He fitted Tim with the crude crutch that you may have seen—I should not say fitted, for he just repossessed it from another poor lad who, well, no longer needed it in this world—and he said that there was nothing else that he could do for my poor boy.”
“Upon my soul, Bob, I will do everything in my power, God helping me, to see that our dear Tiny Tim WILL recover! Upon my soul, I say, my good man!”
More shocked and astonished than ever, Bob Cratchit could only manage a muffled “Thank you, sir. God bless you, sir.”
***
The following day, an observer at that same Four Coopers would have seen three gentlemen in rapt conversation, alternately laughing robustly, and then displaying the same kind of serious countenance that was seen the previous day in Mr. Scrooge; for indeed that gentleman was one of the party on this day as well. The other two gentlemen, Mr. Poole and Mr. Hacking, were regaling Mr. Scrooge with cheerful stories of benevolence, modestly leaving their names out of them, although they were principle players. For that is what they did.
“I say, my new friends,” proclaimed Scrooge, “I never knew such men as you, and such good works as these, still existed in this old town. It brings to mind the story I remember hearing as a child, about ‘unto the least of these.’”
“Indeed, it is Our Lord’s very words that compel us, Sir.”
“Call me Ebenezer, please, for I foresee that we shall be spending much agreeable time together in coming days. Tell me, my good men, have you ever been acquainted with a young family, in the vicinity of Whitechapel I believe it was, a man and wife who go by the Christian names of Ben and Meg? I was made aware of their desperate circumstances on a recent excursion (a trivial tale, not worth the recounting) and I would like to offer them employment in my home. I have gone a long time without the assistance of a useful man of the house, or even a housekeeper. I am not aware of their surname, or a way in which I can contact them.”
“You could very well be referring to Ben and Meg Greer. They have two children–”
“A boy and a girl!”
“–Precisely, a boy and a girl, but they have recently been turned out of their rooms. They are good-hearted people, honest working folk, but I’m not sure that they are used to the type of work that you describe–”
“Oh to be sure, my good friends, I am certain that we could all, as it were, ‘grow’ together, Mr. and Mrs. Greer and I! Learn on the job, you might say! And as for the boy and the girl, they could help out as sort of ‘apprentices’, as long as it does not intrude on their schooling, which I would also intend to provide. Can you tell me where I might find the Greers?”
Upon receiving satisfactory directions as to their potential whereabouts, Scrooge then addressed another matter that was pressing on his heart.
“My clerk has a son, dear Tiny Tim, who is quite feeble, and unable to walk without the use of a crutch, and I would like to do what I can to help the poor lad. Do you know of any physicians who have seen success in curing boys like Tim?”
“Indeed, Ebenezer, we know of just the man, a pioneer in the field, and a friend of ours (and truly one of the best friends of the poor that we know this side of heaven) who has seen much success with cases such as you describe.”
“Then we must see him at once!”
“I fear that he is a long way off, in Scotland. He keeps an office in Edinburgh.”
“Then I will take the boy and his father to Edinburgh by the next available means. Can I be so bold, given the short length of our friendship, as to request that you would initiate a correspondence with this good physician on my behalf, as early as today, if it is indeed possible?”
“Yes, Sir—Ebenezer–we will put pen to ink this very afternoon.”
Stave Seven
Just a few days later, Scrooge, accompanied by his nephew Fred Holywell and their friend Mr. Topper, arrived by carriage in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel.
“Wait here, my good man,” said Scrooge to the driver, “and I will see to it that your time will be well-paid for.”
“If they don’t steal the wheels out from under me first,” the driver muttered under his breath. If Scrooge heard the remark, his continued smile indicated otherwise.
The three men had not long been alighted from the coach before they espied a young girl peddling flowers.
“I say, that may be her!” exclaimed Scrooge. “My dear, that’s a good girl, are you the child of Ben and Meg Greer?”
On hearing the names of her parents, the poor girl dropped her box of flowers, and ran off down the dirty street, before ducking down a side alley and bursting through the front door of a small dissenting chapel.
Upon knocking at the chapel door, the three men were confronted with the stern look of a young parson.
“May I ask what your business might be here, gentlemen?”
“I assure you, my good man,” replied Scrooge, “our business is wholly benevolent in nature. I only wished to inquire of the child for directions to her parents, Mr. and Mrs. Greer, to whom I wish to offer employment.”
After Mr. Holywell explained to the Parson the details of the proposed arrangement, including the living quarters, and the schooling of the children, along with a reference to their association with Mr. Poole and Mr. Hacking, the Parson was satisfied enough to call the child from her place of hiding.
“Mary, there’s a good lass, it’s all right, these men are friends, run and fetch your mother and dad and bring them here straightaway!”
Mr. Topper, who had picked up the scattered flowers from the street, was unsuccessful in conveying them to the young girl before she sped away. But indeed, she would no longer have need of them.
Stave Eight
A fortnight or so later, Mr. Scrooge, Bob Cratchit, and Tiny Tim were aboard the north-bound train headed for Edinburgh. Poor Bob Cratchit could not help himself from spontaneous expressions of apology to his employer for “the extreme imposition, and inconvenience, and monetary cost…” etc., etc., and then switching to ebullient gushings of sincere, heart-felt gratitude. Mr. Scrooge, in order to distract his clerk from lapsing into these constant vocal swings of the pendulum, would gently redirect Bob’s attention to those subjects that mattered to him most. “I want to hear more about that son Peter of yours; he sounds like a fine young man, a promising young man…” or, “tell me about your daughters, they all sound like such charming young ladies, what are their names again?…” As for Tiny Tim, who had never so much as set a foot outside of a one-mile radius from his house in Camden Town, the view of the passing countryside as seen from the train window was, in a word, spellbinding. Hypnotizing. Mesmerizing. There, I have actually used three words.
***
Tiny Tim sat contentedly nibbling the biscuits that Dr. Samuel McKnight had given him in appreciation for his typical “good as gold” behaviour during the thorough examination that had just been completed.
“Gentlemen, I have seen many children with cases like this, and if I may say with all due modesty, I have been quite successful in bringing about remarkable recoveries. This child is suffering from rickets, brought on by his environment, I’m afraid. Along with the medicine that I will provide here today, and prescribe for future necessity, and the foods that will need to be added to the boy’s diet, I must say–” speaking directly to Bob, “that your boy must be relocated away from his current neighbourhood.”
At this, Bob’s countenance fell, but Mr. Scrooge, whose own visage had brightened with each word that the physician had uttered, quickly sought to set his clerk’s mind at ease.
“Come now, my dear Bob, do you forget that your expectations have greatly multiplied in recent weeks? I will see to it personally that a change in housing to a more agreeable location will be well within your means. Perhaps a move to my own neighbourhood, or to my nephew Fred’s neighbourhood. Granted, they are certainly not ‘Pall Mall’, but I’m sure our good doctor would approve of their environs.”
Bob immediately resumed his train-coach behaviour of alternating protestation and gratitude, until Scrooge, with a smile, cut him off.
“We will discuss the particulars on the train ride back to London. In the meantime, will you be so good as to flag us a coach to convey us back to our inn? I have just a few brief matters to discuss with the good doctor, and then I will join you presently. Thank you, Bob.”
After Bob and Tim had left the physician’s office, Scrooge pressed something into Dr. McKnight’s hand
“My dear sir…”
“Call me Ebenezer, please.”
“My dear Ebenezer, this far exceeds the amount that this consultation and medication typically require…”
“I will hear no more of it, my dear Doctor. The hope that you have given us this day…if I had access to Her Majesty’s own strongbox…”
“I must tell you in confidence that without your ministrations, Ebenezer, I fear this child would not have–”
“Lived to see another Christmas; yes I am convinced of that same dread thought.”
“The treatments I have prescribed will indeed have positive effects, but what would certainly set this boy aright would be a month at the seaside, if means would allow for it. A month at the sea, and his father may likely see the child twirling that crutch over his head by the time he is ready to return home.”
“A trip to the sea, to cure the old sailor’s malady…very ironic, eh?”
“It is indeed, my friend.”
***
“As soon as the weather allows for it, you and Tim are to take a month’s holiday in Kent, at the seaside.”
“But sir, with all you’ve already done…and how will you manage…”
“Bob, I already see the need to add another man to assist us in our business endeavours. I am confident that he will learn the job in your absence, and will prove to be a valuable asset upon your return.”
“Dear Mr. Scrooge, how can I ever…”
“Tell me once again about that delightful Belinda, what a joy she must be to you and Mrs. Cratchit…
***
Tiny Tim was indeed employing his crutch in creative ways well before the end of his seaside trip with his father. Although never actually twirling it over his head, he delighted in tossing it into the surf, and watching to see how it would float and then return to him with the tide. On the journey back to London, on more than one occasion, the coach nearly left before Bob and Tim realized that the soon-to-be redundant crutch had been left behind at their most recent stopping-place. The crude implement eventually met a mischievous end in the Cratchits’ new fireplace.
***
Today you may find Mr. Timothy Cratchit, who grew to be the tallest of the Cratchit siblings (who still call him Tiny Tim as a loving good joke), busily-engaged alongside his brother Peter in the supervision of the bustling, and prosperous, offices of Scrooge, Marley, & Cratchit. Tim is married to my dau—I should say, the daughter of Scrooge’s nephew Fred Holywell. Felicity is her name, and felicity is the perfect description that could be given to the atmosphere of their home, which is also populated by four little darlings, the eldest a boy who goes by the name of Ebby.
As for Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge, he became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man as the good old City knew; and it was always said of him that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!
The easy answer, if I wanted to make this a two-sentence blog post, would be “Because God wanted it to happen there.” But since God has left us some further clues and insights into the matter, let’s explore them.
Why Bethlehem? On the surface, for mundane reasons that we all know (only too well) by experience: governmental over-reach and impersonal bureaucratic unreasonableness. A census and a tax are annoying enough, but a tax that has to be paid in your ancestor’s home town? Joseph, pounding nails up in Nazareth, must have been like “Why can’t you just count me RIGHT HERE? Why can’t I just pay it RIGHT HERE? That’s a 90-mile walk to Bethlehem! And my wife is VERY pregnant!” But God wanted it to be Joseph, and He wanted it to be Mary, and He wanted it to be in Bethlehem. The lesson here: being smack-dab right in the dead-center of God’s will doesn’t mean it won’t be inconvenient. This is also a prime example of how God works behind the scenes in the affairs of men to achieve His will and purposes, even though the “powers that be” don’t have a clue about what’s going on, and think that it’s all their own brilliant plans that they’re carrying out. “The heart of the king is like a river in the hand of the Lord; He turns it whichever way He wishes” (Proverbs 21:1).
But why Bethlehem? Because God told Micah that it would be Bethlehem. “But you, Bethlehem Ephrathah, though you are little among the clans of Judah, yet out of you shall come forth to me the one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose goings forth are form of old, from everlasting” (Micah 5:2). Micah lived 300 years after David, so he wasn’t just making a no-brainer historical statement about where David came from. No, everyone knew that Micah was referring to the coming king who would sit on the throne of his father David and would reign forever: the Messiah. And we all know what Herod did when the Bible scholars shared this one verse with him. Even during His ministry, the enemies of Jesus used this verse against Him (John 7:42), thinking that it proved that He couldn’t possibly have been the Messiah. If only they would have made a little honest effort and checked into the facts about where He was born, like, I don’t know, maybe asking Him. We’re only talking about something that occurred 30 years before. As Paul described Christ’s later ministry, it wasn’t “done in a corner.”
But still I ask, why Bethlehem? Well, because it was the City of David; David was born there. But why was David born there? Why Bethlehem? Because Elimelech and Naomi were from Bethlehem. For their story, we need to head back to the Book of Ruth. For those who read the Bible straight through like any other book, the Book of Judges can be very exasperating. There are moments of great victory, followed by longer moments of idiotic behavior leading to inglorious defeat. The theme that courses through the whole Book of Judges is: “every man did what was right in his own eyes.” It’s kind of like reading the National Enquirer; it’s like God wanted to record the most bizarre, ridiculous stories that illustrated how wacked-out we get when we do whatever we think is right in our own eyes. So when we get to the Book of Ruth, we need a breath of fresh air. And that’s exactly what we get. Instead of everyone doing what is right in their own eyes, the Book of Ruth shows us people simply doing what is right; doing what is right in God’s eyes.
Elimelech and Naomi decided to leave Bethlehem during a famine and settle in the land of one of Israel’s distant cousins/enemies: Moab. Their two sons (who don’t last too long in this story) marry two Moabite women, one of whom is named Ruth. All three husbands die, leaving three widows. Naomi decides she might as well return to Bethlehem, and tells her daughters-in-law to stay home in Moab, but Ruth then makes her memorable speech which is often quoted at weddings, way out of context: “Wherever you go, I will go, and wherever you live, I will live; your people will be my people, and your God will be my God” (Ruth 1:16). So Ruth and Naomi return to Bethlehem, where, long story short, Ruth keeps her word and proves to be of more value than seven sons and marries a very good man of integrity named Boaz. So why Bethlehem? Because Ruth and Boaz were from Bethlehem. They were David’s great-grandparents.
This next “why Bethlehem” does not really apply to the question of “why was Jesus born in Bethlehem?”, but “why did Matthew quote a seemingly unrelated prophecy in reference to Bethlehem?” We will now need to recall the saddest, darkest, wickedest part of the Christmas story. I already alluded to what Herod did when he found out that the newborn King had been born in Bethlehem. I don’t need to recount it here. Matthew did that for us. But then he quoted Jeremiah 31, applying it to this horrible story: “Rachel weeping for her children, and refusing to be comforted, because they are no more” (Matthew 2:18). What does Rachel, one of the wives of the patriarch Jacob/Israel of long ago, have to do with Bethlehem? We now turn to the very first mention of the little town of Bethlehem in the Bible: Genesis 35:19. Bethlehem was where Rachel died while giving birth to Benjamin, and that’s where she was buried. Bethlehem was associated with Rachel long before it was associated with David. And since the matriarch Rachel rested there, she was looked upon, symbolically, as the mother of all who were born there. Hence, Rachel weeping for her children.
But let’s not end on this sad note. I still ask, why Bethlehem? Because Bethlehem was just a dirty, fallen town in our dirty, fallen world. It didn’t have a king’s palace. It didn’t have a 5-star hotel. It didn’t have a U.S. News and World Report Top 25 Hospital. But it did have a stable, and it had a manger. And when God came to earth to take on the form of a servant, the manger, and the stable, and the Little Town of Bethlehem, would be good enough for Him. “Bethlehem” in Hebrew literally means “House of Bread.” What more fitting birthplace could there be for the Bread of Life, the Bread of God who came down from Heaven to give life to the world? Why Bethlehem? Because God so loved the world. Happy Christmas.
If this puts you in a musical mood, here are two Bethlehem-related songs for you. One is by the Jewish/Christian group called Lamb, and the other is by yer blogster. And don’t forget to scroll down to one of the first blog posts on here, for a bit of fan-fiction, an “explanation” of why it was entirely appropriate for Father Christmas to show up in Narnia.
My favorite bird has always been the cardinal. It may have begun when my mom gave me a bird sticker book as a little kid, or maybe when I went to my first Pirate game at Forbes Field (against, naturally, the Cardinals). I love that their striking bright red color just stands out everywhere. Everyone can see them, including their potential predators, especially in our bleak mid-winter, since they don’t migrate out of the frigid northeast. So to me, cardinals are a prime refutation of Darwinism. Why would a bird “evolve itself” to be so bright-red that it stands out in the heavy foliage of summer, not to mention in the stark black and white of winter? And then stay up north? No Charles, cardinals are a wonder of God’s creation. For this species, the females aren’t the pretty ones (sorry girls); God gave them plain, drab colors to help the momma birds stay safe in the trees with their babies; that’s why we still have cardinals. But the guys, why, they just keep brightening up the atmosphere. No leaves? No problem. Snowy white background? No problem. All Thy works shall praise Thy name.
And then there’s Peter Cottontail. I was going for a walk the other day when I almost tripped over a bunny because the little goofball was so concealed. And then he turned tail (pun intended) and skedaddled and showed me his highly-visible white ball of cotton bouncing away, and again I thought: another refutation of Chucky D. The big ears for hearing: check. The speedy legs for running away: check. Coloration that blends in with the surroundings: check. But what’s with that tail? Why would “natural selection” leave that thing on there? So their predators could make sure that we don’t have too many rabbits? A species that “evolves” a feature that keeps its own population down, that makes itself less likely to survive? Sorry Charlie.
Three hundred zillion years of chance and natural selection wouldn’t even produce the ant, let alone you and me. Or the cardinal. Or the cottontail.
A very funny early Saturday Night Live skit has a husband and wife both reaching for the same spray can on their kitchen table. The husband heatedly claims that the can is a dessert topping, but the wife insists that it is a floor wax, until the huckster shows up and assures them that they are BOTH RIGHT. You can listen to it right here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wPO8PqHGWFU
On a much loftier level, folks have been pondering, for millennia, the question of the Free Will of Man in relation to the Sovereignty of God. Whole denominations have sprung up around the question. St. Paul could have answered it in Romans Chapter 9, but he basically told us NOYB. It is not the ambition of this humble blog to tackle this dilemma; for that read, say, Boethius. But when it comes to a question like, “how did our ancestors hook up: by their own free choice (or at the very least their fathers’), or by the sovereignty of God?” I believe, like the Shimmer Dessert Topping/Floor Wax product, the answer is: BOTH.
When I started looking into my family tree, I was struck by the sheer exponential-ness of the whole thing. What I mean is this: we all have two parents, four grandparents, eight great-grandparents, and so on. Once you get down to your 6x great-grandparents (and I’m lucky to know some of their names, and even have read some of their letters), we all have 256 of ’em. That means 128 separate hook-ups had to take place, or else you’re not here. And the farther back you go into your ancestry, whether you know their names or not, there are thousands and thousands of people in the chain of your existence. Take away just one of those names, break just one link of that chain, and you’re not here.
You see what I’m getting at: if just one of your handsome young ancestors had his head turned by a different pretty young lady than your pretty young ancestor, you would not exist. Maybe you have seen pictures, like I have, of one of your parents on a prom date with somebody who was not your mom or dad. What if things would have worked out between those high school sweethearts? Now multiply that possibility by, say, 2 to the 10th power, and you begin to see that it is a miracle that you’re even here; that Someone must have really, really wanted you around. Your existence was a longer shot than my chance of winning the Powerball tomorrow. You were meant to be.
The most poignant scene in the excellent Tom Hanks as Mister Rogers film A Beautiful Day In the Neighborhood has Fred Rogers asking his table-mate at a cafe to join him in a minute of silence while they think about all the people who “loved us into being.” Here it is: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9AzXX_2BrVk. Not a bad exercise to practice.
But forget about what would have happened if our ancestors had never hooked up: what if they had never made it out of infancy, or toddler-hood?
Grace Chetwode Bulkeley was greatly with child in 1635 on a boat sailing from England to Massachusetts. But three days before arriving, she became seriously ill; she fell into a trance/coma, and was presumed to be dead. The only reason that she wasn’t buried at sea (i.e., dumped into the ocean) was that she was a “Lady.” But when they carried her body ashore, low and behold, she showed some signs of life. She eventually recovered, and soon gave birth to a son named Gershom (which means “exile” or “stranger”, because the Bulkeleys had been booted out of England). If Grace wouldn’t have made it, and Gershom wouldn’t have made it, then a whole lot of people, and I mean a WHOLE LOTTA PEOPLE, would never have existed. Including me: Gershom Bulkeley is one of my 2,048 9x great-grandparents.
Now let’s take a trip back across the pond, to County Antrim, Ireland, a couple of centuries later. On New Years Eve, 1860, James and Ann McCaughern and their four children were living with James’ father in a rickety old house, when suddenly, as had been warned, the house collapsed. Only James, his father, and his infant son James Jr survived this tragedy. When James Jr grew up, he too sailed for the New World, eventually settling in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. If there had been no grown-up James McCaughern Jr, there would be no me. He’s one of my 16 great-great grandparents.
This may be James McCaughern Jr (which somehow morphed into “McCarney”) and his wife Lizzie; or maybe not, the family isn’t sure. But if it isn’t, it’s still a cool old couple picture, right?
But I don’t have to go too far back into my family history for this next one: when my dad was born in 1933 at home (like many babies were, even at that time), they thought he was still-born. They laid him off to the side and covered him with a blanket. But one great-aunt kept her eye on him, and noticed that the blanket moved. Another little guy beats the odds. If he hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here. My brother and sister wouldn’t be here. My nieces and nephew wouldn’t be here. My son wouldn’t be here.
Another little guy beats the odds: my dad with his mom, his grandmother, and his great-grandparents (who also could possibly be that young couple shown above, whadaya think?)
And these are just a few stories; to say nothing of my thousands of Polish ancestors that I know next to nothing about. I’m certain that your family tree has many stories just like these. When it comes to weighty matters like Human Destiny, I don’t believe in chance. I believe in the free will and free choice of men and women working in concert, often unknowingly, with the sovereignty of God. My journeys into genealogy have greatly multiplied my awe and wonder at the providence of God. Exponentially. We are all fearfully and wonderfully made. And that I know right well. Psalm 139:14.
Some people have a problem with Father Christmas showing up in Narnia in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. J.R.R. Tolkien hated it. Me? I loved it, and I never had a problem with it, especially once I read The Magician’s Nephew, which is the prequel to all the Narnia stories. So I wrote a short story which explains how Father Christmas (along with some other stuff you may not have thought about) shows up in Narnia. In order to fully understand this story, it is best to have read The Magician’s Nephew and The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis, which I’m sure many of you have. But if you haven’t, I highly recommend them; boy, are you in for a treat, no matter how old you are.
What King Frank and Queen Helen Brought With Them Into Narnia
By Paul Blackham
I, Zebnus, Chief Scribe and Recorder of Histories in Their Majesties’ royal court, and graciously chosen by Aslan to be among the first of my people the Fauns in the young Land of Narnia, in order to record the origins of various and sundry customs that Their Majesties King Frank and Queen Helen have hereby established in Narnia, as well as to preserve ensamples of their most unique manner of speech, now endeavour to inscribe an account of His Majesty’s story in His Majesty’s own words. Insomuch as His Majesty the King has expressed the desire that Their Young Royal Highnesses Prince Robert and Princess Florence and any and all future royal children should learn to speak “the Queen’s English” (as His Majesty describes the speech that Aslan has given to us who serve in the royal court; the origin of His Majesty’s description of our language remains a wonder to us, since Her Majesty Queen Helen herself shares the same exalted speech as the King), yet it has pleased His Majesty to allow me to transcribe this account for the royal record. This narrative, being in His Majesty’s own words, of a truth fails to make a just account of all of the noble qualities, talents, deeds, and wisdom of His Majesty King Frank, for which his subjects love him, and which in his most steadfastly humble and self-forgetting nature, His Majesty, most admirably, fails to mention.
I was raised by my mum and dad in the country, in the county of Sussex, parish of ‘Aywards ‘Eath. Like my dad, from a young’un, I worked on farms, and ‘ventually found I ‘ad a way with ‘osses. I had schooling of a couple of years, where I learned reading and writing and ‘ow to do sums and figures, but mostly, I worked on farms for as far back as I can remember. But old Dad always made sure to bring me to the parish church every Sunday morning (fact, it was ‘e what gave me my little Testament, the same what was in my pocket when I was brought ‘ere, the same what is, to this day, still present in my room ‘ere in the castle). I inherited a fine singing voice of my mum and so as a growing lad I started singing ‘ymns in the church choir.
That’s where I first seen my Nellie, Miss Helen Mason as was christened, Queen Helen as you know ‘er [“Please write ‘Helen’ with an ‘H’ as is proper, and not ‘elen as I says it” His Majesty directed me], at the parish church it was, on Christmas Day no less, sitting with ‘er people the Southwicks (which were not ‘er family, but were the people she were in service with). Mr. Southwick, good man, were always kind to my Nellie, as were the missus, as were the Southwick girls (what used to wear bows on their ‘eads near as straight and tall as they were!). Anyways, I looks out and sees my Nellie (still a young gal then, mind), singing them Christmas ‘ymns, looking up with them shining eyes of ‘ers—‘til she notices me looking at ‘er (couldn’t ‘elp myself, truth be told), then she looks down, and keeps looking down. But day come when she got to liking to look back up at me with those eyes well ‘nough—‘nough that we was married in that same parish church.
Fact is, later on when we came ‘ere, Aslan says to me, ‘e says, “That is one of the reasons that I chose Queen Helen for Narnia, because of the way that she looked down and the way that she looked up.” Said it brought ‘im to mind of another Lady who was very dear to ‘im [“Please start the word ‘Lady’ with a capital letter,” His Majesty instructed me, “the way Aslan said it, it put me to mind like it needs to start with a capital letter. And whenever Aslan talks in this ‘ere tale, please to write it down the way Aslan would say it, not as it sounds when I relate it. And please do write ‘Aslan’ and not ‘Haslan’ as I hoften pr’nounces it.”].
Anyways, Nellie and me was married. But we were finding it ‘creasinly ‘ard to make a living in the country, so we decided to ‘ead up to the big Town of London. And since I knew a thing or two ‘bout ‘osses, we decided, my Nellie and me, to take all the money we ‘ad put by, and buy ol’ Strawberry, before we left, from a good and honest chap of my haquaintance (“son of a warhorse, ‘e is” s’what ‘e told me, and I believe it, to this day–Strawberry as was called then, Fledge as is called now), and also buy me my own ‘ansom, and enter the trade of a cabman. And my Nellie would take in peoples’ washings. Till one day I find me and Strawberry in sich a row as you never seen, and we end up ‘ere (as you ‘course know)—but that tale ‘as already been told by me many a time and been wrote up (as you know, mate, since you wrote it)—aye, we finds ourselves in this new world of Narnia, jist being born before our eyes and ears, and being made King and Queen of it by Aslan ‘imself, which was a bit of a shock to us, and no mistake.
One day, one of the first days of us being King and Queen of Narnia, when Aslan would come ‘round much more hoftener than these days, my Nellie, Queen Helen as was now called (who real soon-like could look in Aslan’s eyes and not look away more than hanyone else, more than myself even—still can) says to Aslan, she says (after ‘er proper curtsey, mind), “Dear Aslan, if you please, Sir, and if it weren’t no trouble, since you been so kind as to make us King and Queen, could you make it like King Arthur’s days? I always loved those stories ever so much, with knights, and ladies, and swords, and lances, and tournaments, and castles, and banners, and feasts, and banquets and things.” You see, the Southwick girls was always reading books and lending ‘em to my Nellie. “Yes, my dear,” says Aslan, “I know what is in your heart, as well as what is in your husband’s heart, for a longing for those days can always be found in the hearts of the true sons and daughters of Britain.”
And so it is to this day, we ‘ave a reg’lar castle and lords and ladies and knights like in olden times, ‘cept there’s much more ‘telligent creatures besides ‘umans ‘ere, as you well know. But being like we’re in “mid-evil” times as my Nellie says they called them (though it don’t seem too evil to me, jist yet), we don’t ‘ave none of the new conweniences that ‘Er Majesty back ‘ome ‘as (I speak at present of the Queen back in our old world, God save ‘er), sich as them new ‘lectric lights, no gaslights neither (‘cept for that lamppost, what grew up of hitself like it were a tree, but you ‘eard tell of that before), no hindoor plumbing, no steamships nor locomotives, not even any guns nor firearms to speak of. Even my wisest ones hain’t been given any of that type of knowledge yet. And me not ‘avin’ much eddycation, I can’t figure out ‘ow they all work anyways so as to explain any of it to ‘em, you see.
Aslan gave to some of my people (I call ‘em all “people”, no matter what creature they be—hactually, I should say Aslan’s people, not mine—but I’ve grown so fond of all of you, as I don’t mind saying), as I was relating, ‘e gave some of ‘em great ability to build things (like this ‘ere castle), and some to be smithys (that’d be the dwarfs), some to be wise and write down things and give counsels and sich (like yerself), some are real ‘andy with a bow ‘n arrow, some are hartists and makers o’ moosic, and some of my people can prepare a meal of food like I never even ‘eard tell of in my old country, or even in London—they seems like they was jist born with the knack. I s’pose it’s King Arthur-like food. And to be sure, we like it very much, I won’t deceive you.
But time come when I get a longing for some of the good country food like as Nellie used to cook back in the old ‘ome days. So I tells this to my Nellie (Queen Helen, ‘course), and before long she starts to going down reg’lar-like to the kitchens (we got more ‘n one) and puts on ‘er apron, the very same what she was wearing when she was brought ‘ere (“fergets ‘erself” as was commonly said—the people loves ‘er all the more fer it) and asks if she might, if it weren’t too much trouble, show the cooks ‘ow to prepare some of the meals like we ‘ad in Sussex. And then the cooks go to teaching their folks outside the castle and soon everybody’s famil’r with the Queen’s cooking. And I don’t mind saying it, those are the victuals what are now most preferred in all the land, though we still ‘ave the good and fancy food at banquets and sich.
As I mentioned, I ‘ad my little Testament with me from the very hour I stepped into Narnia, so one day I says to Aslan, I says, “Since I ‘as my Testament, and these people’s grown mighty dear to me, shouldn’t I, you know, let ‘em ‘ave a look in it? Maybe ‘ave these scribes ‘ere copy it down for ‘em all?” And ‘e says to me, “Son, the truths in your Testament hold fast in all worlds and for all times, but the stories in it are for your world. The reason that I called you from your world, was that knowing me there, you may know me better here. Narnia will have its own stories that will unfold over time and will be written down in due course. I am in all worlds, but with different names, and appear in different forms. Even in your own world, on the planets apart from yours, I have a different name, though I will always appear there in the form that you read about in your Testament.”
That being said, there was that time when the forest folk invite me and Nellie to be their guests at one of their night-time celebrations, with singing and dancing and story-telling, and with one of them big bon-fires, and they asks me to tell ‘em agin the story of ‘ow Narnia was first started out, which I does, and then one of the little’uns pipes up (fact, it were a little badger girl), and she asks me to tell ‘em ‘ow my world first come to be. So I looks over at Aslan (who was given an invite too, though ‘e don’t exactly need an invite anywheres, but ‘e seems to ‘preciate it all the same), and ‘e give me a little nod, ‘e does, so I makes free to proceed to telling ‘em (best I could from mem’ry, mind, cause I only ‘ad my Testament, and that story’s from t’Other Testament), I tells ‘em ‘bout the Creation of the World, in six days no less, and the Garden o’ Eden, and the first man and woman being Adam and Eve as was called. But when I started to tell ‘em the part ‘bout—well, never you mind—Aslan says to me, “That will do, Son of Adam.”
‘Course, everyone ‘eard what ‘e said, and it put ‘em to mind what ‘e had called us a time or two before, with my Nellie being called “Daughter of Eve” (fact, ‘e called the little boy and girl what was with us at the start of Narnia the same things, as well as that onpleasant old chap, but they since left—we do miss the two young’uns—can’t say as we miss t’other one) but now it was like they was putting two n’ two together and coming to an understanding of what the meaning of the phrase were. And so they started adding to the long list of names they give me (seems like it takes ‘bout ten minutes to recite the whole string of names we got), they tack on at the end “Son of Adam,” and to Nellie they adds at the end, “Daughter of Eve.” Now, I’m not sure if some of ‘em thought that our world was pract’ly as young as this ‘ere world of Narnia, and my hactual old dad was Adam, and Nellie’s hactual mum was Eve, but that’s what they took to calling us, on formal ‘casions. And when our boy Bob was born, they calls ‘im “His Royal Highness Prince Robert, (sich ‘n sich ‘n sich ‘n sich), Son of Adam,” and then they takes to calling our little Floy “Her Royal Highness Princess Florence” (which were Nellie’s mum’s name also, in point o’ fact), “(sich ‘n sich ‘n sich ‘n sich), Daughter of Eve.”
It was some months into our time ‘ere in Narnia as King and Queen, and we ‘aving nothing but the loveliest of spring-like weather (no scorching ‘eat like in summer, no cold blasts of wind like as autumn, no ‘int whatever of winter snow), that me and my Nellie one day was walking with Aslan in the fields, and my Nellie stops, and give ‘im that curtsey of ‘ers, and then looks up at Aslan with those eyes of ‘ers, and says, “Dear Aslan, Sir?” “What is it, my child?” ‘e asks. “Well, if you please, Sir,” she says, “we’ve been ‘aving sich lovely spring-like weather for ever so long, and I think it’s ever so nice, ‘deed I do. But shall we never have winter—what I really mean to ask is—could we not have Christmas?” And ‘e says to ‘er, “Remember, daughter, Christmas is one of the stories that is for your world.” But Nellie, in that shy way of ‘ers, yet at the same time bold as (well, not a lion, but close—she always could ‘old ‘is eyes) says to ‘im, “Dear Aslan, must it be always Spring and never Christmas?” And ‘e smiles at ‘er (in ‘is own way—I took it as a smile) and says, “My dear, you have conquered me. For I know that it was through Christmas that you first began to love me. Each year you shall have autumn, then a touch of winter, and you, and the whole land of Narnia, shall keep Christmas in whatever way you wish.” “Like back ‘ome, in England?” she says, “With food and sweets and presents and decorations and songs and things? Even just like in Mr. Dickens’ stories? And with Father Christmas? Even if ‘e is jist a tale.” And Aslan, ‘e says to ‘er, “Yes, even as Mr. Dickens tells it. But Father Christmas is more than a tale. You shall meet him yourself. For he manages to find his way into nearly any world that he pleases, though unlike me, he retains the same name and form.”
So, for these past several years now, whenever the air starts to getting a bit cold, and the snow starts to flying a little, the people ever’where starts getting hexcited and cheerful-like, for they know the feast of Christmas is coming. Even though no one but Nellie and me knows what it stands for, or even where the name comes from. And so we ‘ave the grandest Christmases you ever ‘eard tell of. And that Father Christmas is the jolliest bloke you’d ever want to meet.
In Their Most Beloved Majesties’ Royal Service,
Zebnus,
Chief Scribe and Recorder of Histories, Narnia
(Illustration from The Magician’s Nephew by Pauline Baynes)
One day about twenty years ago, when we were new to our neighborhood, I started to take a walk when I heard the sound of a baby crying through an open window in the duplex across the street. The thought immediately popped into my head: “Only real people live here.” As I continued my walk, I remembered a quote by C.S. Lewis from Letters To Malcolm: Chiefly On Prayer: The prayer preceding all prayers is ‘May it be the real I who speaks. May it be the real Thou that I speak to.’
none of us are noble/none of us are wise in this world’s eyes/there’s no one rich and famous here/no one here whose star is on the rise/we’re only real people/with good and bad and everything between/we’re only earthen vessels/with treasures that are waiting to be seen
may it be the real i who speaks/may it be the real You i’m talking to/for only real people live here
Only Real People Live Here 