King's Business - 1948-12

If God does not want us reconciled to Him, why did He send Christ? If He does not want tfs reconciled, why did He come? Why did He leave Heaven if he did not want to bring peace to men? He came for this purpose, and we, as His commissioners, beseech men to be reconciled to Him. How sweet it is to be reconciled to God, to be at perfect peace with .Him! You who have been at war with God all your lives, you who have been at war with your neighbors, with your friends, with yourselves, will you not accept His peace now? What could be more acceptable to a man in prison than his liberty? Once in England a man was to be hanged at eight o'clock upon a certain morning. The black flag, in­ dicating that a soul was to be launched into eternity, was waving from the prison where the man was incarcerated. A great many of the ministers in the churches took for their subjects this condemned man’s fate. Everyone'every­ where was talking about the execution, and the whole town was excited. Thousands were praying for him; a great many were weeping, for he had been greatly liked. Petitions for his release had been sent to the Queen, but apparently without effect. The gallows was erected inside the prison; the poor captive could hear the carpenters at work. As they struck blow after blow, they seemed to beat upon his breast, for every nail brought him nearer to his doom. The final hour was approaching. Darkness hung over that prison. How dark it must have been in that cell! The man knew he was to die upon the gallows in the morning. About mid­ night, the prisoner heard the footsteps of the sheriff as he came to his door. He knew the hour had not yet arrived, and he began to tremble. “Is he coming before my time to take me out and execute me?” The door was unlocked, and the sheriff said to the condemned man, “I bring you good news—a pardon from the Queen!” What do you think were the feelings of that man? Who can imagine his joy? My friends, the black flag of death may be waving over you, and hell is rejoicing that you will soon be there, but Christ comes with a pardon today by which your sins are blotted out, by which all your iniquities are taken away, by which you may become a child of God, and be made fit for His kingdom. Is not this good news? If anyone is living under sin, he is condemned, but he can receive a pardon. The Son of Man has come into the world, and you are offered a pardon from Him as a Christmas gift. Will you take it, or will you send back an insulting message to God, saying that you do not want Jesus Christ as the Saviour of sinners, that you do not feel any need of Him, that you have no room for Him? My friends, He has the gift by which every one may be liberated from sin if he will only accept it. Look at that prison in Jerusalem where Barabbas was confined. He had been tried, sentence had been rendered; he was to die the death of the cross. Only the worst prisoners died by the cross. The day was set, the hour was drawing near when he was to meet death and judgment. The poor man trembled at the thought. Strange news reached him. He heard that Christ, the Galilean prophet, was going to be executed with him, and that He was to be put between two thieves. Then a rumor reached him that Pilate was going to liberate either Christ or himself; that he was going to let the people choose between them. If some one had gone and told him this, he would have said, “Why, of course, they will not choose Christ and allow me to be liberated. I have taken men’s lives all my days, while He has given men life; I’ve robbed men of all they have, while He has only given them blessings; I’ve destroyed men’s peace all my life, while He has only given men joy and happiness, and of course they will liberate Him.” It might have been that he had a family living in Jerusalem, and in the morning before his execution his wife and children came to bid him farewell. The farewell between the family of the criminal and himself is one of the saddest things conceivable. Per­ haps at a funeral you have seen a loving mother come up and imprint a last kiss upon the marble brow of her boy, and one member after another of the family come up and take the last look at the loved one. This is very sad, but what is it to the grief of that heart-broken wife who bade Page Eight

d 3 ir tlip lcace J ESUS was born in a stable, a real stable, not the bright airy portico which Christian painters have created for the Son of David, as if ashamed that their God should have lain down in poverty and dirt. And not the modern Christmas Eve “Holy Stable,” either, made of plaster of Paris, with little candy-like statuettes, clean and prettily painted, with a neat, tidy man­ ger, an ecstatic ass, a contrite ox, and angels fluttering their wreaths on the roof—this is not the stable where Jesus was born. A real stable is the house, the prison of the animals who work for man. The poor, old stable of Christ’s old, poor country is only four rough walls, a dirty pavement, a roof of beams and slate. It is dark, reeking. The only clean thing in it is the manger where the owner piles the hay and fodder. Fresh in the clear morning, waving in the wind, sunny, lush, sweet-scented, the spring meadow was mown. The green grass, the long, slim blades were cut down by the scytjie; and with the grass and beautiful flowers in full bloom—white, red, yellow, blue. They withered and dried and took on the one dull color of hay. Oxen dragged back to the barn the dead plunder of May and June. And now the grass has become dry hay and those flowers, still smelling sweet, are there in the manger to feed the slaves of man. This is the real stable where Jesus was born. The filthiest place in the world was the first room of the only pure Man ever born of woman. The Son of Man* who was to be devoured by wild beasts calling themselves men, had as His first cradle the manger where the animals chewed the cud of the miracu­ lous flowers of spring. It was not by chance that Christ was bom in a stable. What is the world but an immense stable where men produce filth and wallow in it? Do they not daily change the most beautiful, the purest, the most divine things into excrement? . . . They say they are “enjoying life.” Upon this earthly pigsty, where no decorations or perfumes can hide' the odor of filth, Jesus appeared one night. farewell to her husband in that dell in the Jerusalem prison, knowing that in a few hours he was to die on the cross. You can see him kiss her for the last time, and bid farewell to each of his children. Poor Barabbas; how he must have been full of sorrow as he looked forward to the death he was to die, and thought of those he was leaving behind. By and by he hears a footfall upon the corridor. Nearer and nearer it comes. “Are they going to take me to execu­ tion now?” he asks himself. The bolts are pulled, the door is swung open, and the officer says, “Barabbas, you are free; go where you please!” I can see that poor, condemned man looking at the officer. “What! What do you tell me— I am free? Do you mean to say that the people have chosen Jesus of Nazareth to be executed instead of me?” “Yes, they have, and you are free.” I can see him leaving that cell; he goes down to his wife and children, and he draws that wife to his bosom. “I’ve got good news for you; I haven’t only got my life prolonged, but I’ve got my liberty. Christ has died in my stead.” That is the Gospel. Christ died for every sinner. That’s the glorious Gospel of substitution. He died, “for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him, and with his stripes we are healed.” Will you say at this Christmas time, “Christ is nothing to me; I see no beauty in Him; I see no reason why I should love Him” ? God gave Him up for you. Not only was He given up for us and born in a manger and lived a life of toil and hardship, but He died an ignominious death. Will you accept. Him today who made your peace for time and eternity? If you do, this will be the most joyful Christmas of your entire life. T H E K I N G ' S B U S I N E S S From LIFE OF CHRIST by Giovanni Papini, translated by Dorothy Canfield Fisher, copyright, 19SS, by Harcourt, Brace and . Company, Inc, Reprinted by permission of the publishers.

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