450
December, 1942
THE K I N G ’ S BUS I NE S S
two of the heavenly Father’s spoiled children, who had had so many happy Christmases together with gay gifts piled high aboUt a laden tree, now had not even a holiday card nor seal. We had no music, no celebrations, no decorations save a scrawny little tree taken on board for the purpose at Borneo, for we were at war and at sea and only the Captain knew our where abouts on Christmas Eve. A Gift from the Lord Suddenly, without warning, ‘ God sent a gift of Light. Deck lights, hall lights, cabin lights! We were blinded by them. We were overcome by them. We went to our cabin and knelt to thank God for them. Suddenly the significance of these floodlights was borne upon us. We were in the terri torial waters of the United States, and it was the anniversary of the coming of the Light of the World. I’ve never had a Christmas like it, and I fear I’ll never have one again, for all other Christmases are too crowded with wrapping packages that contain gifts to be touched and tasted and eaten and worn, gifts that break and becorrie dust-laden, that moths •eat and that thieves break through and steal. I know now what I want each Christmas— light. I want my soul to expand each of the 365 days of the
succeeding year so I can write on the next Christmas list— "more light"-»- and have capacity for its spiritual ap propriation, until my face will shine as did Moses’ with the Glory of the Son of Righteousness and those I meet, even strangers on the street, will take knowledge of me that I have been with Jesus. I now understand what it means for those who have long lived in a spirit ual blackout to come suddenly into the presence of the. Light of the World. The pillar of fire points the way after weary years of groping in the dark. The burning bush cannot be extinguished. One must take the shoes from his feet, fall upon the earth, and cover his face, for the place is Holy Ground. I have lived for-ten years among a people who have felt the Egyptian darkness of heathenism and ignorance and superstition. Estimated millions of them have died from the poison cup, by ravages of sleeping sickness, from tribal wars and slave raids. About ten million of them are still left in the Belgian Congo for us to win for Christ. Only a comparatively few of these have come into the full light of the gospel, but when they have, how much it means! It is as if bandages were removed from their eyes after a successful cataract opera tion and they see, not men as trees walking, but face to face with the Master. A Remembered Christmas It was another Christmas Eve. We had driven almost four hundred miles #•
that day hoping to reach our station in time to participate 'in the singing of carols at dawn on Christmas morn ing. At dusk just before we crossed the last river, a sudden tropical storm beat down upon us, deluging the ma chine and obscuring the road. We sat .huddled in the car with no food or shelter. As lightning vividly illumi nated the swaying, dripping, palm trees overhead and the watery path which lay in front, we decided to turn back to the nearest white settlement. Our Ford wouldn’t start. We had begun our day with prayer for journeying mercies. It was now time for a second prayer meeting. Then we held our breath while one more attempt was made to start the engine. Never be disgruntled over the noise an old Ford makes when it starts. The noise that ours made on this occasion was music to our ears. Arriving unexpectedly at a nearly de serted inn at so late an hour on such a night, we were graciously given the only shelter they had— a straw bed. As we lay weary and hungry at this wayside inn in a far country, our minds reviewed another inn and an other such bed at such a time, and the real meaning of Christmas dawned upon us as neve^before. Suddenly we heard music, voices singing as only the Africans can sing, “Glory to God in the Highest.” Was it a beautiful illusion or a dream as we slipped into sleep? We strained our ears to listen. It was just three o’clock and still dark and cold from the rain. Nearer, deeper, richer wire the voices now singing “Silent Night, Holy Night” in their beautiful native tongue. It was a group of joyful African Christians awakening the dawn with their Christmas music. No missionary was there to lead them. It was a spon taneous expression of their gratitude to God for the birth of His Son. In their little church shed made of mud and sticks with a thatched roof, there was no Christmas tree with lighted tapers, there were no gifts in tinseled paper, no Christmas goodies. They had received from His hands His gift of tight, and the warmth of that Light had dispelled the cold, and the brightness of that Light had chased away the night shadows, and the Power of that Light had given them strength to sing in the rain. In Time We found her on Christmas after noon. Our day had been filled with the joy of service, the worship of God, the sacredness of -the family circle, [Continued on Page 479]
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