BY MARTHA SNELL NICHOLSON
■ ho was this who was born on that far off Christmas Day? What manner of child manger? Did anyone know? Yes, Mary knew. Scarely more than a child though she was, her soul was exalted beyond our imagining as she listened to the announce ment of the angel, “ That holy thing which shall be bora of thee shall be called the Son of God” (Luke 1:35). The suffering heart of Joseph came in time to know. The wise men knew, drawn from the far comers of the earth as by a magnet. The angels knew. Even the sentient stars knew and one of the number was appointed to hang in luminous beauty over the. spot where the young Child lay. But the world, the one most concerned ' . the world, went blindly on its way. But thank God, as you and I not only know, but incredibly - wonder, we have a personal relationship with that Perfect One who left His ivory palaces and the glory which He had with God before the earth was, and walked here awhile in humiliation.
We know that God Himself spoke from Heaven, saying, “ This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” (Matthew 3:17). Son of God, King of Kings, and Lord of Lords! Creator of the universe! Sinbearer, and future Judge. Captain of our salvation. Author and finisher of our faith. The resurrection and life! No room for Him at the inn! Could any inn contain the Lord of Glory? Yet this same sinless, incomparable one suf- fered indescribable tortures for love of you and me! For long dreadful hours He hung upon the cross, bearing the guilt and shaine of our sins. He conquered death and hell for us. He w ill walk the earth with us. He has given Heaven to us. It is too much. I cannot grasp such amazing depths of love. I can only remove the shoes from off my feet and bow in silent adoration at the door of that little stable in Bethlehem! “ For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16).
was this whose first bed was a rude, dusty
Christmas Meditation
Suppose that Christ had not been bom That far-away Judean morn. Suppose that God, whose mighty hand Created worlds, had never planned A way for man to be redeemed. Suppose the Wise Men only dreamed That guiding star whose light still glows Down through the centuries. Suppose Christ never walked here in men’s sight, Our blessed Way, and Truth, and Light.
Suppose He counted all the cost, And never cared that we were lost, And never died for you and me, Nor shed His blood on Calvary Upon a shameful cross. Suppose That having died, He never rose, And there was none with power to save Our souls from death beyond the gravel As far as piteous heathen know, These things that I’ve “ supposed”—are so MARTHA SNELL NICHOLSON
Made with FlippingBook Online document