by Noel Smith
Founding Editor of the Baptist Bible Tribune
A radio address delivered on a clear, cold, brilliant Christmas Eve night. Reprinted from the Baptist Bible Tribune, December 21, 1951
On this calm and beautiful Christmas eve, were it within my power, I know what I should bestow upon each of you. I should give to you an increased capacity to appreciate the infinite worth of those simple things within reach of all of us.
By simple I am not thinking of anything associated with simple-mindedness. By simple I am not thinking of rags and bare floors. By simple I am not thinking of that willful ignorance, stupidity and intellectual laziness so commonly seen posing as faith and humility. No, by simple I have not thought of any of these.
By simple I mean that which by the chastity of its nature would blush at the though of artificial adornment. By simple I mean a pure pearl of great price. By simple I am thinking of the clothing the lily wears. I am thinking of the softness and fragrance of the rose, the delicious loveliness of the violet. I am thinking of the soft light of a beautiful lamp. I am thinking of the lonely brilliance of a star suspended from a clear sky above a frosty world. I am thinking of the warmth and healing of a voice which, like Cordelia’s, is ever soft and gentle and low. I am thinking of a beautiful face swimming above the milling metropolitan crowd on a damp, chill, foggy afternoon. I am thinking of the notes of the nightingale toying with twilight zephyrs. I am thinking of a child’s hand clasping that of its father as the lights are going out. I am thinking of the stooped shoulders of a scholar and the lines in his face. I am thinking of the undertones of sadness in the voices of those who have toiled and labored and fought and suffered. I am thinking of the white head and soft face sitting by the fireside tonight, alone, her thoughts caressing and fondling the scenes of her childhood; I am thinking of the tear stealing into her eye as she seems to hear a familiar voice, seems to see once again the familiar face; and another tear comes, and they begin to flow gently as she reflects on the nights when her children were babies, when she gathered them to her heart and lullabyed them asleep.
It is in this realm that my thought is brooding when I say that on this night, had I the power, I should give to each of you an increased capacity to appreciate the infinite worth of the simple things within reach of all.
Why is it that after more than a thousand and nine hundred years Bethlehem, one of the smallest of the thousands of Judah, falls upon the ear like a strange music! Why is it that after so many tired and weary ages, Bethlehem tonight has a charm for all that is unselfish and noble and good in the human heart! Why is it that after all these bloody centuries Bethlehem tonight is tugging at the heartstrings here in this old and mellow city, in all the towns and cities, far out upon the lonely plains, deep in the forests, upon the great seas — even yonder in the starry skies?
It is because no artificiality is ever associated with that jewel of all the towns of the earth. The thing that happened in Bethlehem, under the clear Judean skies, was as fresh and real and simple as the breath of Sharon’s roses.
I agree with those who say that the circumstances surrounding the birth of the Saviour could not have been more appropriate. I am glad that there was no room in the crowded inn, there in an atmosphere of ribald laughter and careless, flippant talk. I am glad it all happened just as Luke, in the most restrained and beautiful of all restrained and beautiful writing, tells us it happened. Any semblance of artificiality, any semblance of human adornment would have been wholly incongruous to the birth of Him who was sent into this world to lift the poorest and meekest and lowliest to the celestial heights of Him who inhabiteth eternity.
Sorrow, disappointment, loneliness, shame, guilt — all these are simple and real. There is no artificiality about them. No music ever fell upon the ear, so fascinated the mind or so warmed the heart as the music telling of healing and hope and forgiveness and fellowship: that’s the music that came out of Bethlehem on that long ago night; and its blessed notes are still floating over the world and falling upon the ears of the weary sons and daughters of men.
That night when in the Judean skies
The mystic star dispensed its light,
A blind man moved in his sleep
And dreamed that he had sight.That night when shepherds heard the song
Of hosts angelic chairing near,
A deaf man stirred in slumber’s spell
And dreamed that he could hear.That night when in the cattle stall
Slept child and mother cheek by jowl,
A cripple turned his twisted limbs
And dreamed that he was whole!That night when o’er the newborn babe
The tender Mary rose to lean,
A loathsome leper smiled in sleep
And dreamed that he was clean!That night when to the mother’s breast
The little King was held secure,
A harlot slept in happy sleep —
And dreamed that she was pure!That night when in the manger lay
The Sanctified who came to save
A man moved in the sleep of death
And dreamed there was no grave!
Yes, something truly wonderful happened there on that night, and, my friend, the star is still shining, shining in all its tender appeal. If I were you — tonight, and tomorrow — all through tonight and all through tomorrow — I would forget all my failures, all the aches and groans and disappointments of my life; I would forget all my sins; I would turn from all my guilt and shame: I would think and reflect and brood upon the star which shone on the night the Saviour was horn, which is still shining. It isn’t shining for your neighborhood; it is shining for you. Think of the smiling warmth and hospitality of that manger. Think of the meekness and humility of the swaddling clothes. All who wished came — came as they were, with their sin, their sorrows, their fears, their guilt and their shame. They all came, and none was turned away. He came into the world to help the likes of you and me.
Oh that tonight — this clear, brilliant Christmas Eve night — oh that tonight the charm and healing of Bethlehem might sink deep into the minds and hearts and bones of you all! Oh the naturalness, simplicity and sweetness of the Saviour’s sympathies and love for the worst of us! I am not much given to emotional outbursts; but I tell you when I reflect upon Bethlehem, with all its sweet simplicity, its tenderness, its Divine love for me — burning steadily and gently despite my sin and guilt and shame — when I think upon all of that, as I often do, I tell you my poor heart is profoundly and strangely moved.
But while the birth of our blessed Lord was quiet and simple, it also was splendid and sublime. Over in the fourth chapter of Galatians there is a statement by St. Paul which has remained in my mind, like the memory of a great cathedral, since I first heard it long year ago. Here it is:
“… when the fulness of time was come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law …”
Whatever I may forget, I think I shall never forget this great cathedral-like declaration of this noble man — who wrote it down through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. “… when the fulness of time was come, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the law …”
God, like the great Husbandman He is, works according to times and seasons. With God there is a time, with God there is a season. In the world of nature He has ordained that there shall be first the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear. It is not to be wondered at therefore that in the world of free moral agents there should be found operating the law of growth, development and maturity. It is line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little. God has revealed Himself to men as they have been able, through their experience and training, to appreciate and appropriate Him. Our Lord wasn’t born in the days of Moses because the time and season of His birth had not come. Mt. Sinai must come before Mt. Olivet. The prophets must come before the apostles. Law must come before grace, else men would not appreciate and understand grace when it came.
I am thankful that God has ordained it this way. I am glad that there is first the blade, then the ear, after that the full grown corn in the ear. I am glad that there is first the infant, then the child, then the youth, then the man — and after that the experience, maturity and mellowness of age. Who would want an infant to become a man overnight? Who would want to be robbed of the days of his childhood with all their dreams and associations?
How poor the world would be tonight if you robbed it of the literature of Job, Moses, David and the prophets! How poor the world would be tonight if you robbed it of the preaching of John the Baptist!
Now this universe — sun and moon and stars, winds and seas and earthquakes and — history: they all have one great theme — Jesus Christ, “… the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. In Jesus Christ all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or principalities or authorities — all things were created through Him and for Him.”
All history centers in Jesus Christ. As has been truthfully said, “History is nothing more than His Story.” “God is the King of all the earth … He makes the wrath of man to praise Him, and the remainder of his wrath He restrains.” That is the doctrine of the Bible.
But it is no less the doctrine of profound and discriminating historians. J. Lanahan said: “God is in the facts of history as truly as He is in the march of the seasons, the revolutions of the planets, or the architecture of the worlds.” Bancroft said: “When the hour of conflict is over, history comes to a right understanding of the strife, and is ready to exclaim, ‘Lo, God was here, and we knew it not.’”
The deeper and wider one reads history, the more convinced he is that history, all superficial appearances to the contrary notwithstanding, has a theme and a goal. The theme is Jesus Christ, and the goal is universal righteousness. There was a time when I didn’t believe it; but I believe it now.
I say again, History has a theme and a goal: the theme is Jesus Christ, and the goal is universal righteousness.
Ancient history, as a careful study of it will disclose, had a theme. That theme was the coming into the world of Jesus Christ, Son of Mary, Son of God. Ancient history prepared the way for the Incarnation. I do not for a moment mean that the Incarnation was a part of history, that history produced the Incarnation. The Incarnation was a breaking in upon history. The Incarnation was from without history, it was from above. The Incarnation was not the result of historical development. The Incarnation was a miracle.
But all history had been preparing the way for the Incarnation.
Consider the career of Alexander the Great. Some superficial souls have referred to Alexander as a “hair-brained enthusiast whose success was due to dash and luck.” But the plain truth is, Alexander the Great was one of the most remarkable men of history. I am inclined to believe that he was one of the four or five greatest men ever born — if you judge him on the basis of the lasting impact of his life upon the world.
There was something mysterious in his campaigns. Hardly more than a youth, the miles fled from beneath his feet. The Bible pictures him as a winged-leopard. Before a comparative handful of his Macedonians, the mightiest armies ever assembled upon the field of battle to his time, melted. Alexander and Darius, at Gaugamela, fought the greatest battle that was fought in the ancient world. Darius had a million infantry, 40,000 cavalry. Yet Alexander slaughtered that colossal army, and no man ever was able to count the Persian slain. At Issus Alexander slaughtered 100,000 Persians, while his own losses were but 450 killed!
Alexander the Great knew nothing of the God of the Bible, and cared less. But the God of the Bible knew Alexander the Great; He put his bit in Alexander’s mouth and made him go as He wished him to go. God is not the Author of murder, nor of any evil; but since offenses must come, God will see to it that they will ultimately praise Him.
Alexander the Great, though he did not know it, was a forerunner of Jesus Christ. Alexander created a universal world for a universal Saviour. He scattered Greek ideas and the Greek language all over the world, the very language in which the life and teachings of the universal Saviour are recorded.
The Caesars came along and organized Alexander’s conquests. They established roads, built cities, established a code of laws which would recognize the legality of Christianity in the Roman world, and protect and send on his way the greatest apostle of Christianity to ever live on the earth — Saul of Tarsus, the apostle to the people of Alexander and the Caesars.
I say again, Ancient history had a theme, and it had a goal.
The ancient world was prepared for the birth of Christ politically, socially and linguistically.
And that world was prepared for that birth morally and religiously.
Morally and religiously the world had come to the end of its rope. Write and talk as Plato might about morals, the fact was that a pall of guilt and shame hung over the whole earth. All the blood of bulls and goats, all the ethics and metaphysics of the Greeks were helpless to wash it away. It was there — the guilt and the shame — and day by day it was getting heavier to bear.
To all the profound questions of the mind and heart there was no answer. Whence did we come? Why are we here? Whither do we go? There was no authoritative answer. At best it was all speculation and guess. I am always moved when I read the Phaedo. There, with the hemlock already poured into the cup, the greatest philosopher of the ancient world — the bravest and calmest and, as one of his friends said, the wisest and justest — there Socrates sits with his thought concentrated on whither, in a few minutes, he is to go. He talks with his friends. His minds feels through the darkness if haply it might catch a beam of light. But it is all dark. It is all speculation. There is no real evidence. The old philosopher wants to go to other gods that are wise and good, and maybe he will — but — but, he isn’t certain.
What is truth? Nobody knows. The fulness of time had not come for One to speak with authority and not as the teachers of the ancient world. In the light of all this, it is not surprising that Christ created a sensation when He declared, “I am the truth.”
Again. It is an historical fact that in the days of the birth of Christ there was a worldwide expectancy that some great, universal event was about to happen. Men didn’t know what it was. They were unable to articulate their feelings. But they all believed that the old order was dying, and that a new one was about to be ushered in. And, strangely enough, they believed this event would take place somewhere in the East. Students of those times are all familiar with this.
And so, “in the fulness of time,” God sent forth His Son.
All this helps to explain the strange naturalness which characterized the quest of the wisest philosophers of the day — the Wise Men.1 The strange, even wonderful naturalness, of their mien and manner as they searched for Him, and when they found Him, is explained by the fact that they had been expecting Him, and they had expected to find Him somewhere in the East.
I always thought it incredible that those philosophers acted so naturally before the infant Christ. I always thought it extraordinary that they, the wisest philosophers of the day, would without hesitation, affirm that they had found Him who was born King of the Jews; but after all, it wasn’t so strange; they had been expecting Him, and they had expected that He would be found somewhere in the East. God’s miraculous star guided them to the very locality.
And now, finally, as it was — so shall it be. History today — its wars, its floods, its earthquakes, its clash of races, its clash of capital and labor — this history being made before your eyes and mine, like the history of the ancient world, has both theme and goal. It is preparing the way for another coming into the world of God’s Son. This time not to be wrapped in swaddling clothes, not in the calm and quietness of the shining of Judean stars; but with the sound of the trumpet, with the great voice of the Archangel, with ten thousand times ten thousand kingly faces, in indescribable splendor and glory. The sun, the moon, the stars, the storm churning the waters of the deep, the aches and groans of the earth, the clash of steel, the bursting shell, the fiendish, prolonged growl of the atomic bomb, the cries of the poor, the emptiness of the rich, the distress of all peoples and languages and tongues—
All of that has theme: Jesus Christ is coming the second time.
In the second chapter of Haggai there is a remarkable verse: “I will shake all nations, and the desire of all nations shall come.”
As it was in the ancient world, so it is today. First of all, guilt and shame hang like a pall over all the earth. Colleges, universities, churches, religious denominations — they all boast of their progress. But, alas, everywhere men and women, even boys and girls of tender years, are bowed under the awful weight and burden of guilt and shame.
All the world is longing for somebody who can speak with authority and power. It is longing for somebody who can put an end to these interminable, futile debates. Look at the so-called United Nations — words, words, millions of words; debates, debates, debates — while the sons of the world are dumped into the bloody sinkholes of war, while millions of mothers and babies are crying for a crust of bread!
And then there is today, as in the ancient world, a worldwide expectancy that some great event is about to take place on earth. You listening to me tonight can feel it. You listening to me tonight instinctively feel that these matters of such great magnitude cannot much longer hang in suspense, but soon they must be settled — all these colossal problems now hanging over the world. You feel that some great event is about to happen.
This worldwide expectancy is as valid tonight as it was in the ancient world.
And once more — as it was then, so it is today: all eyes are turned toward the Middle East. Once again it has become the heart of world politics and economics, as it always has been the geographical heart. Why has Palestine, after 2,000 years of waste and desolation, suddenly come back to life? Why is it that Jerusalem, after these ages of neglect, has suddenly come alive, its dateline appearing on the front ages of all the great newspapers of the world?
This second great event — this Second Coming of God’s Son, is going to take place in the Middle East. It is going to take place on the Mount of Olives, which is east of Jerusalem.
And you yourselves are beginning to believe it, all your efforts to reason it away to the contrary notwithstanding.
Today all nations are being shaken in preparation for the coming of the Desire of all nations.
The morning star tells that the day is ready to break, and the Sun of Righteousness rise. Do not, I beg of you, permit that Day to break upon you and find you unsaved. Now is the accepted time. Today is the day of salvation. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.
1‘‘At Echatana, Alexander had with him a nucleous of human minds capable of creating a new state. Greek scholars now consulted with Chaldean mathematicians and with Magian wise men. The vast knowledge of these easterners made even the philosophic Greeks appear provincial. In fact, measured by the new standard of intelligence, they were provincials. But they did not feel inclined to admit that.” (Hamid Lamh, Alexander of Macedon, p. 229-Douhleday & Company. Inc., New York. 1946).