Vignettes 26

A REAL HOLY DAY

I have in the past shared with you favorite battlefield Christmas experiences. This year, in furtherance of my spiritual quest, I repeated in the December CFA Newsletter the information about Christ’s true birth date and why we shouldn’t participate in glorifying pagan holidays through traditional heathen symbols such as decorated trees (Jeremiah 10). But we can pendulum too far towards correctness, even as we have in the direction of excess. This year I found myself almost in a spiritual desert trying to detour around the pitfalls of a pantheist holiday period.

This year the holidays of Hanukah, Ramadan, Christmas, Kwanzaa and New Year all came close together. America is the only nation wherein all religious beliefs or lack thereof are equally protected under law. Eighty-five percent of America is Christian. Nationally, our faith in Christ is marked by an evergreen tree cut out of the forest and delivered to Washington, D.C. to be fixed to stand with nails; brightly decorated and electrically lit by the President. Just prior to this, to the delight of our 2.0% Jewish population, the President lights a giant Menorah honoring the eight-day "Festival of Lights." The 1.4% of America who is Muslim get little or no attention; as do the scattering of Buddhist (0.7%), Hindu (0.3%), Baha’ists (0.3), Atheist (0.3), and 8.8% others who have no religious affiliation. Kwanzaa is a new politically correct week set aside for African-Americans - in Swahili it means "first."

Last year (1999) there were 38 U.S. religious and secular holidays. Nine were so-called Christian (First Sunday of Advent, Christmas, Epiphany, Palm Sunday, Ash Wednesday, Good Friday, Easter, Ascension Day, and Pentecost). How many of these holidays do you recognize; how many are solemnized in your church? How many were pagan celebrations that were "Christianized?" Eight holidays are specifically Jewish, with only one Muslim. Ten days celebrate personalities (Presidents, MLK, St. Valentine, St. Patrick, Mothers, Fathers, War Dead, Veterans, Columbus, All Saints). Eight are "general" days. Mardi Gras, fat-Tuesday, was celebrated before Lent, but, in its current form, can hardly be shown to have any Godly purpose. The other general purpose days are Flag Day, Independence, Labor, Election, Thanksgiving, Ground Hog, and Kwanzaa. Two of America’s most popular holidays are blatantly pagan. New Years has its roots in Roman times, when sacrifices were offered to Janus, the two-faced god who looked back on the past and forward into the future. Halloween (Eve of All Saints’ Day) is an ancient Celtic practice marking the beginning of winter by masquerading as ghosts.

You can begin to see the problem for a person seeking a "proper" period to mark our love for mankind, as specified by Christ in Matthew 22:39, Mark 12:31, Luke 10:27. Not even a "special day" of the week qualifies. For 2,320 years we have honored false-gods with the names of our days. First based on seven celestial bodies thought to rotate around the earth (Sun, Moon, Mars, Mercury, Jupiter, Venus and Saturn), the Germanic languages altered the names of four planets to correspond to four Roman gods: Tiw, the god of war; Woden, god of wisdom; Thor, god of thunder; and Frigg, the godess of love.

Which of these days, dedicated by name to idolatry, would be best? Maybe we could designate a month, e.g., Gay Awareness, Black History, to focus on remembrance of our fellowman? We are aware that January is already taken by the god Janus, protector of the gateway to heaven. February was named after Februalia, a time when sacrifices were made to atone for sins. March goes back to Mars, god of war, as a time military campaigns slowed by winter, could resume. April is for "Aperire," Latin for "to open" (buds). May is actually "Maia," praising the goddess of plant growth. June belongs to the goddess Juno; July is named in favor of Julius Caesar, and August bears the name of the first Roman Emperor, Augustus. The early Latin calendars only had 10 months, so September, October, November, December make sense as septem-seventh, octo-eighth, novem-ninth, and decem-tenth" month.

As I sought to reject December 25th as a time of celebration, the thought came to me that it was a shame to toss aside Christmas as a special time to express love for our neighbors, friends, and family. Right or wrong, Christmas, outside of its commercialism and pagan symbols, has formed its own volume of love to be extended beyond normal protocol of relationships. Read the following abbreviated accounts of men, who although locked in a chest of time where there are only the quick and dead, nevertheless stopped the world of war to embrace their enemy. After putting yourself in their boots, tell me that their celebration of Christmas was wrong.

NO-MAN’S LAND: Christmas night, in 1916, a company of New Zealanders were holding down a sector of the Western Front. There had been heavy fighting all day long, but now the sound of guns had almost ceased. Suddenly, from the enemy lines the commander of the Kiwis, Captain Greshley, heard a voice call out in German. Peeking over the top, he made out the figure of a German soldier coming toward him carrying a white flag. Safely at the trench, the German explained himself: "It is Christmas, so why not call a short truce, and in the spirit of the holiday, have the men on both sides talk to each other and enjoy a few moments of peace?"

Captain Greshley agreed, and soon the Kiwis were scrambling out of their trench-line to greet the Huns who had already thrown down their guns. Soon they were all singing "Silent Night, Holy Night." Greshley was asked why he could speak German so well? He explained that he had been born in Germany, but his parents had died while he was a small child and he had been sent to live with an uncle in New Zealand. There had been a younger brother, but they had never met. The German commander stared at his enemy, then asked: "Was your name originally Greisler?" The captain nodded. "Then," replied the soldier, "I’m your brother, Max Greisler!"

BATTLE OF THE BULGE: December 16th, 1944 the final German counter-offensive, was mounted. By Christmas eve many soldiers from both sides had become separated from their units. A German cook had secreted his wife and child in a tiny shack deep in the Belgium woods. Three American soldiers, one of whom was wounded, saw the lights and cautiously approached the cabin. The Deutschen Mutter was cooking a small chicken for herself and her young son, she invited the soldiers inside out of the cold.

A few moments later there was a knock at the door. Four Wehrmacht soldiers were also seeking shelter from the weather. The woman instructed both sides to lay down their weapons and share the Christmas meal. Tension was high until one of the Yanks offered to share his cigarette with the German sergeant. One of the Hun who had medical training asked about the wounded G.I. and began treating him.

At dinner they bowed their heads in prayer and sang Silent Night (Stille Nacht), Heiliger Nacht (Holy Night), each in their own tongue. That night the nine souls all slept together under the mantel of Christ’s peace. The next morning, the Deutschlanders built a stretcher for the wounded man and gave direction back to the U.S. lines. The German soldiers took the woman and child to unite them with the cook.

VIETNAM CHRISTMAS: During the negotiated cease-fire of Christmas 1966, my preparations to launch the first U.S. guerrilla attack into the Communist controlled War Zones was put on hold when a CIA spy plane crashed in a denied area with a new super-secret black-box intact. The highest command authority ordered the box recovered and the plane destroyed - at all costs. Engineers estimated the area of impact within a map square 20 miles wide by 20 miles long. Within the thick jungle occupied by thousands of regular enemy troops, it would be like finding a "chip on the ocean." In disregard of the truce and political boundaries, we were ordered in.

Miraculously, avoiding heavy enemy contact, on the fourth day we came upon the plane. It had been utterly swallowed by the jungle. To our dismay we discovered the primary focus of our being there was missing from its bay in the tail section. The second part of our mission accomplished, I chose to capture prisoners to run-down the black-box. An ambush netted a young North Vietnamese soldier who I convinced to lead us to his base and the box. Our raid was a success and after breaking contact with a swarming angry army, we were able to have the object lifted out by a helicopter using a jungle penetrator to pierce the triple-canopy.

At Midnight on Christmas Day, I was in a thin nylon "Viet Cong" hammock thanking God for our incredible victory and praying He would bless my family back home, as His angels continued to guard my Special Forces. I had promised my prisoner to do all I could to keep him alive. He squatted next to me, his hands secured by a length of parachute cord tied to a tree. As my watch verified the time, I thought, "Wow! Christmas!" At that exact moment I heard what sounded like dozens of dead trees falling some distance away. 20-seconds later the night erupted as mortar rounds began exploding in the tree tops.

I always planned our movement behind enemy lines to arrive at the next secret base each evening just before dark, making it difficult for the enemy to mass an attack until dawn. Part of the ritual was to brief each platoon leader after establishing the perimeter and checking our front for danger areas. I would show them where we were on the map, issue orders for the next day’s assembly and movement. I would then give them a compass direction and distance to move in event of the worst and we were attacked during the night. Christmas-eve had been more than hectic, but our standard procedure was carried out to the letter.

Knowing the flight time of the enemy mortars to be 20-seconds, I slammed my gear together until the last moment, then dove for the cover of huge above-ground tree roots while the rounds went off over-head. With my rucksack packed, I eyed the POW, who had remained hunkered-down. He had a large metal fragment imbedded in his scalp. I could shoot him, turn him loose, or place myself in further danger by taking him with me, moving alone through the dark toward the rendezvous, a distance of more than five football fields. It was Christmas, he had helped deliver Uncle Sam a very valuable gift. I decided to keep him close. As the next barrage lifted, I cut his restraints and motioned him to follow me.

Somehow, my guerrilla task force came together. Six of the men were wounded by shrapnel. We slung them in hammocks suspended on bamboo poles. Three relays of two-men each were able to shoulder them while keeping up in the difficult night breakout. God guided us through the enemy encirclement, but it was painfully obvious they would be on our track at first light. It would be a race we had to win to live. There would be no way for the litter-bearers to keep pace. I crawled beneath a poncho to write an emergency request for a medivac. Our position was still in an area legally off-limits, but it was Christmas, maybe an exception would be made.

Christmas day dawned for us in Asia, as my sons, Jim and Jay, were asleep in their American beds. We waited, praying for the pilots who could take our wounded to safety and give the rest of MGTF-957 a fighting chance of moving overland to safety. Every ear strained to heard the familiar growling "ginny-ginny, wop-wop-wop" of the rotary winged Huey. If they didn’t come in the next few heartbeats, we would have to flee, hoping to stay ahead of the tsunami of pursuers rising against us. Just as I was about to give the command to move from the open area, our gift arrived. At first the pilots refused to board our prisoner, but advised of his terminal alternative, they relented - it was Christmas.

Some long days and many miles later, I stopped by the Army Field Hospital to see my wounded warriors and take the prisoner into custody for further interrogation. All but three of my Forcemen had already been released. Like out of a MASH TV production, the doctors knew, nor cared, nothing about a North Vietnamese. They had received the injured men from the medivac. Four of the lightly wounded (including the POW) were treated, fed Christmas dinner, dressed in new uniforms, supplied with a rifle and told to return to their unit! Even though it turned out with an interesting twist, our mission was accomplished. Feeling the spirit of Christmas, we all toasted our unlikely benefactor and had a good laugh.

TRUTH ABOUT 12 DAYS

Have you ever wondered about the strange verses in the traditional ballad, Twelve Days of Christmas? We routinely sing it, but how many carolers know the true meaning? - sort of like the song Auld Lang Syne (German for times fondly remembered), when bidding goodbye to the old and welcoming in the New Year. After reading this heartwarming tale, your thoughts and voice will forevermore show more appreciation for this splendid hymn.

From 1558 until 1829, Roman Catholics in England were not allowed to practice their faith openly. Someone during that era wrote this carol as a musical catechism for young believers. It has two levels of meaning; the surface meaning, plus a hidden meaning known only to members of the church. Each element in the carol was coded for a religious reality which the children could remember. The "Partridge in a Pear Tree" is Jesus Christ. Two "Turtle Doves" stood for the Old and New Testaments. Three "French Hens" represented Faith, Hope and Love. The four "Calling Birds" meant the Four Gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. Five Golden Rings recalled the Torah, or Law, the first five books of the Old Testament. Six Geese a-Laying counted the Six Days of Creation. Seven Swans a-Swimming recounted the Sevenfold Gifts of the Holy Spirit: Prophesy, Serving, Teaching, Exhortation, Contribution, Leadership, and Mercy. The Eight Maids a-Milking were the Eight Beatitudes. Nine Ladies Dancing formed the Nine Fruits of the Holy Spirit: Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness, Self-control. Ten Lords a-Leaping were obviously the 10 Commandments. Eleven Pipers Piping stood for the 11 Faithful Disciples. Twelve Drummers Drumming symbolized the 12 Points of Belief in the Apostles’ Creed.

The earthly monarch may have commissioned a "King James" version of the Bible and ruled over his own church, but he couldn’t remove what some of his subjects felt in their heart. William Penn refused to renounce his Quaker beliefs and would have been executed if not for a single juror, Charles Bushell, who suffered deprivation and imprisonment, but steadfastly refused to find Penn guilty. This early example of jury nullification netted us (USA) a wonderful founder and name for the State of Pennsylvania. As time continues, there is no doubt that free Americans will have to come up with their own code-speak when it will be against the law to be a Christian.

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