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Times-Advocate, 1981-12-22, Page 28Page 4 Times-Adv«ate, December 22, 1981 %.1 Times Established 1873 Advocate Established 1881 Amalgamated 1924 d vQcate Serving South Huron, North Middlesex & North Lambton Since 1873 Published by I.W. Eedy Publications Limited IORNF [FDI" BILE BAE[EN ROSS HALIGH Publisher Editor Assistant Editor II.M BL (-KF Ir HARRY DEV'RIES AckerU'ir t 1,tri,o. t r Composition Manager DICK JONGKIND Business Manager Published Each Wednesday Morning at Exeter, Ontario Second Class Mail Registration Number 0386. Phone 235-1331 SUBSCRIPTION RATES: Canada $17.00 Per Year: USA $35.00 C.W.N.A., O:C.N.A. CLASS 'A' and 'ABC' Really for children only? By Rev. Aram Bleak Bethel Reformed Church "Not too many people in town yet. are there?" he said, trying to make conversation. "Probably too early yet, I. imagine," I answered back. "True, they'll be here soon enough. Then they'll all spend their monies on gifts for people. Afterall,the merchants have been. after them since mid-October. Next`year they'll probably start mid-July." His voice sounded sarcastic. "I dont know about Christmas", he continued, "People spending their money as if it is going out of style. Most of them get into debt over this, you know, and it's just not worth it. I just nodded my head to show I agreed,Butthen,camethestate- ment that has not left me since I talked with him. "Christmas is just for children, and so I'll get my kids a few gifts, we'll eat too much like always, and just have a day off to spend with the family." I did not answer him, I was in shock. Ministers are not supposed to get shocked by anything that they hear, but this one really hit me! "Just for cluldren," and a day, maybe tetter an excuse, to overeat? And I looked around, sand saw what advertisements were saying and all too soon it was clear to me, that is exactly what this great day of Christmas has become. What in the world are we celebrating at Christmas, if it is no longer the Christ -child that was born on that day? Why do we crowd into churches, and gather the family together? Is it just to "hear" with closed mind the story that we have heard a thousand tiiin's before, a story that has lost all its meaning? Is it just a day where the family sits by the tree, handing out gifts, singing meaningless "Christmas songs? Or is it to be something else? Is there a real meaning to the Day of Christmas? The words of the angel, the heavenly being that appeared to shepherds as they were in the fields, tell the truth of the Christ- mas story. "Be not afraid, for behold, I bring you good news of a great joy which will come to all the people; for to you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, who is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you, you will find babe wrapped in swaddl- ing clothes and laying in a manger" Luke 2:10-12. The story really has not changed any, but are we still listening? Is what the angel said still new and vibrant every time we hear it? does it still excite us to hear that "God so loved the world that He gave his only Son, that whoever believes in Him will have everlasting life"? Does it make our pulses race to know that God sent His own, and only son to us, so that we might have a relationship with him? Has it occurred to you in the last several times that you have celebrated Christmas that Jesus was the very best that God could give'. He did not send an imitation, or a shoddy "savior", who would try to save man from sin by giving the least possible. Too often we fail to see the God -Man, the Babe of Bethlehem, as the One who died on Calvary for our freedom. The question remains. Is Christmas "only for children"? Or is it a day. a celebration. which requires something from you and me - everyday of the year? I would like to relate something that happened in our family five years ago this Christmas. A young girl, our sister, was laying in the hospital in a large city. The day before she had been diagos- ed to have cancer in the spine. Cheryl would be with us for another four months - so the doctor said. Now it was Christmas morning. As this six-year-old lay in bed, she realized that she had nothing to give to Jesus, as a present. After all, it was His birth- day. She told us afterwards, that she would give Jesus her heart. That confession has stuck in the six years since then, and even though she is a normal 12 year old, she still has that confidence that Jesus has her heart, and that she belongs to Him. You see, the Christmas Child, the One we so easily push in the background in this time of year, is the Miracle Worker that walked earth so many years ago, and still dwells in man today. The angel said that a Savior had been born. To Joseph, his earthly father, the angel had said that this child to be born of the HolySpirit would be named Jesus, and that "He will save people frotheir sins" (Matthew 1:21) . That was the mission of this lit- tle child, and He still touches peoples' lives today, through the power of the Holy Spirit. It is He who -makes this Christmas story new and exciting everytime I hear it, and He is willing to do the same for you. I don't know how you will celebrate Christmas this year. It might be easier for you to keep going the way you always have, leaving Christ in the background -or forgetting Him altogether. You might go to church, and let your mind wander to what lies below the tree. You might even give your heart to Jesus, half- heartedly, because your minister might tell you it would be the thing to do on Christmas, but where will that lead? Jesus wants people who will serve Him faithfully, day in and day out, not only in their words, but in their works. I would like to close with a poem that found its way across my desk this morning: "...And God saw everything that Ho had made, and behold it was very good". Gen. 1:31. And God heard Christens carols, tender and sweet, But deep in Gad's eyes his anger gIeemed, For see, it was not good. And candles - and odor of pine ascended, But God felt burning tears in fire eyes, For see, it wasnot good. And God saw people in their hones, in the church, They were praising God, but not in their works, And see, that was not good. And God heard sermons, He heard the prayer, But He alone saw the heart, And see, they were not good. Then God had o Naught: Everybody celebrates My feast, But doesn't even notice if 1 have been there; And see, that is not good. Therefore, my Son must henceforth be one of them, To shore in their joy, and to shore in their sorrow; See, then everything will be good. (translated from the Dutch original) Nel Benshop May the God of Christmas, inspire us to love and serve Him, Who came to us as a child in Bethlehem, and became our Savior and God. God bless us all this Christmas day, and everyday of the years that lie ahead of us. Trip south is Christmas delight The exodus to the sunny south has com- menced. Over the past couple of weeks the writer has been forced to enviously listen as several subscribers arrive in the front office to have their newspapers mailed to winter holiday addresses far removed from this land of ice and snow. Finally. I could take no more. When a letter from Fettes Tours arrived on my desk beckoning me to join the exodus. I succ.imhed. Enough of these cold. biting winds seeping through the rear flap on my long -johns. Look out sunny south. here I come' Well. almost. The trip offered was only to Toledo. but after all. youhave•to start somewhere The Ohio city may not get touched dramatically by the soft. soothing air currents of the Gulf Stream. but a kink at my trusty atlas did indicate unmistakably that Toledo is south of Ex- eter. There's nothing in the rules of one- upmanship that indicates you have to give exact locations Of your winter holi- day. I can indeed relate that I've had a winter holiday in the south Questions about the lack of a glossy tan can be dis- missed by pointing out that I have adhered to the warnings about the skin problems that arise by spending too much time with ol. sol I can even point to the sprinkling of sand in my pant cuffs to substantiate my southern holiday claim No one has to know I picked it up from the remnants of ice removal on a slippery street in Toledo. By jiggling the camera. the out -of - focus seagulls on Lake Erie can be pass- ed off as under -sized flamingos. Through more trick photography. the writer looks very realistic relaxing under the small. potted palm in the inside garden at the Toledo Holiday Inn Even the neighbors are impressed when they see my bathing suit airing out on the hack porch Not one has suspected that it was worn in the whirl -pool bath in the motel room. and I'm not about to tell them' Yes, I've had my winter holiday in •'the south" and while it was short. it is possible to make some people think it was a lengthy sojourn by not picking up the flyers on the doorstep for a week or SO The trip started last Sunday (Dec. 131 and terminated exactly one day later That makes for easy packing. A brown paper bag with a toothbrush. change of underwear and socks and you're off. The tour was organized by Fettes Tours of Mt. Forest to give some of their BATT'N AROUND with the editor travel agents and a few over-worked weekly newspaper people an opportuntiy to get some first-hand knowledgepof a bus tour. It was a promotional gimmick. The writer doesn't usually sell his soul to such gimmicks. However. the word FREE always tests my conscience. although it never dulls my sense of ob- jectivity. Well. hardly ever. When your last bus trip was on a bum- py school bus with names and graffiti carved into the back of the seats. its dif- ficult to imagine the lavish comfort in a modern tour bus that transports people across the nation on holiday trips. It wasn't surprising that Bob Fettes brought along his bank manager on the trip. The bus which we boarded to head for Toledo cost a cool $180.000( The only thing it lacked, according to one local implement dealer who joined the so- journ. was a padded room at the back for those forced into nicotine fits by the pronouncement that smoking is not per- mitted. Fortunately, the sign that alcoholic beverages are not allowed was con- veniently covered up and the trip was made enjoyable by periodic forays along the aisles by two bar -maids, added to the roster at considerable expense. Our first major stop was at th Stranahan mansion in Toledo, the giart, home of the rounder of Champio i sparkplugs whicn has been turned into a 495 -acre parkland by the citizens of the city. The mansion was decked out for Christmas through the efforts of various service groups, craftspeople and artists. 11 was delightful. Next on the itinerary was the Westgate Dinner Theatre. Waiters and waitresses interspersed their normal duties with forays onto the stage to sing and this was followed by a totally laugh - filled performance of "I Love My Wife", a comedy based on swapping partners. On the way home. we enjoyed a four- hour tour through the gaily decked Greenfield Village at Dearborn, where personnel in period costumes were in the midst of demonstrating age-old crafts and preparing various seasonal goodies from 100 -year-old recipes. It was Christmas as the pioneers would experience it. It was warm, cosy and hospitable in the vintage homes and buildings brought to the site of Henry Ford. There was a serenity that obllviated the outside world with its hustle and bus- tle. In retrospect, it would be great to curl up in front of the roaring fireplace in even the most humble of the one -room homes to watch the reflection of the flames dance across the ceiling and walls and to gently doze off to the crack- ing sounds of the nearby cylinder gramophone playing Silent Night. I hope that some of that feeling of serenity and peace can be captured by you arid yours this Christmas and the simple message of the manger birth can touch your hearts and minds. It's real joy and meaning is found in its simplicity. "Oh -Oh — only 41 shopping dollars left till Christmas!" Middle-fogie is ideal status Some old fogies -get all het up every year, and write letters to the editor, deploring the increasing commercialism of Christ- mas. I used . to do this when I was a young fogie, but I've quit. Whats the difference? Well, a young fogie gets all upset about things that should upset only old fogies. As he gets older, he really doesn't give a diddle. They can play "Rudolph the Red -Nosed Reindeer" on the first of July, and it doesn't bother him. An old fogie, on the other hand, is a young fogie who has molded his ideas early, and left them there to moulder. Or in- creased the rigidity of his early opinions until they are molded in iron. He likes "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas", but• doesn't want it played un- til there is some snow, and Christmas is immi- nent (not eminent, as my students insist). I prefer to be a middle- fogie. This is a person who listens to young fogies. old fogies, nods solemnly in agreement, and wishes they had buried "White Christ- mas" with Bing Crosby, its perpetrator. In other words, the young fogie dances ip the latest. •frenetic style, because he doesn't want to be called an old fogie. But he thinks it is deca- dent. He'd like the return of the waltz and the schot- tische. While an old fogie shakes his head at the modern. openly sexual dancing. knows the dancers are all going to the hot place, and would like to see the return of the waltz and the schot- tische (polka, what have you? ). The middle-fogie says, Jeez, there but for the grace of God, Go I." Or, "Holey ole mdley, 1 wish my arthritis would ease up. I'd love to try it, es- peciallywith that girl who's just kicked off her shoes and displayed her navel." He'd like the return of the waltz, but never learned to count past two in the one -twos three of the waltz, and Sugar and Spice Dispensed By Smiley gets tangled up, and falls on his face, in a fast polka or schottische. This brilliant analogy, gentle reader, if you are still there, represents my attitude toward the com- mercialization of Christ- mas. I can turn off the commercials and ignore the town's brave decorations. Or I can crab when they com- mence, or are erected (sorry, that's a dirty word now). Or I can say, "Cheeze 'n rice, I wish I were back in business again, pulling in all those dollars that should be going for food and fuel." As a middle fogie, I choose to shut out the carols that begin Nov. 1st, ignore the drooping angels on the town decorations that were erected (there it is again) on Nov. 8th, and merely set my teeth, grit them a bit, and try to get through the Christmas season, bearing in mind that the Minister of Finance wants a little piece of every action going on in town, out of town, and across the country. The aforementioned gentleman. if you'll par- don the euphemism, after preaching a budget of equity and restraint, went out to lunch with a -few of his ilk, and ran up a lunch bill of between $600 acid $2,000, depending on which version you read. 40 7:- ' d$:z0111.... That, to me, is the real Christmas spirit. His boss, King Pierre the First, has expressed similar sentiments. "If they can't afford filet mignon, let them eat boil- ed sumac bushes". Very tasty. by the way, and a true national dish, along with pumpkin soup. I don't really know where I'm going with this column, but I have to live up to the billing another teacher gave me this week, after he'd arm - twisted a into talking to his creMive writing club. "Wednesday afternoon, we are going to have a seminar on writing, head- ed by Bill Smiley, former reporter, editor, publisher, and author of a syndicated column that appears in more than 150 papers across Canada." It sounded great. Like those November Christmas carols. But I cannot say, "That's a lot of crap, John." Little do the kids know that I was a reporter because everybody else was doing something useful: that I was an editor because nobody else wanted to take the blame; that I was a publisher only because I owed half of a $30,000 mortgage; and that I am a household word across Canada, almost in- evitably preceded by the prefix "bull".. My colleague didn't mention that I write stories about nothing happening in town that week, just to fill up a hole on the front page; that I infuriated.merchants and township Beeves and little old ladies, and had to bear the brunt; that I personal- ly carried the newspapers to the post office in ba s weighing about 280 pounds: that I helped stamp and roll up the out- of-town papers; or that I 'am neither rich or famous. However, the show must go on, whether it's "Good King Wenceslaus" in November, or yours truly talking a group of youngsters into adopting the glamorous life of journalism, at 60 hours a week, and basic pay a lit- tle below unemployment insurance. But. I must admit, the Christmas 'spirit sort of grabs you, whether it's by the pocket -book, or the short and curly. Just this week, I wrote a letter of recommenda- tion for a student. If somebody checked it out, I would be on the stand for perjury, moppery and gawk. But, what the heck, a commercial is. a com- mercial, even though it's a tissue of lies, half- truths and exaggeration. Those Christmas com- mercials don't bother a middle-fogie. I just wish I were being paid for writing some of them. Share the gift of friendship Everybody has heard of the 'baby -boom' - the masses of children that were born during and after the Second World War. They grew up and flooded the public schools creating a massive building of new rooms, then hit the high schools causing a tremendous ex- pansion there too. 'Suddenly it's 1982, almost, and it's thirty- five years after the begin- ning of that era and all those babies are grown up and beginning to , raise families of their own. Not only that but most of them have purchased a home by now and the bot- tom is beginning to fall out of the housing in- dustry to which nobody thought there could be an end. Looking down the road a few years I can • see about. It's already creating a work -force which is older and more conventional in its style Perspectives tremendous pressure on the areas of senior citizen housing as that genera- tion grows up and wants retirement housing. It's going to create a problem with pension funds and all sorts of things that older people are concerned By Syd Fletcher omit - .and ways of thinking. It's also going to result in many lonely older peo- ple who seem to have no friends or anybody that cares about them. Like the old man I saw in a deserted restaurant, He tapped his hand aimlessly on the table, sipped his coffee slower and slower, trying to make it into an excuse for staving longer. He could hear butwas not listening to the un- familiar tunes on the record-player; tried to talk to, the waitress who was more interested in reading her pocket 'novel and pumping her tips into the jukebox. At last he shook his head and left. I hope that for him there is something better at Christmas, this yekr, that there is at least one person out there who cares for him and will reach out to him and share the gift of friendship which is the most important gift of all.