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Show DDOODDD DuDDDDSODuSirV Page 4 I Times Newspaper Wednesday, December 23, 1998 Editorial i if yy ww-iy p jf.rt- an One of the greatest joys of the Christmas season is the light that it brings. Neighborhoods emerge from the pall of winter darkness as homes and yards are bedecked with the color and glow of increasingly in-creasingly creative lighting dis-plays. dis-plays. The chill of long, dark nights and too-short days is softened with the warmth of the glimmering brilliance. Cities kick off the holiday season by illuminating their lighting displays. dis-plays. Extraordinary, artistic lig&ting such as that atlemple Square in Salt Lake City or Thanksgiving Point in Lehi be comes a focal point, and a place of pilgrimage. To the devout, of course, the lights aie deeply symbolic. In John 8:12, Jesus Christ said, "I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life." From candles to electric bulbs, the religious have used light down through the ages to symbolize the influence of Christ and tc celebrate his birth and mission. All too often, however, the world finds itself immersed in darkness and gloom, and this particular season is no exception. Fierce debate, harsh accusations, and at times, brutal rhetoric pre-' . ceded this week's historic decision deci-sion by the United States House of Representatives to impeach President Bill Clinton and send ; the case to the Senate for its consideration. con-sideration. The outcome was not cheered in the halls of Congress, -even by those who saw clearly the necessity of the move. At the same time as the impeachment im-peachment issue came to the . fore, the United States began bombing Iraq in an ongoing, frustrating frus-trating struggle against the threat of Iraqi President Saddam Hussein and his development of weapons of mass destruction. The irony of the move, at this time of "peace on earth", was not lost on anyone even those, again, who believed most sincerely in its necessity. ne-cessity. Utahns have been disquieted recently, loo, by the shadows of scandal emerging from the successful suc-cessful 2002 Winter Olympics bid. Accounts and questions of possible pos-sible bribery in the process of securing se-curing the opportunity continue to play in the news, creating a murky, muddied picture that does not look to be clarified any time soon. The tension between the wealthy athletes and owners involved in-volved in the National Basketball Association stalemate that has eradicated the 1998-99 season so far, and may eliminate it altogether, alto-gether, is another grim and lowering low-ering element in the public consciousness, con-sciousness, though not of life-and-death importance. Its resolution, reso-lution, too, remained obscure at press time. Although we cannot control world events, each of us can choose to let the light of the Christmas season, both physical and spiritual, enrich our lives and heal our souls, and that ef-feet ef-feet can then spiral outward. A Chinese proverb quoted here from Chicken Soup for the Soul by Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Vic-tor Hansen sums it up well: "If there is light in the soul, there will be beauty in the person. If there is beauty in the person, there wilt be harmony in the house. If there is harmony in the house, there will be order in the nation. If there is order in the nation, there will be peace in the world." Can you hear the music?" A number of years ago, Thomas Dreier, philosopher and writer, penned a little story about Christmas that has become a classic. There is inspiration and deep truth in it for these times and all times. Here is the story: The parents had taken their little boy with them on a Christmas shopping shop-ping tour. As they were about to en ter the swinging door of a big department depart-ment store the little boy stopped and said, "Oh, listen to the music!" His parents listened. They heard no music. All they heard was the honking of the automobiles and the roar of their engines, the sound of thousands of shoes scraping the sidewalk, side-walk, the loud talk of men and 4. 4' Timpanogos Green V 4' . J 4 J' I ' - i f l iil Tlie MLemoiy of MLaiy How full the heart of Mary, when she heard, Somehow, within her, God would send His Word: The Word made flesh, the Saviour of Mankind! Her womb was wanted by the Holy One. Her heart was humbled, as she bore His Son. His Son was not a figment of her mind! With Mary, lying on the stable straw, Her life was blessed with what she heard and saw. Outside, the sky was filled with angel choirs, And Mary, also, sang her lullabies To Jesus, when she heard her baby's cries, While in her heart burned endless angel fires. She nourished Him and nursed Him in His youth. From grace to grace, He traveled in the truth, And Mary cherished Jesus in her heart. And Jesus said He loved her, like no other: The model of Someone who loved His mother, As shown in many classic works of art. How little of His early life is known, As Mary nourished Him, till He was grown, And hungered, often, for His warm embrace. The marvel of His ministry was shown, As Jesus wandered wilderness, alone, And with His Father, grew from grace to grace. As Mary's life was lived with sweet accord, She said, "My soul doth magnify my Lord. My solemn spirit hath rejoiced in God." Four brothers and some sisters were the kin Of Jesus. Mary was His heroine. And Joseph was His father, yet unshod. As Mary marveled at His ministry, It seemed, sometimes, she hardly ever slept. Reality of His divinity Assuaged her heart, whenever Mary wept. For she, alone, could know His certain path: Golgotha and its bitter grapes of wrath. Her mother's heart could scarcely staunch the flood Of fear that vented vinegar and blood. Too soon, the lots were cast; His garments rent. And by the cross of Jesus, Mary's Son, She realized the reason He was sent. Fulfillment of the scriptures, now, was won. Before He died, His thoughts were with another: "Beloved John," He said. "Behold thy mother!" And then, before His waning life was done, He told His mother, "Now, behold thy son!" How full the heart of Mary, when He died! She joined the other Mary s, at His side. Then, He arose: the first of them that slept. And dried the tears His mother, Mary, wept. He kissed the loving mother whom He chose. He parted, then, and into heaven rose. And, as we think how Jesus touched our lives, The memory of Mary still survives! women, the swish of the doors as they turned, and the raucous city noises. But the little boy repeated, "Listen! "Lis-ten! Can't you hear the beaufiful music?" And the parents, trying with all their might, kept the rattle and roar and racket out of their ears, and suddenly sud-denly as if by some magic, they heard the sound of little silver bells tinkling. Looking up, they saw the toy bells above the doorway of the store. Once heard, the little bells seemed to become be-come as loud as cathedral chimes. In these days of change, unrest and insecurity, too many of us fail to hear the tiny silver bells of the things - that are unchanging and secure. There are truths that seek to find their way into our minds and hearts. We shut them out by listening only to the clamor of what is temporary. We fail to hear the real music. Reprinted Good Impressions Winter 1967 Composing the Music' The composer was in despair. Struggling to earn a living in London, Lon-don, he knew days when he could not afford to buy meals. One Night in 1741, depressed and defeated, he wandered the lonely streets; it was almost dawn when he returned to his shabby room. On a table was a thick envelope. It was from Charles Hennens, the man who wrote his li-brettos. li-brettos. Examining the pages, he found them covered with Scripture texts. Wearily, he tossed the pages aside and crawled into bed. But he could not sleep. The words he had read returned to him: "Comfort ye, comfort com-fort ye my people, saith your God ... The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light ... For unto us a Child is born ... Glory to God in the highest ... Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelu-jah! Too stirred to sleep, he got up and went to his piano. The music flowed from his heart rich, majestic, triumphant. trium-phant. He began to write. Night and day for three weeks, he wrote feverishly. fever-ishly. He forgot sleep, food, rest. He refused to see anyone. At last, on the day the work was finished, one friend managed to gain entrance. The composer was at his piano, sheets of music strewn around him, tears streaming down his face. "I do believe I have seen all of the Heaven before me, and the great God, Himself," Him-self," he exclaimed. Millions of people have been able to believe that. The first audience to hear the composition in Dublin in 1742-gave it the greatest ovation in the city's history. Weeks later, London Lon-don heard it for the first time, and again it was triumph. The King was so impressed during the Hallelujah Chorus that he rose to his feet a ;' custom that still prevails. '- This Christmas, in churches and concert halls around the world, millions mil-lions of people will once again find hope and faith in the message of what has become the most beloved com- ' position of all time George v Frederic Handel's Messiah. Happy Holidays In the spirit of Yule, may you enjoy a healthy, happy and safe holiday. Jirst Residency Christmas message Whosoever drinketh of the water that I SHALL GIVE HIM SHALL NEVER THIRST; BUT THE WATER THAT I SHALL GIVE HIM SHALL BE IN HIM A WELL OF WATER SPRINGING UP INTO EVERLASTING EVERLAST-ING LIFE (JOHN 4:14). As the Savior offered living water to the woman of Samaria, likewise does He extend to us the salvation He alone can give. The incomparable blessing which we contemplate throughout the Christmas season is an offering of hope, a gift of peace and a bestowal of love. It is our solemn witness that He lives! We reverence Him as the Savior of the world. We honor Him as the Prince of Peace. We testify that He is the Son of God, our Redeemer, our Advocate, and Friend. We invite people everywhere to drink deeply from the waters of life which He so freely imparts. May our lives reflect His example of kindness, love, and virtue. Sincerely, THE FIRST PRESIDENCY 7 Jfcua i rMk The First Presidency It's best when given away Christmas is for love. It is for joy, for giving and sharing, for laughter, for reuniting with family and friends, for tinsel and brightly decorated packages. But mostly, Christmas is for love. I had not believed this until a small elf-like student with wide-eyed innocence and soft rosy cheeks gave me a wondrous gift one Christmas. Mark was an 1 1 year-old orphan who lived with his aunt, a bitter middle-aged woman greatly annoyed with the burden of caring for her dead sister's son. She never failed to remind re-mind young Mark, if it hadn't been for her generosity, he would be a vagrant va-grant homeless waif. Still, with all this scolding and chilliness at home, he was a sweet and gentle child. I had not noticed Mark particularly particu-larly until he began staying after class each day (at the risk of arousing his aunt's angef, I later found) to help me straighten up the classroom. We did this quietly and comfortably, not speaking much, but enjoying the solitude soli-tude of that hour of the day. When we did talk, Mark spoke mostly of his mother. Though he was quite small when she died, he remembered a kind, gentle, loving woman, who always spent much time with him. As Christmas drew nearer, however, how-ever, Mark failed to stay after school each day. I looked forward to his coming and when, as the days passed, and he continued to scamper hurriedly hur-riedly from the room after class, I stopped him one afternoon and asked why he no longer helped me in the room. I told him how I had missed him, and his large gray eyes lit up eagerly as he replied, "Did you really re-ally miss me?' I explained how he had been my best helper. "I was making you a surprise," he whispered confidentially. "It's for Christmas." With that he became embarrassed and dashed from the room. He didn't stay after school anymore after that. Finally came the last school day before Christmas. Mark crept slowly into the room late that afternoon with his hands concealing something behind be-hind his back. "I have your present," he said timidly when I looked up. "I hope you like it." He held out his hands, and there lying in his small palms was a tiny wooden box. "It's beautiful, Mark. Is there something in it?" I asked, opening the top to look inside. "Oh you can't see what's in it," he replied, .. and you can't touch it or taste it, or feel it.. But Mother always al-ways said it makes you feel good all the time, warm on cold nights, and safe when you're all alone." I gazed into the empty box. "What is it, Mark," I asked gently, "that will make me feel so good?' "It's love," he whispered softly, "and Mother always said it's best when you give it away." And he turned quietly and left the room. So now I keep a small box made of wood on the piano in my living room and only smile as inquiring friends raise quizzical eyebrows when I explain to them that there is love-in it. Yes. Christmas is for gaiety, mirth and song, for good and wondrous won-drous gifts. But mostly... Christmas is for love. i ') |