The Cradle and the Cross by Lynn Dove

One of my most favorite hymns is “Christmas Has Its Cradle, Easter Has Its Cross” by Rae E. Whitney.  Although probably sung most often at Christmas than at Easter, I think it is a hymn that is equally appropriate for both celebrations.  The two most important celebrations in Christian history are inseparably linked together, all part of God’s perfect plan to redeem the world.

Christmas has its cradle, where a Baby cried; did the lantern’s shadow show him crucified?

Did he foresee darkly His life’s willing loss?

Christmas has its cradle and Easter has its cross.

Christmas has its cradle; shepherds came to see, Little Son of Mary, Lamb of God to be 

Had His Father warned Him, none would grant Him room, save in the Christmas cradle and in the Easter tomb?

Christmas has its cradle, wise men came to bring, myrrh and gold and incense, offering for a King;

Myrrh alone stayed with Him, death’s balm for this Boy, from the Christmas cradle and to His Easter joy.

Christmas has its cradle, where that Baby cried; in the Easter garden, Christ lay, crucified;

When death’s power was conquered, God’s life through Him poured;

Christmas has its cradle and Easter has its Lord!

My sister-in-law gave us a beautiful nativity scene over forty years ago.  Every Christmas, I display the little scene prominently, so that it is the centre of attention amongst all the other decorations of the Christmas season.  When my daughter was only two years old, she watched with wide-eyed fascination as I carefully set out the little figures and I asked her to name each one. 

"Who are these three men with gifts in their hands?"  I asked her.

"Oh, those are the three wise men!"  She proudly stated.

"Who is this man?"  I pointed to another figure.

"That's Joseph!"

"Who is the Baby?"

"Baby Jesus!" she proudly shouted.

"And who is the lady beside Baby Jesus?"

Without hesitation she exclaimed, "That's Mary Christmas!"

I still can't help but giggle whenever I recall that precious memory.

My aunt gave me a ceramic depiction of The Last Supper many, many years ago.  It is one of my most cherished possessions for a couple of reasons.  Every time I look at it, I think of my sweet, little aunt, Eja, and how excited she was to give this to me as a gift.  She was my Godmother, and she was affectionally called "Gudmor", Danish for godmother.  She had a simple, honest, uncomplicated faith and I loved her like my own mother.  She passed away in 2003, and I miss her every day.  The depiction of The Last Supper is displayed all year round on a window ledge in my living room, and when I look at it, the Words of Christ come to me immediately, "Do this in remembrance of me." 

Jesus was with His closest friends the night before He was crucified, and He was trying to explain to them through the breaking of bread together during the Passover, that He would become the once and for all Sacrifice for the entire world.  They didn't understand the symbolism of the bread and wine until Jesus had ascended to His Father, but the act of taking Communion or The Lord's Supper has become one of the sacred ordinances within the Christian church. 

At Christmas, I display the Nativity Scene close to The Lord's Supper scene.  My kids didn't take note of this "tradition" and why I insisted the two displays be in such close proximity to one another until my daughter learned to play "Christmas Has Its Cradle, Easter Has Its Cross" on the piano.  As she played the song, she got the connection right away.  The Cradle and the Cross are inseparable.  The Birth and Death of Jesus ordained by God the Father to redeem the world.  "For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life."  John 3:16

Merry Christmas, Fellow InScribers, and many happy returns in the New Year!

Lynn Dove is the award-winning author, of the YA “Wounded Trilogy”- a contemporary Christian fiction series with coming-of-age themes.  A wife, mom, grandmother, and free-lance writer with articles published in several magazines and anthologies including Chicken Soup for the Soul books, her blog, “Journey Thoughts” is a Canadian Christian Writing Award winner.  Readers may connect with her on Facebook, Twitter, and at lynndove.com   

Not a Norman Rockwell Christmas – Ramona Heikel

Holidays should be exactly as Normal Rockwell paints them, according to my idealistic mindset.  But with that point of view, I’ll always come up short-handed in the hostess department.  Planning, decorating, organizing and cooking for the holidays have never been a talent or a priority with me.  Why is that?  Last night, as I was taking a trip down memory lane with my mom, I found some clues.

As is the German tradition, our family always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve, and Saint Nikolaus and Krampus moved Santa Claus out of the picture.  My memories of that evening begin with Mom getting home from work around five o’clock to begin the wild activities.  “Hurry, jump in the car!”  Last minute shopping?  No, this was all of our shopping!

St. Nikolaus and Krampus

 

We’d go straight to Andel’s ski shop to buy ski socks, boots or other equipment.  Then off to the May D & F department store to linger over the animated Christmas displays.  Lovely ladies dressed in red velvet would bow and rise up again mechanically as they put tinsel on the tree; little children ice-skated on mirrors and a snowman would lean from side to side laughing in a deep voice.  Mom always made a point to put money into the kettle of the bell-ringing Salvation Army Volunteer.

Once inside the store, we’d make a strategy.  “Okay, let’s meet back here at seven o’clock.”  My brother and I would buy something for our mom, and it would always be magnificent and more expensive than I had budgeted for, but I was always glad he had such great ideas.  Sometimes we’d accidentally run into Mom, and she would shriek, “Don’t look!  Don’t look!”

Laden with bags, we’d throw them into the back seat of the car, and head toward our favorite Christmas tree lot across town.  You’re buying a Christmas tree on Christmas Eve?!  Tradition.  In Germany, my grandparents would get a tree from the woods on that evening, close the door to the dining room, and Papa would decorate the whole tree.  My mom and her siblings were not allowed to see it until after dinner when it was time to open presents.

“What have you got left?” Mom would call as we marched into the lot, ten minutes before closing.  He’d point us to his leftovers, the Charlie Brown trees.  “Seventy-five percent off again this year?” Mom would ask.  If he hesitated, she’d convince him to give her a deal, and he would.

Next stop, Ohle’s Delicatessen for weisswurst, rye bread and sauerkraut from Ernie, and sometimes a German record.  When we got home, often Dad would be waiting for us, carrying presents, asking us what took so long.  My Dad was a natural part of every holiday celebration, even though my parents had been divorced since I was four.  And later, his new wife and her children were warmly invited to every holiday celebration as well.

Then we divided the jobs.  I was usually in charge of wrapping presents, including presents that were for me (“no peeking!”), and lighting the candles under the twirling angels.  My brother and Dad would set up the tree.   Mom would make our European supper, and would insist that we eat before opening presents.  That was torture, but by then it was about 9 o’clock—or later!--and we’d realize how hungry we were.  We’d pray over the dinner, and I loved my mom’s “thee’s and thou’s”.  Sometimes we had company over, and I remember once walking toward the kitchen to help my mom, who was chatting with our guests and cutting the meat.  Suddenly, a big roast flew across the doorway!  Everyone roared, as we washed it off and cut it up.

We all decorated the tree, and the living room carpet would disappear under presents.  Dad cringed when we put real candles on the tree and lit them.   Every year he’d make the case that chopping down a tree in the Bavarian woods an hour before lighting candles on it was one thing.  But ours was not the freshest tree, in fact it was already quite dry, and a fire hazard—so true!  Dad had us laughing—he was a born stand-up comic—but Mom assured us it would be fine.  One year Dad showed up with a fire extinguisher!  When the candles were lit, we turned off the lights, leaving only candlelight and Christmas lights glowing in that moment of silence.

Sometimes it would be midnight before we’d start to open presents, and we’d begin by giving our dog Peppi his usual wrapped gift of GainsBurgers.  It was one or two in the morning by the time we finished; we just didn’t want the night to end.  As we blew out the candles, Christkindl—the Christ child—filled our heart.

I loved those madcap Christmases.  I miss all the excitement, laughter, blunders, surprises and togetherness.  So maybe that’s it: I’m more inspired to have that kind of holiday with my family.  It’s so much more fun than the Norman Rockwell kind!

[Images:  The public domain image, Freedom from Want, is a painting by Norman Rockwell made public in The Saturday Evening Post of March 6, 1943.  Thanks to Terrie Schweitzer for her Flickr photo of St. Nicholas and Krampus at

https://www.flickr.com/photos/terriem/11285200115/ ]

Posted by Ramona

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