A Christmas Like No Other - by Robert Stermscheg

“I hate Christmas!” His tone is matter-of-fact. 

What?! How can anyone hate Christmas? Obviously not spoken by a holiday reveler or churchgoer. On closer examination and prompted by my “how can you even think that?” rebuke, I get a quizzical look but not the answer I was looking for. 

Instead, I get a modified response from my acquaintance – who shall remain nameless – a little less severe but just as powerful. “Well, I hate the Christmas season.” And that sentiment is probably shared by more than just a few. 

Hold it! Let’s back up just a bit. Christmas and all its trappings is easily swallowed up by the countless children who’ve been indoctrinated from an early age to look forward to the magical season. Unfortunately, the appeal stems from a mythical figure and not the divine Christ child. 

Although to be fair, it all started with the right motivation and good intentions. A certain Greek bishop, St. Nicholas, lived during the Roman era, circa 280 CE. He was known to be a patron of many groups and his generosity to the impoverished was well-known. Perhaps that is where folklore took over and morphed the good bishop into a saintly figure who eventually became a giver of gifts to all children. 

Sadly, the giving of gifts has taken on a whole different meaning, one that I’m sure was never intended. A poem by Clement Moore in 1822, entitled, A Visit from St. Nicholas, was well received by family and friends. However, once it was published under a new title, The Night before Christmas, it was quickly propelled into something not intended by the original author. The generous and wise St. Nicholas had transformed into a jolly rotund man who had the ability to whisk through the night sky on a magical sled pulled by reindeer no less. 

Now better known as Santa Claus, the mystical figure no longer stems from central Europe but apparently lives at the North Pole, surrounded by elves who seem to do all the work. I trust they have a generous compensation package.

And with that revelation, everything has changed. Sure, we still have the nativity scene depicting the manger and baby Jesus, but all too often, it’s an after-thought and the figurines are relegated to the side or occupy a corner of the fireplace. The prominent display now consists of a large over-decorated Christmas tree, its base filled with brightly coloured wrapped presents. Hence the dislike for the so called Yuletide season. 

It’s changed so much that some even dread going to the local shopping centre, afraid of being accosted by the frenzy that accompanies harried shoppers. 

Well, “that was then, and this is now”, as the saying goes. The pandemic swept into North America, slow at first, but it quickly gained momentum. The first wave of infections was manageable, but how many of us were prepared for that second wave?  

Hospital wards are filled to capacity, staff are overworked, yet the patients keep coming. There was a glimmer of hope that if the public adhered to current restrictions, Christmas celebrations and gatherings were a possibility. 

Unfortunately, with the latest case numbers (infections) still climbing, Christmas in 2020 will be anything but normal. The malls are in danger of being closed altogether, with most of the stores shuttered due to government regulations. People are encouraged – the Premier of Manitoba even pleaded on local TV – to abide by recent protocols and stay home if at all possible.

Over 2000 years ago, everything changed with the birth of the Christ child. There was the initial celebration by the shepherds and the Magi. That, however, was short-lived, as a ruthless dictator sought to destroy the hope God had given humanity. 

We’re faced with a similar situation today. An unseen virus is attacking humanity. Much like Herod sought to destroy the most vulnerable, children under two years old, this pandemic is also seeking to kill the most vulnerable, albeit on the other end of the age spectrum. 

Let’s do our part by adhering to local health regulations, but also hold out hope, placing it in the One who gave it to us in the first place. We need to remember the elderly and pray for them, reaching out in meaningful ways whenever possible. Let’s put Christ back into Christmas and joyfully proclaim, “I love Christmas”.

Robert Stermscheg, born in Europe in 1956, was exposed to many wonderful writers – Edgar Rice Burroughs, Alexandre Dumas, and of course Karl May. He appreciated how they opened up a whole new world to our imaginations through their portrayal of life. Find out more at his website.  Robert is also currently serving as bookkeeper for ICWF. 

St. Patrick's Day Reflections - Guest Post by Robert Stermscheg

St. Patrick’s Day is a special day indeed. Commemorating the day and its patron saint can be traced back throughout the centuries. It has particularly evolved over the last hundred years to include much celebration and revelry, but largely ignoring its foundation, that of introducing Christianity to its people. Today, St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated around the world by all sorts of Irish adherents and revelers. Many cities and towns honour the venerable Saint by holding three days of music & culture festivals.

Even the use of green ribbons and shamrocks stems from as far back as the 1680s. It’s always been fascinating to me, how those of no traceable Irish ancestry can fit right in, taking full advantage of the regalia and celebrations. And then there are those add-ons over the years: the leprechaun, the pot of gold and the promise of good fortune. It’s interesting how these harmless oddities have over time been incorporated into the folklore and have slowly replaced the original meaning of the celebration: Christianity in Ireland

I’m not of Irish ancestry but I can appreciate how those that mark their calendar look forward with anticipation to March 17^th and its festivities. As so often happens, I was looking for an anecdote in an old datebook and stumbled upon an entry that surprised me. During that particular week in 1984, I was quite sick – with the flu. There I was, off from work, fighting flu symptoms, in effect quarantined from neighbours and friends. As I read through my notes, it dawned on me how roughly 35 years later, people are experiencing something similar, but on a far more serious level. Whereas I contracted a common strain, a mild case of flu virus, that is not the case today.

Watching the news, it’s a sober reminder of the misery cruise passengers are having to endure these days. They’re dealing with a strain of corona virus – covid19. From what we (non-medical personnel) understand, this latest virus originated at an open-air market in China. Indicators vary, with some patients experiencing mild symptoms, while others like the elderly and infirm, quickly succumb to the disease and require hospital treatment. Sadly, death has factored into a few cases, a sober reminder of our human frailty.

Looking back to 1984, I was a young man and in good health. I was fortunate in that my fever and discomfort quickly subsided and that only three days later I was feeling normal and already back to work. I had no fears that the malady would linger, or worse, spread to those around me. What a stark contrast to what is happening today. The corona virus is indiscriminate and spreading rapidly, ignoring physical and political borders. To highlight one example, unprecedented measures are being taken by the Italian government in northern Italy, in an attempt to curb the spread of this highly infectious virus. People all over the region are frightened and rightly so. Yes, the circumstances don’t look great, particularly if you’re in the midst of an outbreak and are quarantined.

Basically, we have three choices: rebel, resign or surrender. Choosing to rebel is not a great option. In effect – I don’t care what others do, I’m going ahead with my plans. Resignation isn’t much better, e.g – life is hard and there’s no future. Surrender sounds similar but it really isn’t.  In summary: face the reality and surrender to God. Surrendering doesn’t mean giving up.

            “We choose to actively trust God….and bow our stiff necks to Him. We don’t demand that God plays by our rules.”       Dr. Rob Reimer in DeepFaith   

So, what does all of this have to do with St. Patrick’s Day? I’d like to think that it’s a good reminder – an invitation if you will – to accept that there are lots of things beyond our control. But, like Saint Patrick, we can surrender our fears to God’s will and trust that He will see us through.

The pot of gold, even it were attainable, is fleeting at best and will not meet our deepest needs; only God can. A better way is to claim the psalmist’s promise:

               “He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul.” Psalm 23:2

Sowing Good Seeds - Guest post by Robert Stermscheg

In his excellent book, Just Like Jesus, Max Lucado relates an interesting story in Chapter #9 - The Greenhouse of the Mind – whereby he pokes fun at himself by suggesting that he (Max) plant nothing but undesirable seeds, like crab grass and burr seeds in his ideal garden. Sounds preposterous, right? I mean who on earth would plant seeds that will ruin your garden?

But that is exactly what many of us do, figuratively, by inviting (planting) all sorts of unproductive and ill-advised thoughts in our minds (hearts). Our hearts are vulnerable and we need to be careful what we allow to enter.

In today’s day and age, people are concerned with all sorts of things: the economy, political stability, even climate change. All of these are valid and need our attention. The younger generation, well aware that time is valuable, has come up with strategies that deal with time management. That has progressed to include other areas, such as health, entertainment, even wealth. Clever designers have come up with apps that will track every aspect of our lives, to make things simpler and easier to manage.

It’s so easy to access the latest news programs, podcasts or streaming service such as Crave, HBO and Netflix, to name just a few. With outside temperatures plummeting, it’s inviting to grab some munchies, curl up on the couch, and tune in to the latest program that everyone has been talking about. Sounds good, doesn’t it? However, it leads me to consider one important element that seems to have been left out: thought management.

Our minds are fearfully and wonderfully made. We’re bombarded with all kinds of messages from all sorts of sources. But this is where it’s prudent to pause and check on what we’re inviting in. In other words, what sorts of themes and ideologies will our minds be subjected to? With the advent of streaming services, it’s easy to get wrapped up with the latest, hottest programs. I’m thinking of one series in particular: Game of Thrones.

From what I’ve heard and seen via brief segments and reviews, all the hype seems to bear out that it’s a great series, exciting and worth watching. Reminiscent of The Lord of the Rings saga, it has a certain mythical appeal, yet upon closer examination it’s filled with graphic violence, coarse language, nudity, and ‘mature’ themes. So, even though the drama depicted is captivating and exciting, we need to question what impact all those messages will eventually have on young, influential minds. One of the dangers is to become overwhelmed and desensitized by sheer volume of negative influence so that our minds accept all, without giving it a second thought.

Still, other thoughts are more subtle and come disguised in a variety of cloaks.

Gossip: the need to share a burden can easily transform itself into something that was never intended to be shared in a larger context.

Pride: being proud of a friend or family member’s achievements is in itself good and welcome, showing that we care about them. But speaking, even boasting of our own accomplishments is a little trickier and can easily stroke our ego.

Envy: everyone has been blessed with one or more talents, equipping each one to accomplish much for God’s kingdom. But comparing yourself to others is dangerous, something that God had not intended, nor does he encourage it. Comparison leads to dissatisfaction with what we have and heads down the path toward envy.

 I think it comes down to remaining humble in your work and leisure activities, not taking yourself too seriously, and above all, always ready to give God praise and glory for his blessings. After all, He is the one who has given us health, the talents and abilities to accomplish so much.

So, let’s sow good seeds, and encourage those around us to do likewise. 

Robert Stermscheg is a member who writes from Manitoba.

Remembrance Day Memories - guest post by Robert Stermscheg

               

Remembrance Day always has a special meaning for me. As a boy growing up in rural Manitoba, I recall taking in the ceremonies at our local school and pausing at the appropriate time to reflect and honor those who gave their lives during military conflict.

Then, as a member of a local Air Cadet squadron, I participated in the solemn ceremony, standing at attention and listening to the dignitaries as they recounted stories about men (and women) who paid the ultimate price.

Again, many years later, now a father myself, I would attend the November 11^th ceremonies in Winnipeg with my wife, being moved by the reading of John McCrae’s poem, In Flanders Fields. Looking around at all those who chose to give up a few hours of their day, both young and old, they came to pay their respects that memorable day. Curiously, I found myself reflecting on a personal connection to the horrors of war; through my father.

You see, my father, John Stermscheg, also fought during the Second World War, his unit pitted against powerful German invaders. Yet he didn’t enlist as a Canadian, because he was not born in Canada, but in Eastern Europe. Borders changed all the time in Europe, depending on which country had won the latest skirmish. Even though he was born in Austria, he was now (1939) living in Yugoslavia, and that made him fair game. Barely nineteen years old, he was conscripted into the Yugoslav army, took the requisite training, and participated in military exercises, even trained to become a pilot.

But then the storm clouds of war loomed over Europe and everything changed. The Yugoslav military brass cancelled a number of programs in order to prepare for an imminent war with Nazi Germany. My father, along with many hopefuls, was abruptly pulled from the aviation program and assigned to the army. Within a year, Hitler’s Germany declared war on the Allies, and Yugoslavia, though a small and independent country, was swept up with the rest.

In the spring of 1941, my father’s battalion was sent to stop the advancing armies of the Blitzkrieg. Preposterous. The Germans had armor-platted tanks and modern aircraft, while the Slovenian army pulled guns mounted on horse-drawn wagons and flew out-dated airplanes. His entire battalion was abruptly stopped on the outskirts of Belgrade, the capital. Faced with a formidable and superior foe, the commander had little choice but surrender. Not a single shot was fired and all were taken prisoner.

My father was not only confined in a German Stammlager, but he was forced to assume a new identity: POW #74324 . Camp Neubrandenburg, in northern Germany, housed Yugoslav, French, English and American prisoners. Caucasian, blue eyed, blond, and fluent in German, he stood out like a sore thumb. It took him some time to convince his fellow barrack mates that he wasn’t a spy.

My father was eventually released and sent back to his home town, so that as a man of German/Austrian descent, he could be useful to the German war machine. Fortunately, he was never conscripted to fight along-side the German army, though many “repatriated” Yugoslav soldiers were forced to don a German uniform.

Many would call it luck, the fact that he was never forced to enlist. Still, he believed in providence, in a power higher than the Third Reich. He survived and kept his war-time exploits mostly to himself. He would occasionally, over a glass of beer, recount some of the stories, choosing to dwell on the lighter side of life. But it wasn’t until years later that I paid much attention to them. I knew where our family had come from, but not of the communist repression or the hardships my parents had to endure.

When I probed further, he would open up and actually elaborate on some of his war-time experiences. I realized that it wasn’t all fun and games, unlike the light-hearted drama depicted on a former Hollywood TV show, Hogan’s Heroes. Dad didn’t particularly like the show, because it portrayed the German troops and their commander as inefficient, inept and stupid. But that wasn’t how he remembered the German army that he had personally encountered. They were far too efficient, regimented and driven by ambition.

Still, what stood out for me was my father’s integrity and sense of fair play. He recognized that men will do all sorts of things when pressured by corrupt and evil regimes. He didn’t personally hold things against those who had wronged him, even after the war, in post-war Yugoslavia. He and my mother endured much, sacrificed relationships, and risked all to flee a corrupt communist-run government in Yugoslavia, with the hope of starting over in their new-found country of Canada.

I’m forever grateful they had the courage to leave Yugoslavia, their homeland, and start afresh. It certainly wasn’t easy. Later, with my father’s blessing, I collaborated with him and wrote his memoir, POW #74324. Strangely though, he didn’t think it was worth telling. I beg to differ, because I got to know him as a young man, full of hopes and dreams for the future. Even though he wasn’t perfect, I began to fully appreciate him as a man, the struggles he overcame, and the man he turned out to be.

Sadly, my father has passed away. However, the story need not end there. After all, I have his testament, his testimony, all there laid out on paper, compiled in a book that we co-wrote. So, whether it’s on his birthday, a special occasion, or on Remembrance Day, I can reminisce about him, the role model he was to me and the legacy he left behind for all to see.