"Now when Jesus was born in Bethlehem of Judea in the days of Herod the king, behold, there came wise men from the East to Jerusalem, saying, Where is he that is born King of the Jews? for we have seen his star in the East, and are come to worship him." Matthew 2: 1
No sooner was Jesus born than wise men of the Gentiles, dwelling in the East, beheld a wonderful star, which gave them notice of his birth.
1. The star appeared to give them notice of the birth of Jesus, and to guide them to him. We may think that they were singularly favored, and that if we had such a guide to lead us to Christ, we could not fail to follow it. But if no star has been given, our attention has been called to him in many and various ways. And yet we have not been like the wise men of the East; for they made no delay, but started at once to find the Savior. They were not hindered by the cost or length of the journey, and rested not until they had found him whom they sought. What a bright example for us!
2. Though the wise men had so plain an intimation from heaven, they did not neglect or despise the counsel of men. They sought direction from those who were able to instruct them. And, following that counsel, they received further help.
3. Notice the conduct of the wise men when they had found the infant Savior. They worshiped and gave offerings - "gold, frankincense, and myrrh." Christ asks of us the offering of the heart, far more precious to him than gold thrice purified in the fire. And the incense he delights in is the prayers of his saints. He requires that we show our love by keeping his commandments. Are we bringing to him these acceptable offerings? by E. Blencowe
Christmas as a festival of the Christian Church and home is familiar and endeared to us. But the last place we should seek for its observance is the battlefield, with its armed soldiers, its hatred and fury, its violent cannonading, its fierce encounters, its suffering and agony. Yet even here its blest ministry extends, its gentle presence has made itself felt and mitigated and overcome for the time at least, the brutality of war.
Such is the lesson of an incident of the Franco-Prussian War, related by an officer of the French Army.
"On the night of the 25th of December, 1870," he tells us, "after the siege of Paris, with its train of sufferings and privations - unfortunately also of outbreaks of hatred and fratricidal strife within the walls of the doomed city - had already lasted many weeks, I was in command of an advanced post in the trenches. My company, to which I had just been appointed, consisted of Parisian gardes mobiles, fine fellows, ready for any deed that required courage, but not renowned for their amenableness to discipline. It was a bitter cold night. The clear, frosty skies above us, splendidly gemmed with stars, seemed fairly to shiver; the wan half-moon illumined a vast, snow-covered, spectral plain. So close to our own were the advanced posts of the Germans that we could plainly distinguish their challenge, 'Wer Da?' (Who goes there?) and the ring of their steel-shod rifle butts on the icy ground, while they doubtless heard with equal clearness the 'Qui Vive?' of our sentries.
"The furious cannonade, and even more murderous firing from the rifle-pits, had been interrupted for a brief interval. Profound silence reigned. It was approaching midnight, and I was stamping my feet on the earth to warm myself a bit when an alert, active fellow, with finely cut features and an intelligent, energetic expression of countenance, stepped out of the line of gardes and made a curious request of me.
"'Captain,' he began, 'may I have leave of absence from the watch for a moment?'
'"Nonsense! Step back into your place instantly. Do you suppose I am less cold than you? Wait a little; when the firing begins again you'll be warm enough.'
"He did not move. Still saluting, he continued: 'Captain, I beg you, give me permission. The matter will take only a few moments. I assure you, you will not regret it.'
"'The deuce I will not! Who are you, anyhow, and what do you want to do?'
"'Who am I? Why, I am B -----,' and here he mentioned a name at that time very celebrated in the musical world. 'What I intend to do must, please, remain my own secret.'
"'Then let it remain undone. No further foolishness. If I were to let one private return to Paris tonight I might as well send back the entire company.'
'"Why, captain,' he replied, smilingly, 'I have no desire to go to Paris; I want to go in this direction,' and he pointed over towards the German lines. ' I ask for only two minutes' leave of absence.'
"His bearing and words had awakened my curiosity. I decided to grant his request, remarking as I did so that he was probably seeking his own death.
"He at once leaped out of the trench and advanced towards the enemy. In the silence of the night we heard the snow crunch under his feet, and followed with our eyes the black silhouette of his figure, which the shadow cast by the moonlight seemed mysteriously to lengthen. At ten paces distance the brave fellow stood fast, gave a military salute, and with powerful, deep-chested voice and great fervor of expression began to sing the beautiful Christ- mas hymn of the French composer Adam:
'"Minuit, Chretiens, c'est I'heure solennelle Ou rhomme-Dieu descendit jusqu' k nous.'
(""Tis midnight, Christians, the solemn hour At which the God-man descended unto us.')
"All this happened so unexpectedly, was so simple, the song itself gained such beauty and impressiveness through the outward circumstances - the night and its sacred memories, the strangely contrasted surroundings - that we Parisians, we doubters and scoffers, listened with genuine and deep emotion. The German portion of his audience must have been swayed by similar feelings. No doubt more than one among them was reminded of his far-away home, his family and the children gathered
joyously around the Christmas tree. Not a weapon was uplifted against the daring singer, no command was given, no call or steps heard. In unbroken silence the men of both armies listened to this touching reminder of their home life and their religion.
"His song ended, the brave singer saluted once more, turned on his heel and marched leisurely back to our trenches.
"'Captain, I report my return. Do you regret your permission?'
"Before I could answer, our attention was called once more to the German side, where, advancing towards us, the tall, helmeted figure of an artilleryman now became visible. Ten steps or more he moved forward, just as the other had done, halted, cooly made a military salute, and, in the midst of the wintry night, in the midst of all these armed men who for months had had no other thought than to destroy one another, he uplifted with full voice and heart a German Christmas hymn, the words and music by Martin Luther, a hymn of praise and thankfulness for the lowly Christ-child who came into the world eighteen centuries ago to bring the divine gift of love to mankind, and whom men have so poorly listened to and obeyed.
"'Vom Himmel hoch, da komm ich her, Ich bring euch gute, neue Mahr.' ("'From heaven above to earth I come. To bring glad news to every home.')
"So sang the German soldier, and cheerily his voice rang out upon the night. He ended his song with the joyous cry, 'Weihnachtszeit! Weihnachtszeit! ' (Christmas time!) And from the German trenches came in full chorus the glad refrain, 'Weihnachtszeit!' With one voice the French soldiers responded, 'Noel! Noel!' (Christmas! Christmas!) And for a brief space, at least, both hostile armies were united in a common sentiment of peace and good will on earth.
"The artilleryman slowly retraced his steps and disappeared in the trenches. An hour later the cannon from the forts resumed their angry controversy, and from the rifle pits bullets flew to and fro across the battlefield as before."
