Short version: worth reading, but don’t give it to kids who believe in Santa.

The True Saint Nicholas: Why He Matters to Christmas is an easy and informative read. Bennett is a masterful storyteller, transforming what could be a dry encyclopedia entry into an engaging tale. The book is divided into three sections of three chapters each: Life of Nicholas, Legends of Nicholas, and Legacy of Nicholas.

In Part One, Bennett takes the sparse historical materials as well as the legends and hagiographies and combines them into an interesting story of Nicholas’ life, filling in cultural and historical details and making clear what’s certain and what’s supposition. I appreciated Bennett’s occasional use of Scripture and focus on Nicholas’ faith and service to God. This is not about a historical figure who happens to matter to Christians; this is about a Christian who happens to matter to history.

Part Two shows the transformation of Nicholas from godly man to saint invoked and capitalized on by virtually every group, from sailors to merchants to women trying to conceive.  Part Three moves to the transformation of Nicholas into Santa Claus. Bennett gives some attention to European variants like the Dutch Sinterklaas, but his primary focus is the genesis of the American Santa of “The Night Before Christmas” and Coca-Cola advertising. I found this particularly interesting as I was unaware of the history and didn’t realize how very American Santa is.

The jacket states that in this book, “Most of all, you will discover why this saintly man who has influenced our most beloved holiday throughout the years is evidence of God’s love, and why he does, indeed, matter to Christmas.” Certainly Bennett makes good on the first claim: Nicholas’ life is an inspiring story of a loving God at work in and through a man submitted to His will.

I’m not so sure about the second claim, though. Here’s what Bennett has to say:

But the stories of Saint Nicholas and Santa Claus are arguably true in a more important way. They are morally true. They offer generosity, kindness, justice, and self-sacrifice over avarice, cruelty, injustice, and self-indulgence. They are about the celebration of human closeness and decency, and the caring for others. They are about families at the hearth. In their totality, they are about the raising of sights and efforts toward a better life.

Is Nicholas worth knowing about? Absolutely. And Bennett shows that Santa and a faith-oriented Christmas are not incompatible. But for me, this final statement about the truth that can be found in Santa is a bit of a stretch. Does that make the book less worthwhile? No. It was definitely worth reading, and I would recommend it.

On a side note, The True Saint Nicholas is a beautifully designed book. For those of us who want our books to be both intellectually engaging and aesthetically pleasing, it delivers. It’s also short: 114 pages of large print, so it reads quickly.

A final note about children: I bought this thinking I would share it with my kids, but the only one that will read it any time soon is the teenager. Our younger two still believe in Santa, and while Bennett doesn’t come out and say that Santa doesn’t exist, the explanation of Santa’s history might burst the bubble for some. I could see reading Part One about the life of Nicholas to my children–the style is very accessible, and they would enjoy the story. But I won’t be passing the book around the family for several years.

I’m still mulling how to be satisfied with God, so in the meantime I thought I would share this powerful passage from Facing East, by Frederica Mathewes-Green. She explains that life usually seems full of uncertainty,

But, oh, how sweet is anger. When I’m angry, I’m not in the wrong. Somebody else is in the wrong, and for once I have peace. A delicious peace that gnaws over the wrong like a lion with a ragged bone. It is delicious and compelling enough that it urges me to accumulate other wrongs and hold them greedily close. I love to be wronged; only then, for that brief moment, can I be sure I’m right. It is intoxicating in its sweetness, this brief joy in being right. It is good to be a victim, because victims are sinless.

As someone with significant and lasting “anger issues,” I can completely relate to this; anger, along with its cousins bitterness and resentment, is indeed intoxicating. And that is undoubtedly why Paul urges us not to let the sun go down on our anger. As anyone who has struggled with addictions knows, allowing such a thing into our lives does indeed give the devil a foothold or opportunity. The intoxication keeps drawing us back for more.

This reminded me of something Margaret Lobenstine wrote about resentment in her latest newsletter; she explained that a friend had recently told her that resentment was like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die; it only kills us. I’ve heard this before, but it never really helped me beyond “That’s a good image to use if I ever teach on anger.” Lobenstine, however, found a practical way to apply it. She tells of being on the phone with tech support for five hours (five hours!) and becoming very frustrated. She says,

Prior to having heard the resentment-poison quote, I would have been beside myself, and my voice would probably have been injured by five hours of frustrated yelling. Holding on to the quote for dear life, however, I really was “beside” myself saying, “Is this poor phone company employee really worth drinking poison over?”

Lobenstine’s self-talk is really useful for all kinds of intoxicants and addictions besides anger. For those of us who tend to reach for sugar when the going gets rough, we can ask, “Is this situation really worth more pounds and the associated guilt that comes when I eat the entire package of Oreos?”

I’ve become fairly adept at telling myself “Stop it!” (and I do say it out loud) when I find myself drinking the poison and accumulating those angry thoughts, but it never hurts to have another weapon in the arsenal. What’s your tactic for putting an end to anger or other thoughts that poison your life? Share it in the comments.

For Easter, I received Mother Angelica's Little Book of Life Lessons and Everyday Spirituality, and so far I am very much enjoying it. It’s organized into topical chapters, and each chapter is a collection of sayings from Mother Angelica. Some are several paragraphs, but most that I have read so far have been fairly short, only a few sentences. Take this one, from the second chapter, “Your Mission, Your Purpose”:

Like the apostles, we Christians are arguing among ourselves when we should be out changing the world. We let filth proliferate and the darkness move in. Who do you think is going to change it? What are you waiting for? You are that somebody! The Lord God has no one else but you. You’d better get off your lead bottoms and go out there and change this pagan world.

And then there’s, “You have been chose twice: first to be, then to know Jesus. What are you doing with that fantastic mission? You have been created by God and know Jesus for one reason: to witness to faith, and hope, and love before an unbelieving world.”

I like this one very much: a “fantastic mission”! When was the last time you considered your life a mission? Depending on your church background, that might come to mind pretty often. But how often have you told yourself that your mission is fantastic? I was listening to a podcast by Brian Houston the other day as I walked at the Rec Center, and he was talking about the attitudes of a leader. Included on his list was the idea that leaders count it an honor to serve. Houston presented this in the context of the local church, that those who lead and serve within a congregation should never have the attitude that they are doing anyone a favor by serving; rather, the opportunity to serve is always an honor.

I know for myself, it can be a challenge to keep that mindset, whether about serving God or my church. It’s easy to think, “God sure is lucky to have me here doing…” or “What would the pastor do if I decided to stop…” We might not articulate it quite so bluntly, but the thought still crosses our minds from time to time, especially when we feel that no one appreciates our effort.

A “fantastic mission” mindset serves as an effective antidote to “no one appreciates what I do.” We think, “I have to be nice to Jane–again!–because I serve God”; this is a sure path to irritation and resentment. But imagine if we told ourselves, “God has specially called me to love Jane and be a witness of His love, His mercy, and His grace. Being a witness to her is the highest calling I could have because it allows God to be seen in action; being a witness gives my time at work eternal meaning and purpose. I’m blessed to have this mission.”

That’s a different approach; it takes the focus off me and the irritants that come from dealing with people and puts it on God–puts the focus in the proper place, I might add. It truly is marvelous, awesome, and humbling to consider that God Almighty, the Maker of heaven and earth, chooses to work with and through us. That truly is a fantastic mission.

I’m continuing to read George Müller’s Answers to Prayer, and I find myself encouraged and challenged at every turn. I’m encouraged because Müller’s story is such an incredible testimony of God’s faithfulness, not once or twice but over decades. And I’m challenged because I realize how far I have to go in learning to pray and trust as Müller did.

Müller tells how, in the 1860s, he needed workers for his third new orphan home that he had built. He had already been praying daily for several years, while the home was built, that God would provide the right people to serve in all the various positions required to run the home. That’s lesson number 1: Müller didn’t wait until the need was at crisis level to pray; as soon as he recognized the need, he brought it before God, and he continued to bring it before God every day. Yet, as the opening approached, and he considered the applicants, he came up short. He writes:

This was no small trial of faith; for day by day, for years, had I asked God to help me in this particular, even as He had done in the case of the New Orphan-House No. 2; I had also expected help, confidently expected help, and yet now, when help seemed needed, it was wanting. What was now to be done, dear Reader? Would it have been right to charge God with unfaithfulness? Would it have been right to distrust Him?… By no means.

I love Müller’s response; he says, “This, on the contrary, I did; I thanked God.” And not just a half-hearted thanks. No, he thanked God for helping with the buildings; he thanked God for helping him past all the difficulties that had arisen in the process; he thanked God for the workers that had already come to the existing homes. He thanked God consistently and persistently and thoroughly for all that he could see that God had already done. And that’s lesson number two: thank God for the answers he has already given to prayer.

But that didn’t address the immediate need for more workers, and so Müller took one more step: “I resolved, that, instead of praying once a day with my dear wife about this matter, as we had been doing day by day for years, we should now meet daily three times, to bring this before God.” He also requested the prayers of all his staff. Amazing! Lesson three: channel potential discouragement into more frequent, persistent prayer.

He concludes with the results of his increased prayer:

Thus I have now continued for about four months longer in prayer, day by day calling upon God three times on account of this need, and the result has been, that one helper after the other has been given, without the help coming too late, or the work getting into confusion… and I am fully assured, that the few who are yet needed will also be found, when they are really required.

Müller saw God answer his prayers in God’s time, and Müller let go of his time line to receive as God provided—lesson four. And he recognized that God’s provision and timing were sufficient for the need. I think of my own experiences in praying for finances at the end of February. I would have liked to see God provide a single, large sum to deal with all of the bills at once, and certainly, God could have done that. But what He did provide was sufficient for the moment, and we are continuing to see His faithful provision this month.

I’m encouraged and challenged to go deeper in my prayer and to persist in seeking God about the needs in my life. I’ve seen God answer prayer many times, and I have not prayed nearly so much as Müller. I’m excited to think what more God can do as I put these principles to work.

I never gave much thought to the mercy of God until this past weekend. “Lord, have mercy” has long been an expression of exasperation (as in, “Lord have mercy! What were you thinking?”) rather than a prayer. My first exposure to this was in sixth grade, when we moved to Columbus, Mississippi–my family’s first time in the South. My teacher that year–I can’t remember her name, but I clearly remember her face, her blue hair, and her rather unpleasant disposition–was a good Southern woman, and she used to exclaim, “Laaaw-zay mer-say may!” (translation: Lordy, mercy me!) when she was frustrated. Later, in high school, Sunday school teacher Dave Krebs suggested to us boys that “mercy” was a good word to say instead of a profanity. Not a bad idea, I suppose. The other place that I encountered “mercy” was in games of strength: you extend your arms upward, interlock fingers with the other guy, and try to push him down to his knees, making him cry for mercy.

The upshot of this, particularly using mercy as an exclamation, is that the word was emptied of meaning for me. I knew that it was a theologically important concept, as well as a potentially troubling one, linked as it always was to God’s sovereignty. God said to Moses, “I will show mercy on whom I will show mercy,” and I always wondered how He decided. Since I usually ended up scared when I pondered this, I decided not to think about it at all. So “mercy” didn’t enter much into my understanding of God or into my prayers.

I read somewhere last year that Orthodox Christians regularly pray “The Jesus Prayer”: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner. I remember thinking at the time that “have mercy on me” was probably not the one thing I would choose to pray repeatedly, but I didn’t pursue it and just made a mental note of the fact.

Apparently it’s time for me to pursue it. As I noted about a week ago, the repetition of Lord, have mercy. Christ, have mercy. Lord, have mercy. in my use of The Little Book of Hours helped slow me down. This past weekend, I read Frederica Mathewes-Green’s The Illumined Heart, a short but powerful book that applies the wisdom of early Christians to the process of being changed by God. Mathewes-Green devotes an entire chapter to the Jesus Prayer, describing its centrality to Orthodox practice. She explains, “The words of this prayer distill the faith of the early church.”

First, it calls on the name of Jesus: Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God. Mathewes-Green writes,

To call upon the name of Jesus meant to call on his whole person as revealed in glory; it meant to own him as Lord and Christ. Thus the first part of this prayer attributes titles of honor to the one on whom we call, and proclaims that we take him as Lord. It is a profession of faith.

That makes sense, and I like it. I’ve recognized recently that I have a highly developed sense of Jesus as friend (“What a Friend We Have in Jesus” and “I Am a Friend of God” come to mind here), but not much sense of Jesus as Lord. This lack is part of what has drawn my attention to Catholicism in the last year or so; Roman Catholics seem to do a really good job of presenting God and Jesus as objects of reverence and awe. Mathewes-Green ends her chapter with a quote from St. Theophan:

“Beware lest in ceaselessly remembering God you forget also to kindle fear, and awe, and the desire to fall down as dust before the face of God.… Frequent recollection of God without reverence blunts the feeling of the fear of God and thereby deprives us of its saving influence.”

Praying Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God serves as a powerful reminder that Jesus is more than friend; He is Master, Savior, Anointed One.

But what about the mercy part? I’ll take that up tomorrow next time.

Yesterday, I got out Andrew Murray’s Humility: The Journey Toward Holiness, a wonderful and powerful little book (just over 100 pages). I read it back in early 2004, and it seems like a good time to read it again.

Murray starts by making the point that all most Christians know of humility is in regard to sin: we are humbled when we realize our sinfulness, but once we are saved, we hear nothing more of humility. In response to this misconception, he writes:

It needs to be made clear that it is not sin that humbles but grace. It is the soul occupied with God in His wonderful glory as Creator and Redeemer that will truly take the lowest place before Him.… If we are to be humble not only before God but toward men, and if humility is to be our joy, we must see that it is not only the mark of shame because of sin, but apart from sin, it is being clothed with the very beauty and blessedness of Jesus. (emphasis added)

Murray concludes that humility is “our participation in the life of Jesus.”

This is something to ponder. Different communities of believers emphasize different aspects: some say that to be like Jesus is to be involved in social justice; others, that we must walk in manifestations of miraculous power, with signs and wonders following; another, preaching sin and salvation to the lost. Each of these is indeed a part of what Jesus did on earth, and we who are being made in His likeness should do what He did.

Murray points us to Philippians 2 to assert that humility is at the core of who Jesus is. Before His love of the poor, before the miracles, before the preaching–before everything–is humility. He humbled Himself to the Father in heaven; in humility He took on flesh; He lived in the humility of total dependence on the Father while on earth; and humility took Him to the cross. As Murray sees it, if you want to be like Jesus, you must first learn humility.

As part of my effort to pray more intentionally (instead of just more frequently), I’ve committed to use The Little Book of Hours, which provides morning, midday, evening, and nighttime prayers for thirty days. I bought it almost two years ago and started with it several times, but I never lasted more than a few days. I started with it (again) last Sunday, and it took me until Wednesday to manage all four prayer times. Now that I’m in this mode, I’m very much enjoying it.

This prayer book is produced by the Community of Jesus, “an ecumenical Christian community in the Benedictine monastic tradition.” Because it is ecumenical, the explicitly Roman Catholic aspects are gone, but the tradition of prayers, psalms, gospel readings, and meditation remains.

The Lord’s Prayer is a consistent feature of all the prayer times, and to be honest, I found it rather annoying the first time I used The Little Book of Hours. I don’t think I ever said the Lord’s Prayer in church until I attended a Catholic service as an adult; it’s simply not a part of public worship in the Churches of Christ, nor was I ever encouraged to use it privately. More recently, I’ve heard teaching on how to use the Lord’s Prayer as a model (which, in Luke, is why Jesus gave it to the disciples; they wanted to know how to pray); in this approach, one prays the Lord’s prayer using each phrase as a starting point for further praise, petition, confession, and so forth.

This time around, I came to this portion of each prayer time a little differently. During my retreat, I read some of the Rule of St. Benedict, the instructions by which Benedictine monks live. It’s an amazing work for many reasons; last weekend, this part caught my eye:

Assuredly, the celebration of Lauds and Vespers [prayer times] must never pass by without the superior’s reciting the entire Lord’s Prayer at the end for all to hear, because thorns of contention are likely to spring up. Thus warned by the pledge they make to one another in the very words of this prayer: Forgive us as we forgive, they may cleanse themselves of this kind of vice.

I love the phrase “thorns of contention”; in a family of five, there are thorns aplenty–between me and Teddie, between us and the children, between the children themselves. Benedict had the wisdom to recognize that people being together gives occasion for the need to forgive, and the Lord’s Prayer serves as a reminder that Christians must forgive.

So far, I’ve said the Lord’s Prayer 18 times in the past week (about 17 more than the past 42 years!), and instead of it going stale, it’s growing richer. For one, Benedict’s admonition is in the back of my mind each time I say “forgive me my trespasses as I forgive those who trespass against me.” I can’t breeze through that; I must stop and consider, if even for a moment, what I’ve done in the past few hours and who needs forgiveness from me. It’s also enriched by being part of a larger context of prayers and psalms that focus largely on praise and adoration.

Each hour begins with a short opening prayer; many, like these three, are lyrical:

O Christ, dispel sleep, break the chains of night, release long-standing sin, and pour in new light. Amen.

O God, Maker of all mankind, give the rewards of joy, grant the gifts of graces, dissolve the chains of quarreling, and bind fast the agreements of peace. Amen.

Come Holy Spirit, kindle light for our senses, pour out love in our hearts, and undergird with perpetual strength the weaknesses of our body. Amen.

You’ll note that in these prayers, from different days, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are included. Not a prayer time goes by without acknowledging and addressing all three; I like that.

I’ll close by mentioning that another benefit of the prayers is increased peace. I’ve been working this week to put my fall semester course materials online, and I’ve had a lot of technical problems. Stopping to praise God and ask for His help puts life in focus, and I return to my keyboard calm. That’s a good thing!

Note: for more information, read a brief background on the Book of Hours or see images of medieval manuscript versions.

I’ve always been a lover of fiction, and only in the last 3 or 4 years have I come to a place where I can not only teach poetry but also enjoy it. The majority of my students in literature surveys are put off by poetry (as I was, even in grad school), so I have had some hesitation in posting a poem here. This summer, I’ve been teaching British and Irish Literature II (which covers the late 1700’s to the present), and I’ve been reacquainted with some poems and poets that I love. In particular I’m drawn to Gerard Manley Hopkins, a Jesuit in Victorian England who wrote so eloquently about his faith. A number of his poems speak to his struggles with doubt, but he has others that celebrate God and creation. “As kingfishers catch fire” has been on my mind since mid-June: when I read it one morning before class, it stunned me (more about why after the poem).

[Teaching aside: let me make a few suggestions to all of you who are not poetry readers. First, read it aloud. Poetry is in part about sound, and this is especially true of Hopkins. You miss much of the beauty of his work if you don’t hear it. Second, ignore the accent marks (Í) and line breaks and just read straight through as you would with prose, pausing and stopping with the punctuation; it’s a lot easier to get the sense of the poem that way.]

As kingfishers catch fire, dragonflies draw flame;
As tumbled over rim and roundy wells
Stones ring; like each tucked string tells, each hung bell’s
Bow swung finds tongue to fling out broad its name;
Each mortal thing does one thing and the same:
Deals out that being indoors each one dwells;
Selves–goes itself; myself it speaks and spells,
Crying What I do is me: for that I came.

Í say more: the just man justices;
Keeps gráce: thát keeps all his goings graces;
Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is–
Chríst. For Christ plays in ten thousand places,
Lovely in limbs, and lovely in eyes not his
To the Father through the features of men’s faces.

I have to say, I’m still left rather breathless each time I read it. Perhaps it’s because I’ve fumbled for so long to know who I am and what I’m all about; only in the last 6 or 7 years have I truly come to know myself. As I’ve understood that God created me to do not just something but certain things, that I was created for a particular purpose, I have come to see that I don’t just teach for a living, I am a teacher. I don’t just like to write, I am a writer. “What I do is me: for that I came.”

It’s all well and good to know your purpose. Hopkins take this one step further, though. He says that as the “just man justices” and the writer writes, he “Acts in God’s eye what in God’s eye he is–Christ.” When I am truly me, being myself (and doing what I was made to do), I am Christ, giving pleasure to the Father. It’s good to be reminded that I was made for a purpose and that who I am makes my Creator happy.

Note: for those of you, like me, unfamiliar with the kingfisher, this is what he looks like; you can learn more here.