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Dancing Sugarplums
by Pastor George Van Alstine

We’re all familiar with the lines from the well-known Christmas poem

The children were nestled all snug in their beds
While visions of sugarplums danced in their heads.

When these phrases cross my mind, I seem to go back to early memories from my childhood, flashing back to excited thoughts that ushered me into dreamland on Christmas Eves long ago. “Visions of sugarplums” seemed to “dance” in my head.

Wait a minute! I didn’t even know what sugarplums were, so how could I have visions of them? Well, the word itself seems to makes a boy’s mouth water. And when a little child sees these things “dancing” in his head, — now that’s a vision that stays with him even into old age.

Actually, sugarplums were a special confection that every Victorian child looked forward to indulging in at Christmas time. They were not literal plums, but could be made of any dried fruit—dates, figs, raisins, apricots, cherries, as well as plums. These dried fruits were finely chopped, along with almonds, honey, and spices. This paste was rolled into small, bite-size balls, and the individual confections were coated with sugar and, maybe, coconut. In short, a sugarplum was a combination of all the best sweet flavors a child could imagine.

The image of a dancing sugarplum was also included by Tchaikovsky in his ballet “The Nutcracker.” In the storyline, the Sugarplum Fairy is the ruler in the Land of Sweets, where goodies from around the world gather, Russian candy canes, Spanish chocolate, Danish Marzipan, etc. This place sounds like a kid’s heaven!

But alas, the sugary dreams of childhood must give way to the more complex realities of adulthood. Thankfully, the true Christmas story speaks to grownups even more profoundly than it does to children. The Christmas carol “O Little Town of Bethlehem” puts it this way:

The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.”

Yes, life is a mixture of sugarplum hopes and paralyzing fears, and both powerful emotions are included in the account of Jesus’ birth. The Wise Men were “overwhelmed with joy” (Luke 2:10), but King Herod was “frightened” (Luke 2:3) and “infuriated” (Luke 2:16). The Elder Simon prophesied to Mary that her baby boy was “destined for the falling and the rising of many” and warned her that “a sword will pierce your own soul too” (Luke 2:34-35).

In referring to The hopes and fears of all the years, the hymn writer was primarily alluding to the centuries of longing for Messiah’s birth by God’s people, Israel. But The hopes and fears of all the years can also summarize your life, with its ups and downs, excitements and disappointments. It’s not an easy thing to give up dancing “visions of sugarplums” and accept the fact that life includes fears as well as hopes, fallings as well as risings. But the wonder of Christmas is that, by coming as God in human flesh, the Babe embraces all of who we are.

Praising and Pondering
by Pastor George Van Alstine

The shepherds listened with amazement to the angel choir singing Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth, peace and good will! They couldn’t just go back to work after that, because they realized that everything had changed:

When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, “Let us go now to Bethlehem and see this thing that has taken place, which the Lord has made known to us.” So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger. When they saw this, they made known what had been told them about this child; and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds had told them. But Mary treasured all these words and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen, as it had been told them. (Luke 2:15-20)

The shepherds praised, but Mary pondered. Two contrasting reactions to the same event. Both were reasonable and valid responses, but they were very different. One was loud, the other silent. One was spontaneous, the other restrained. One was exuberant and emotional, the other thoughtful and inquisitive. One was from the heart, the other from the mind. Strikingly different, and yet see how they complimented each other! Both praising and pondering are necessary for our faith response to what happened that night.

We know what praising is, but pondering is less obvious. The original Greek language is very revealing. The first verb indicates that Mary “kept,” “treasured,” “remembered” all the words she heard—this is kind of like data-collecting. But the second verb, the one translated “pondered,” describes what Mary’s mind did with the data. Every other time this word is used in the New Testament, it refers to a conversation between two or more people, with the meaning “confer,” “meet with,” “talk over.” But here it is used of an internal conversation Mary had with herself. In reality, she had a lot more information to think about than the shepherds did, who had just heard the news that night. She had a nine-month head start on them. For Mary, “pondering” meant rolling many confusing facts over and over in her mind—the mysterious pregnancy, the social shame it brought, her heated conversations with Joseph, the visit with cousin Elizabeth, the awesome encounter with the angel Gabriel (had that really happened?). There was a lot to ponder.

* * * * *

Our Christmas experience will also involve both praising and pondering. The stimulation to praise will confront us constantly, in the lights, the music, the gift-giving and cheery “Merry Christmas!” greetings. But we will also hear the voices of hunger and hurting, replay memories of lost loved ones, sense the fleeting years and unfulfilled dreams in our own lives. And the ultimate Christmas message, that God has come “in the flesh” — this very flesh in which we experience life’s dark side—will once again shine into every corner of hopelessness and helplessness.

How does this happen? How does the Christmas story continual to have the power to speak where words fail? How can the joy and grace and salvation experienced by that little band of first-hand witnesses in Bethlehem still be ours today in a world of disbelief and crass materialism? Now, there’s something to ponder!

Memorials
by Pastor George Van Alstine

This morning I drove by “my spot” to check whether the recent rains had wiped out my lines. You see, for over twenty years I have marked off the same area on the center island of Sierra Madre Boulevard, to reserve it for my family and friends to view the Rose Parade on New Years morning. The rest of the year anyone is free to use this 20-square-yard, City-owned plot of grass, but from Thanksgiving to New years it’s mine! I follow the lead of a few other neighborhood people in marking off my area. After Cheryl from up the street puts down her lines, I use regular baking flour to identify my piece of turf just south of hers. A white “V” in the center lets the world know Van Alstine has been there. Of course, I have no legal right to “my spot,” but all the neighborhood people respect each other’s territories, kind of the way urban gangs divide up city blocks to avoid conflict, and the cops leave us alone.

It’s a funny thing, but I hardly ever drive down Sierra Madre Boulevard without glancing at “my spot.” I seem to half expect that someone is going to put down marking lines in the middle of the summer as a challenge to my squatter’s rights. Judy thinks I’m nuts when I drive a block out of my way in late October to make sure no one’s off to an early start this year.

I’ve recently realized that “my spot” means a lot to me because it holds so many memories. It brings back images of good times and warm friendships. I flash back to the night when it poured rain constantly. Dale McCall and I were protecting the spot over night, sleeping on a mattress under a tarp. About 3 a.m. he left to go to the bathroom and never came back. In the morning, I was the only person in the entire block who was still out there—collapsed tarp, soaked mattress, but still on guard. Thanks, Dale.

I remember the satisfaction I felt to help provide a once-in-a-lifetime Parade experience for Elizabeth Allen’s parent from rural Northamptonshire, England. I love to see the bright eyes of little kids sitting on the front row of “my spot,” where they can almost touch the horses. A recent tradition in our little block of the Parade route is the New Years Eve midnight tortilla-and-marshmallow battle between the good guys on our side of the street and the forces of evil from the mobile home area across from us. Awesome!

“My spot” is an example of a memorial, a physical site or symbol that evokes powerful images of life-changing events. The Lincoln Memorial in Washington DC is just a statue of stone, but it speaks volumes to an American’s soul about the formative years of the Civil War and the Emancipation Proclamation. Many of us who are on the down side of fifty remember exactly where we were when we learned that President Kennedy had been shot; that location has become a memorial for us. You probably remember where you had your first kiss. (Yeah, I know; on the lips. Ha, Ha!) And your home town is a memorial that elicits strong pictures of your earliest experiences of life.

The miraculous crossing of the Red Sea was the moment when the faith of Israel was shaped for future generations, so their leader Joshua instructed them to build a memorial:

Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the middle of the Jordan, and each of you take up a stone on his shoulder, one for each of the tribes of the Israelites, so this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, “What do these stones mean to you?” then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off in front of the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it crossed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the Israelites a memorial forever. (Joshua 4:5-8)

For decades afterward, this pile of stones on the west bank of the Jordan River inspired faith and hope in the Jewish people who passed that way.

Maybe we ought to be more diligent about building our faith memorials. Where did you first learn about Jesus? Can you remember the time when you asked him to be your personal Savior? Mark the spot, so that you can return to it when your love for him cools off a bit. Do you remember a particular crisis in which God proved himself to you? Memorialize the time an place, so that it may inspire and uplift you the next time you are facing a trial.

The Cross itself is a Christian’s primary memorial. It speaks volumes to me about God’s love and his determination to embrace me with that love. So spiritually, the foot of the Cross is “my spot.”

Are You a Frequent Flyer?
By Pastor George Van Alstine

In 1979, Texas International Airlines tried a new way to carve out a slice of the very competitive air travel market by offering frequent flyer miles as an incentive. Two years later, American Airlines adopted the program, and in no time, all the major airlines got on board, each arguing that their plan was the best. Since then, the frequent flyer industry has become huge, so that by 2005, 14 trillion frequent flyer miles had been accumulated, with an estimated value of 700 billion dollars. People buy and sell frequent flyer miles through brokers, and there are even ways they can be donated to charities for tax write-offs.

There is considerable debate about the actual value of frequent flyer miles. The industry publicly expresses the dollar equivalency as 2 cents a mile, but this depends on a lot of factors. Poor selection of redeemed flights can reduce the value to under 1 cent a mile, while some people who have studied how to work the system claim they can redeem accumulated points at 5 or 6 cents a mile. Either way, it’s a nice little bonus for the traveler, as well as increased traffic for the airline.

So much for the economy lesson.

Have you ever noticed that prayer is like flying? You turn your mind from the physical things around you and take off into another realm. Pretty soon the things that have been bothering you seem small and far away; they don’t seem quite as important from the prayer altitude. Before you know it, prayer has taken you over a lot of obstacles and problems and has landed you in a better place.

I wonder if there is such a thing as frequent flyer miles in prayer! It does seem that the more you pray, the more you want to pray. It’s almost like having prepaid prayer miles that you’re motivated to redeem. Once you get the feel for flying, you can’t wait to get in the air again.

Of course, not all frequent flyer miles are redeemed. The airline industry estimates that about one-third of earned miles expire before they are used. That represents a lot of unclaimed flying experiences. I wonder if the same is true of prayer. You may be really helped by an uplifting experience of prayer. You say “Amen,” look at the frequent flyer coupons in your hand (visible only with your spiritual eyes), and say to yourself, “I’ve just got to fly again soon.” And then you go about your business, forgetting about your prayer-high. You’ve been grounded by your own indifference and neglect.

By contrast, the person who redeems every possible opportunity to lift off into the prayer realm becomes a true frequent flyer. Nothing on the ground ever seems to look the same to a person like that, for they view everything from prayer-cruising altitude.

Look for Thanksgiving Thorns!
By Pastor George Van Alstine

Part of our church’s Swedish heritage is a simple and wonderful Thanksgiving hymn. The Swedish title is “Tack O Gud.” For some reason the English translator rendered this as “Thanks to God,” but it actually should be “Thanks, O God.” I like that a lot better because it’s really a personal prayer of thanks. Here are the lyrics:

Thanks, O God, for my Redeemer,
Thanks for all Thou dost provide!
Thanks for times now but a memory,
Thanks for Jesus by my side!
Thanks for pleasant, balmy springtime,
Thanks for dark and dreary fall!
Thanks for tears by now forgotten,
Thanks for peace within my soul!

Thanks for prayers that Thou hast answered,
Thanks for what Thou dost deny!
Thanks for storms that I have weathered,
Thanks for all Thou dost supply!
Thanks for pain, and thanks for pleasure,
Thanks for comfort in despair!
Thanks for grace that none can measure,
Thanks for love beyond compare!

Thanks for roses by the wayside,
Thanks for thorns their stems contain!
Thanks for home and thanks for fireside,
Thanks for hope, that sweet refrain!
Thanks for joy and thanks for sorrow,
Thanks for heavenly peace with Thee!
Thanks for hope in the tomorrow,
Thanks through all eternity!

The pattern of this poem is very obvious: a believer is thankful for everything, the good and the bad, the happy and the sad. Some of the contrasting causes for thanking God are the “pleasant, balmy springtime” and the “dark and dreary fall”; “prayers that Thou hast answered” and “what Thou dost deny”; “pain” and “pleasure,” “joy” and “sorrow.” There are “times but now a memory,” possibly a reference to loved ones who have died; but balancing this loss, there is “Jesus by my side.”

The words to this hymn were written in 1891 by August Ludwig Storm, a young Swedish Salvation Army officer for publication in that group’s journal “War Cry.” The poem made its way to the US, where in 1914, John Alfred Hultman, a Christian musician and Mission Covenant pastor in the Chicago area, gave it its familiar musical setting and popularized it through his singing ministry.

Storm was only 29 years old when he wrote the lyrics, hardly old enough to have experienced much of life’s pain and suffering, sadness and loss. But nine years later, when he was 37 years old, his thanksgiving-in-all-circumstances attitude was really put to the test. He experienced a severe illness that left him crippled and with constant back pain for the rest of his life. Was he able to thank God for his debilitating physical weakness? It was probably a struggle at times, but his faith evidently overcame this obstacle. How do we know? Storm emerged to be one of the top leaders in the Swedish Salvation Army movement during the last, painful fifteen years of his life. It must have been wonderful to hear him sing “Tack O Gud” as a frail disabled man who had learned thanksgiving the hard way.

I particularly like the line, “Thanks for roses by the wayside, Thanks for storms their stems contain!” Roses have a special kind of beauty, amplified by a distinctive delicate fragrance. I don’t think any other flower has the same esthetic effect on humans, helping us to express our deepest and most romantic feelings. But those thorns! Why did God have to give us those thorns?

Well, why did God give August Storm that awful, twisted back? Apparently, he became a strong spiritual leader in part because of the lessons he learned through his constant back pain. It was probably hard, but he learned to be thankful for his particular thorn in his flesh, his crippled back.

I encourage you to look for thorns in your life this Thanksgiving—thorns that may become new reasons to thank God, rather than to curse your bad luck. Discovering a Thanksgiving Thorn may revolutionize your life.