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Even when Christians are faced with different
cultures and language barriers the message of Jesus
remains the same. He is our Savior and I hope you
will think of Him often during the holidays. -
Bob
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Happy
Birthday, Dear Jesus, Happy Birthday to
You!
By Dr. G.
Byrns Coleman
It was Christmas
Day 1967 and the snow was falling fast and
furiously. A white Christmas for sure. It had
snowed all night and had made our world a beautiful
white sculpture, like you expect to see on a
picture postcard. We could not remember another
genuinely white Christmas; some ice from time to
time, and a few flakes that excited our senses, but
never a really white Christmas, like
this one!
We were in Nashville,
Tennessee, for a years leave-of-absence from
my teaching at Wingate to study at Vanderbilt
University; hopefully the homestretch of a doctoral
program. We had visited my parents some thirty
miles away on Christmas Eve because of somber
weather reports. Our children were thrilled at the
snow. We lived on 19th Avenue in sight of
Vanderbilt on 21st, and looking out from our
Scarritt College apartment, we knew we were in for
the day.
All was well. We were
prepared, and Santa had come. Presents were pilled
high around our live decorated Christmas tree. Our
children played most of the morning with the toys
and various gifts they opened for Christmas. We had
read the Christmas story and talked about the
meaning of this special time.
We had been to several
Christmas programs at the church near where we
lived. The Christian Education Center in the
basement of our apartment building which was run by
the Christian Education Department of Scarritt
College had focused on the Christmas story.
Even at that young age, both
Jo and Bill (ages 4 and 3; this was before Allen
was born) knew the Bible story and could sing the
Christmas songs from church. This was a special
Christmas. Here we were in Nashville, 450 miles or
so from our home in Wingate, snowbound for the day,
but happy and excited about Christmas. There was
one other event that made this a Christmas that we
reminisced about many, many times. Alice and I
still remember and our memory has become a memory
for our children.
The Greshams who also lived
in the apartments were from India. There was Mr.
Gresham, Mrs. Gresham whose name was Elizabeth, and
their daughter, Emily. They had come to the United
States for Mrs. Gresham, Elizabeth, to work on a
Christian Education degree at Scarritt College.
We never knew Mr.
Greshams first name. It always reminded me of
some character out of a James Bond movie, like
Rahajime, or something like that. We simply called
him Mr. Gresham. Emily was high school age and had
baby sat for us several times. Both Emily and her
mother wore the traditional garb of their native
India, the long, wrap-around sarong and sandals and
many times the red dot in the middle of their
forehead. Mr. Gresham was dressed like a typical
business man. In fact, when they made plans to come
to the United States, he had gotten a job somewhere
in Pennsylvania. They said Pennsylvania and
Tennessee did not look that far apart on the
map.
Late in the afternoon on this
particular snowy Christmas day, after our children
had worn themselves out playing with their
Santa Claus gifts, and had finished
their usual afternoon naps, Emily appeared at our
apartment door with an invitation. We were invited
to a birthday party in their apartment,
a birthday party for Jesus. With the excited glee
of Jo and Bill we accepted, and about supper time
went to celebrate with a cake and candles, the
singing of Happy birthday to you . . .,
and the eating of a light supper and birthday cake.
It was indeed a memorable
occasion. Here we were, a typical American family
and a family from the other side of the world with
different customs, a different native language, who
were far away from their home in India, but drawn
together by similar interests. I was a student of
New Testament at Vanderbilt University School of
Religion, Elizabeth was studying for a degree in
Christian Education at Scarritt College, we lived
in the same apartment building on the Scarritt
campus, we were friends, Emily was our baby sitter
and felt close to our children, and . . . most
special of all, we were drawn together by our
Christian faith in Jesus as Lord and our
celebration of His birth.
That year in Nashville was
special for us all. We met and became friends with
people from many places. We had a map of the world
on our living room wall where we marked with
colored pins where our many new friends came from
and were going back to after their degrees were
earned the Philippines, the Belgium-Congo
(later Zaire, and then later the Belgium-Congo
again), Germany, American missionary kids, who knew
no English when the year started, from Brazil, from
out west Native American Indians who had been
adopted by parents who also were in graduate school
at Scarritt, adopted Korean kids, and several
others.
Our children were becoming
very cosmopolitan, knowing other kids from around
the world. Our son Bill thought all languages that
were not English were German. Sometimes after an
afternoon of play on the playground with the many
other children in the apartments, Bill would say,
Mom, why do all those kids speak
German? I was amazed that language was no
barrier to their play. Sarah, the daughter of
Methodist missionary friends from the
Belgium-Congo, and Bill were both three years old
and played together. Bill talked about Wingate and
Sarah talked about the Congo. Both talked about
going home. Bill asked his mother one
day, We can drive to Wingate. Can Sarah drive
to the Congo? That is when we got the idea
for a world-map for our living room wall. Our
children learned geography that way.
It was a good year. Jo, Bill,
and later Allen feel close to Scarritt College (no
longer a degree-granting college, but a place for
year-round elder hostels and a place
for continuing study for furloughing Methodist
missionaries), Peabody College (now a part of
Vanderbilt), and Vanderbilt University. After our
two different years of sabbatical study and our
many summers for degree completion for both Byrns
and Alice at Vanderbilt, they feel they grew
up on those campuses there.
Its been 44 years since
that good year. We went back several other times
for study times. Even after that many years, we
still remember that snowy Christmas day in 1967
when we sat with a family from India and sang
Happy
birthday to you, happy birthday to you,
happy birthday, Dear
Jesus, happy birthday to you!
We lighted the candle to
remind us of the light of the world and
we ate cake and worshiped God!
So, Christmas 2011, Alice
and I and our children and their families will
remember that special snowy Christmas day so long
ago and say sincerely, Happy Birthday,
Jesus.
December,
2009
About the
Author
G. Byrns Coleman is Professor
of Religion and Chair of Department of Religion
& Philosophy, Wingate
University, Wingate, NC
. He is also a member of Wingate
Baptist Church
.
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If you have never made the
commitment to receive the love and life-changing
experience of Jesus Christ, please take a moment
to read John
3:16 for more
information.
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