The existentialists would’ve called it a meaningful experience. I just call it a light bulb moment. This past week the Lord Christ reminded me that during that week I was living the good life. Surrounded by my wealth (grandchildren) it was impressed upon me that the love of a great wife that is peerless, children who are Christian and epistemologically self-conscious and so zealous for the Kingdom of God, and many grandchildren are not blessings that every man is blessed with. I was left wondering why me? Why has God blessed me so richly like this when I remain a sinner saved by Grace. These blessings have been another example of how God crowns his gracious gifts with even more gifts.
And as if that wasn’t enough Sunday I was preaching away and in the middle of the sermon I looked up and saw standing behind the back pews three Mothers and/or Mother’s helpers holding babies listening intently while soothing their infant charges. I found myself wondering where would those held babies in the back be in sixty years? Would they be worshiping Christ on each Lord’s Day? Would they understand that only in Christ does life have meaning and purpose? Would they find Christian spouses so that they would in turn in 20 years being holding their own babies in some small congregation in some small church somewhere on a Lord’s Day morning? I was tempted to just stop preaching and just soak it all in for a moment — tempted to stop to pray for those babies and mothers.
And then I was immediately struck with a sanctuary, full of God’s people, seated in their family units, straddling across several generations — and none covered in masks — all gathered to hear the word of God broken to them; all following the sermon and all nodding along, and all having a genuine Christian affection for one another. I was hit in the middle of preaching with the sense of responsibility to get it right as well as with the wonder that God maintains a people and maintains them as in their family units in this small congregation in Mid-Michigan. There remain 7000 who have not bowed the knee to Baal and a portion of that number worship weekly at Charlotte Christ the King Reformed Church.
It’s amazing how fast the mind can process information and that while preaching away.
Why have I been blessed with all this goodness? Why am I privileged to serve God by serving a people who love Christ? Why here, do the memories of Christendom past still cling to life in this small Church among our handful?
Only because God’s providence designed it so.
To God be the glory.
This poem sounds like Bret could have written it himself.
xmas-eve.jpgTwas the Night Before Christmas
by Mike Stone
‘Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the web,
Not even Henry was stirring, he’d just gone to bed.
The commies were seething, for this night they most hated.
Their scorn for God’s son, would not be abated.
From Stalin to Mao, to the Demonrats today,
They attack and they kill when they don’t get their way.
They lie and they steal, they kill people too.
The day of Christ’s birthday, turns their minds to goo.
They hate Jesus and God, and patriots standing tall.
They hate everything good, Christians most of all.
They brutalize children, they kill babies by the score,
Give them some power, they’ll kill more and more.
They fake the news, they can’t help but lie.
They want the whole world, they want the whole pie.
But it’s not just your money, not just your wife,
Not just your guns, not even your life.
What they want most of all is your soul going to hell.
It’s where they’re all going, and your soul they will sell.
But not on this night, nor on Christmas Day,
They can do no evil, for God will hold sway.
For on this day at least, a savior was born.
So let those commies cry, let them all mourn.
Christmas is here, the one day when
We have peace on earth, and good will towards men.
Mike Stone is the author of A New America, the first novel of the Alt-Right, a dark comedy set on Election Day 2016 in Los Angeles – – Available on Amazon.