Polmont Old
Parish Church - Scotland
Parish Church - Scotland
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 Day Twenty Two activities  If you have an Advent Wreath - here is a short reading and ceremony before lighting the Four candles. Luke Ch2 V8 to 20 - The Shepherds and the Angels: And there were shepherds living out in the fields nearby, keeping watch over their flocks at night. An angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were terrified. But the angel said to them, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; he is Christ the Lord. This will be a sign to you: You will find a baby wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger." Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests." When the angels had left them and gone into heaven, the shepherds said to one another, "Let's go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about." So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them.  But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart. The shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things they had heard and seen, which were just as they had been told.Prayer: Gracious God our Father we come to You giving thanks for Your all encompassing Love to us. Father as we light our candles, we are reminded of heavenly light and chorus that appeared to the shepherds. We thank You that the momentous news of the birth of Jesus was first brought to ordinary men, men excluded and thought of as the lowest, just fit to look after the Temple sheep. We thank You for this sign that Your Love entering into a dark world is for everyone, you make no difference between people, for You see the Heart. Father we thank You for such a life changing and affirming experience for these men, we thank you that they chose to go and find the child, grant that this Christmas we too may find the Christ Child for the first time, or find him anew in our hearts. Loving Father grant that we may be like the shepherds, praising You for such Love offered to all in Jesus, help us to do as Mary did and treasure the moments shared in worship, fellowship and friendship, sharing a common faith. Lord hear our prayer in Jesus Name. Amen. Enjoy this story of the birth of Jesus by the Inn Keepers wife: The Inn Keepers Wife: 
I'm here tonight to set the record straight. People who have heard the story have begun to talk. They say my husband was cruel and unfeeling. But they don't know the whole story.I'm sure you've heard bits and pieces of it. A weary man knocks on the door of an inn, his young wife -- his young, pregnant wife -- perched on top of a donkey. Inexplicably, inexcusably, he turns them away in their deepest hour of need. "There's no room in the inn," he grumbles as he closes his door in their faces. That much is true. But there's more to the innkeeper's story. You won't hear it in any of the accounts that are circulating today. Still, there is more to be told. I know. I am his wife. Now, I'm not saying that his actions were right or justified. But, when you know the whole truth, I think you'll understand my husband, even pity him. Where to begin? On that cold, clear night, my husband, Benjamin, and I had just celebrated 20 years of marriage. Our inn was full with many travelers who had come to Bethlehem, the city of David, to register for Caesar's tax. And, the more crowded our inn became with families from every corner of Israel, the more hollow our hearts seemed. You see, in our 20 years of marriage, God had never blessed us with a child. The walls of our house had never heard the cries of a newborn, the giggles of a toddler, the curious questions of a child. Benjamin are I were barren. Now, I know we aren't the first couple to suffer this grief, and I'm sure we won't be the last. But, think of the shame and disappointment barrenness meant to a couple in Bethlehem. Everyone knew that God's promised Messiah, the Savior, would be born in Bethlehem. Men of God had prophesied this long ago.  In Bethlehem, when news spread that a woman was with child, the anticipation was doubled. Would this child be the Messiah, the promised deliverer our entire nation longed for? Every pregnancy in our town was greeted with awe and wonder. And, every sight of a pregnant woman reminded Benjamin -- and me -- of the barrenness of our lives. We knew that the Messiah would never be born under our roof. My husband is a quiet and humble man, a man of deep feeling and compassion. But the sight of a pregnant woman was too much for him to take, much less invite into our home.So, when the knock on the door came that night, I wasn't surprised to hear him turn the couple away. He had done the same on other occasions without remorse. There were other places of lodging in our town. But this night was different. We both knew Bethlehem was bursting at the seams with travelers. We knew it would be impossible for that couple to find rest and shelter anywhere in town. And, judging by the look of anguish on that young girl's face, I knew she only had moments to spare before her baby came. Benjamin collapsed against the closed door. The anguish on his face was a sight more unbearable than the anguished face of that pregnant girl. Her anguish would soon be over; my husband would take his to his grave. "There's room in the stable," he whispered. "Do what you can to make them comfortable." I kissed his tear-stained cheeks and hurried out the door, frantic that the couple might have gotten away. I need not have worried. They had not moved. They seemed frozen in exhaustion, yet their faces were filled with a holy expectancy. "Come," I said. "Follow me. There's room in our stable." I led them around the house to the place where we stabled our guests' beasts. It was more of a cave, actually, with small stalls dug out of the hillside. I was astonished, and thankful, to discover that one of the stalls was unoccupied and freshly cleaned. I saw Benjamin's cloak hanging on a peg and knew he had been here just moments earlier, preparing a place for the impending birth. "It's not the place you imagined for the birth of your child," I told the young woman as her husband and I helped her down from the donkey. "I'm sorry I can't offer you more." She smiled her gratitude. As we lowered her into the straw, she clenched my arm so tightly that I thought it might break. "Stay. Help me," she groaned. I now understood how Benjamin had felt when he turned them away from our door. How could I -- a barren woman, long past hope of ever birthing a child -- bear to watch another woman bring her longed-for child into the world. I wanted to refuse, to run sobbing with self-pity into my warm house. But, the young husband's face stopped me. There I saw the same look of anguish that had etched deep lines into my own husband's face.  I stayed. The three of us labored together for what seemed an eternity. I felt this young woman's every pain in my mind, soul and body. Just when the pain and anticipation seemed unbearable, the baby finally came.Instantly, the new parents forgot me, caught up instead with adoring the child. "He's here, Joseph," the young woman whispered. "The Messiah has been born!" Quickly yet gently, Joseph wrapped the baby in linen and held Him up to examine Him in the torchlight. "Yes, Mary, He is here. Immanuel. God is with us." I sat in stunned quiet silence. The Messiah? God's promised deliverer? Born in our stable, born under our roof! Could this be? I knew instantly in my heart that it was true. The baby's lusty cry masked the sound of my own tears. This time, I cried tears not of envy or disappointment, but of joy and hope and new life. I knew I had to share this joy with Benjamin. I stood to my feet and, before I could turn around, a warm, familiar hand --Benjamin's hand-- touched my shoulder. One look at his face and I knew. The lines of hopeless anguish were gone, replaced with the soft sweetness he had long ago abandoned. He had witnessed this miraculous birth in secret. He had heard the Good News. Of all the homes and families in Bethlehem, ours had been chosen to welcome the birth of the Messiah! Our quiet tears turned to boisterous laughter as we embraced and glorified God. Nina Wallestad
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The true story of Santa Claus begins with Nicholas, who was born during the third century in the village of Patara. At the time the area was Greek and is now on the southern coast of Turkey. His wealthy parents, who raised him to be a devout Christian, died in an epidemic while Nicholas was still young. Obeying Jesus' words to "sell what you own and give the money to the poor," Nicholas used his whole inheritance to assist the needy, the sick, and the suffering. He dedicated his life to serving God and was made Bishop of Myra while still a young man. Bishop Nicholas became known throughout the land for his generosity to the those in need, his love for children, and his concern for sailors and ships.
Under the Roman Emperor Diocletian, who ruthlessly persecuted Christians, Bishop Nicholas suffered for his faith, was exiled and imprisoned. The prisons were so full of bishops, priests, and deacons, there was no room for the real criminals - murderers, thieves and robbers. After his release, Nicholas attended the Council of Nicaea in AD 325. He died December 6, AD 343 in Myra and was buried in his cathedral church, where a unique relic, called manna, formed in his grave. This liquid substance, said to have healing powers, fostered the growth of devotion to Nicholas. The anniversary of his death became a day of celebration, St. Nicholas Day.
The American version of the Santa Claus figure received its inspiration and its name from the Dutch legend of Sinter Klaas, brought by settlers to New York in the 17th century. 
The American image of Santa Claus was further elaborated by illustrator Thomas Nast, who depicted a rotund Santa for Christmas issues of Harper's magazine from the 1860s to the 1880s. Nast added such details as Santa's workshop at the North Pole and Santa's list of the good and bad children of the world. A human-sized version of Santa Claus, rather than the elf of Moore's poem, was depicted in a series of illustrations for Coca-Cola advertisements introduced in 1931. In modern versions of the Santa Claus legend, only his toy-shop workers are elves. Rudolph, the ninth reindeer, with a red and shiny nose, was invented in 1939 by an advertising writer for the Montgomery Ward Company.
In North American poetry and illustrations, Santa Claus, in his white beard, red jacket and pompom-topped cap, would sally forth on the night before Christmas in his sleigh, pulled by eight reindeer, and climb down chimneys to leave his gifts in stockings children set out on the fireplace's mantelpiece.
Over the centuries, customs from different parts of the Northern Hemisphere thus came together and created the whole world's Santa Claus - the ageless, timeless, deathless white-bearded man who gives out gifts on Christmas and always returns to Korvatunturi in Finnish Lapland.
One story tells of a poor man with three daughters. In those days a young woman's father had to offer prospective husbands something of value - a dowry. The larger the dowry, the better the chance that a young woman would find a good husband. Without a dowry, a woman was unlikely to marry. This poor man's daughters, without dowries, were therefore destined to be sold into slavery. Mysteriously, on three different occasions, a bag of gold appeared in their home - providing the needed dowries. The bags of gold, tossed through an open window, are said to have landed in stockings or shoes left before the fire to dry. This led to the custom of children hanging stockings or putting out shoes, eagerly awaiting gifts from Saint Nicholas. Sometimes the story is told with gold balls instead of bags of gold. That is why three gold balls, sometimes represented as oranges, are one of the symbols for St. Nicholas. And so St. Nicholas is a gift-giver.
One of the oldest stories showing St. Nicholas as a protector of children takes place long after his death. The townspeople of Myra were celebrating the good saint on the eve of his feast day when a band of Arab pirates from Crete came into the district. They stole treasures from the Church of Saint Nicholas to take away as booty. As they were leaving town, they snatched a young boy, Basilios, to make into a slave. The emir, or ruler, selected Basilios to be his personal cupbearer, as not knowing the language, Basilios would not understand what the king said to those around him. So, for the next year Basilios waited on the king, bringing his wine in a beautiful golden cup. For Basilios' parents, devastated at the loss of their only child, the year passed slowly, filled with grief. As the next St. Nicholas' feast day approached, Basilios' mother would not join in the festivity, as it was now a day of tragedy. However, she was persuaded to have a simple observance at home-with quiet prayers for Basilios' safekeeping. 
Another story tells of three theological students, traveling on their way to study in Athens. A wicked innkeeper robbed and murdered them, hiding their remains in a large pickling tub. It so happened that Bishop Nicholas, traveling along the same route, stopped at this very inn. In the night he dreamed of the crime, got up, and summoned the innkeeper. As Nicholas prayed earnestly to God the three boys were restored to life and wholeness. In France the story is told of three small children, wandering in their play until lost, lured, and captured by an evil butcher. St. Nicholas appears and appeals to God to return them to life and to their families. And so St. Nicholas is the patron and protector of children.
Several stories tell of Nicholas and the sea. When he was young, Nicholas sought the holy by making a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. There as he walked where Jesus walked, he sought to more deeply experience Jesus' life, passion, and resurrection. Returning by sea, a mighty storm threatened to wreck the ship. Nicholas calmly prayed. The terrified sailors were amazed when the wind and waves suddenly calmed, sparing them all. And so St. Nicholas is the patron of sailors and voyagers.
Nicholas' tomb in Myra became a popular place of pilgrimage. Because of the many wars and attacks in the region, some Christians were concerned that access to the tomb might become difficult. For both the religious and commercial advantages of a major pilgrimage site, the Italian cities of Venice and Bari vied to get the Nicholas relics. In the spring of 1087, sailors from Bari succeeded in spiriting away the bones, bringing them to Bari, a seaport on the southeast coast of Italy. An impressive church was built over St. Nicholas' crypt and many faithful journeyed to honor the saint who had rescued children, prisoners, sailors, famine victims, and many others through his compassion, generosity, and the countless miracles attributed to his intercession. The Nicholas shrine in Bari was one of medieval Europe's great pilgrimage centers and Nicholas became known as "Saint in Bari." To this day pilgrims and tourists visit Bari's great Basilica di San Nicola. 
