Throughout my life, the writers of songs and hymns have helped me press down big truths into simple context so I can absorb it. Added to this is the great benefit of being brought up in a Christian home where we sang as children, for it never leaves you. And so, as we come into another Christmas season, as we prepare to turn the calendar to another year, I found myself going to my childhood.
As each happy Christmas, Dawns on earth again Comes the holy Christ Child, To the hearts of men.*
I don’t know about you, but it still draws me: Jesus, the Son of God, coming to this earth, growing up, moving among the people, transforming lives. It’s staggering.
Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever. Hebrews 13:8
Bible teacher Charles Swindoll wrote, “On that first Christmas, the divine Son of God took His first human breath as He entered humanity as one of us. The moment of Jesus’ birth was an event like none other in history. It changed the world forever. Its appeal was … and still is … irresistible!”
All unknown, beside me He will ever stand And will safely lead me, With His own right hand. (*As Each Happy Christmas, circa 1885)
Changes come and go, don’t they? When we part from family, from our friends, we don’t know what may affect us, or them, before we meet again. Yet the promise that Jesus remains beside us through the unknown is as certain today as it was yesterday.
A Child’s Garden of Song, Concordia Publishing House, 1949
With their children all in school now, my son and his wife and my daughter and her husband are experiencing the joys and responsibilities of raising children in the 21st century. My husband I had a fun visit in October with his brother and sister-in-law from Arizona. The boys reminisced, taking us on tour through favorite stomping grounds growing up. At Thanksgiving we had one more empty chair at the dinner table that was always filled by my sister’s husband who passed away in September. Still, crawling underfoot to remind us of those who will come after us was my nephew and his wife’s one-year-old son.
All glory to the Son, Who comes to set us free, With Father, Spirit, ever one, Through all eternity. (The Advent of Our King, Charles Coffin, circa 1736)
Who is in charge of “forever”? The One who from eternity to eternity is the same yesterday and today.
We are each going through changes. The heavens and the earth will pass away, but from everlasting to everlasting the Lord’s deep, abiding love is with those who fear the Lord. Because God has said “I will never leave you,” we can confidently say “I will not fear.” (Hebrews 13:5-6)
No halo graced the head of Jesus when He was born on earth in yesteryear — this baby, God in the flesh, the eternal Son of God who came to save us from sin. God continues to walk into our lives today when we least expect Him, and His surprises still bring relief.
When we say yes to God’s will for our lives, God floods our hearts with relief. And, oh, the joy that God’s peace brings to our hearts!
Have you said “yes” to the One who holds yesterday and today and forever?
Merry Christmas!
Sources: Jesus – Always Only, Alistair Begg The Season That Still Touches Hearts, Charles Swindoll
A writing tablet and yellow No. 2 pencil. The kind with a soft eraser. A Skooter doll by Mattel. She was the friend of Barbie’s younger sister, Skipper. White patent leather go-go boots. Whew! What an iconic fashion statement … they “were made for walkin’.” A mother’s birthstone ring and holiday dinnerware.
Each year as I have grown a bit older, the gifts under the Christmas tree have matured, as well. Each gift was intentionally selected. Each one received with anticipation and joy.
There is a line in one of my favorite Christmas carols that reads, “God’s Son for a gift has been sent you this night” (emphasis added). It’s a German hymn originally composed in 1798 as a poem written for children: Ihr Kinderlein, Kommet (O Come, Little Children)!
Thanks be to God for his indescribable gift! 2 Corinthians 9:15
Paul the apostle spoke about this gift. And, for someone who had the ability to find whatever word was necessary at whatever place in his writing, in this case Paul could not come up with a descriptive synonym. No word would adequately express the significance of this gift that God has given in His Son. So he coined a word found nowhere else in all the Bible, translated “indescribable.”1
Ah, yes. Any attempt at describing the indescribable dares to fall short of comprehensiveness. So, we tell of what we know:
No word would adequately express the significance of this gift …
Jesus the Christ, the King of Righteousness, the King of Heaven, the King of Kings.
The wellspring of wisdom, the pathway of peace,
Sovereign, eternally steadfast, endurably strong. The just Judge.
He is enthroned on high. Yet He has come near. Utterly sincere, compassionate to all.
The centerpiece of civilization, unparallel, unprecedented,
The loftiest idea in literature, the highest personality in philosophy. Courage of the weak, comfort to the downtrodden, hope to the lost.
He is perfect love. The life giver, the sin forgiver. Changeless.
He blesses the young, regards the diligent, defends the feeble, esteems the aged,
His mercy is everlasting, His goodness is limitless, His word is enough.
You can’t out live Him and you can’t live without Him.
Death couldn’t handle Him and the grave couldn’t hold Him!
The Son of God does not have His beginnings in Bethlehem. Indeed, He has no beginning. And so it is at Christmas time that we remind ourselves that this child in the manger is Lord, true God and true man. Jesus is God’s gift to the world. Jesus is God’s gift to you! Indescribable.
O come, little children, oh, come, one and all, To Bethlehem haste, to the manger so small. God’s Son for a gift has been sent you this night To be your Redeemer, your Joy and Delight.*
Writer’s Note: Merry Christmas! This past summer, my husband and I received the gift of time as we spent a highly anticipated week in Florida with our children and their families to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary. What joy!
The Gift of Time
1Jesus, The Indescribable Gift, Charles R. Swindoll
*O Come, All Ye Children, Christoph von Schmid (1768-1854)
My little brother was in the biggest fight of his life … literally, for his life. This COVID virus was relentless, throwing everything it had at him with a vengeance.
I don’t know how often one stops to consider the attributes of a brother or sister. But these last eight weeks certainly gave me pause to mull over Christopher.
He was smart. He had wit. When all is said and done, I believe he embodied some of the best of what our mom and daddy had to offer: Determination. A tender heart. Family loyalty. Faith in Jesus Christ.
But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you.Matthew 6:33
Born Christopher Todd Haertling, Christopher was not perfect, nor was he any more special than my other siblings or me. I do wonder, however, if our mom and daddy just got to, well, enjoy him in another way.
Mom and Christopher, c. 1971
The rest of us came in such quick-fire succession — five children in 32 months, with two sets of twins.
My siblings & me c. 1958
How could they not regard him differently?
Born 13 years after Stanley, our next youngest brother, Christopher was a “second-generation” kid.
A surprise? Perhaps. Desired? Most certainly.
We four older ones were a few short years away from graduating high school and going out on our own when Christopher came on the scene. Somehow, it doesn’t make sense that mom and daddy did not know what they were getting themselves into starting over.
Stories about the kid are plentiful. Maybe because there were more of us to remember them. And after 51 years, some are possibly embellished more than others.
Choosing his name got quite lively. We were all in on it: Clarence Gottfried or Gottfried Clarence, taking from our Grandpa Richter’s rather distinguished name. Gomer Pyle and Vince Carter inched their way up pretty high on the list of possibilities.
Daddy said “Christopher Todd Haertling” was too long. “He will be through first grade before he knows how to spell it.”
It was back the summer of 1970 when Stanley, Glenda, Connie and I looked on with admiration through the maternity room window at this new addition to our family.
A stranger watching commented quite cheerfully, “Oh, look! Is that the grandfather standing there behind that baby?”
I think it was Connie who replied, “Uh, no. That would be the father.”
And so it began.
A Determined Disposition
Christopher started life with a determined outlook. As an infant, he appeared resolute, willing to hold his position. If something upset him, whether out of fear or frustration, he held his breath. To the point of passing out.
You could see it coming. “He’s going to hold his breath!”
Next to mom, Connie was the one who was the most capable caring for that rascal. Somehow it seems right that she was also one at Christopher’s bedside the night he took his last breath.
Oh, Christopher had all our hearts. He was three years old the day he climbed out of the back seat of the car with tear-streaked cheeks. Boy, did he submarine mom’s plans that day. Earlier — through screams and kicks and an arched back — he made it abundantly clear he wanted nothing to do with getting his hair cut.
So, mom said, “Shave it off.” And the barber did.
Don’t worry. Any effects were short-lived. He wandered on down the hill in front of our house, a sporadic sniffle breaking the silence, his faithful dog, Bear, trailing closely behind. Oblivious to the buzz cut he had just gotten. Hair clippings still clung to the half-eaten lollipop held firmly in his sticky hand.
Our Grandma Haertling’s mournful appraisal echoes yet in the background, “Du armes kind” (you poor child).
Not.
Tenderhearted
Christopher’s sturdy build combined with a tough exterior and his calloused farmer’s hands could easily camouflage his tender heart. A heart that led him to take time out of his day to hand-pick daffodils and lilacs and tulips from mom’s garden or pick up a piece of mom’s favorite Coconut Cream Pie on Tuesdays at the Fruitland Auction Barn, and then bring them to her. Now aging, mom was living in a residential care facility.
After mom passed away, Christopher made sure fresh “posies” were still delivered to Miss Fern, who had been a tablemate of mom’s and caught his attention. Our sister Glenda was enlisted to make those special deliveries.
Did he have friends! From an early age … especially those of the two-legged, white Leghorn variety.
“Look at all my friends,” he would marvel walking through the chicken pen. Hens squatted before him, allowing him to give a quick pat on the back or scoop them up in his arms.
Of course, we rather enjoyed reminding Christopher how he almost cooked some of those “friends” one hot, mid-summer, Missouri afternoon when he loaded them into his red wagon and left them covered with a sheet.
I can’t find my family.
Family Loyalty
Christopher valued family. He would walk miles for them. And he did.
When he was about four years old, he took an unplanned morning hike; showing up at Wilbert Versemann’s farm with only his dog in tow.
He needed help, “I can’t find my family.”
Returning both Christopher and dog back to the house, Wilbert called out, “Are you missing a boy?”
It seems when Christopher woke up that morning, he heard daddy and Stanley driving off on their tractors. He headed out the front door to follow. Where they turned right at a crossroad, he turned left.
Yes, he needed help. He knew he could trust Wilbert.
Christopher understood the meaning of a strong heritage. A sense of belonging. He prized vintage photos, for in them he saw the history of his people: The Haertlings. The Richters. The Meyrs. The Webers.
Faith in Jesus Christ
Now. With all kidding set aside.
God’s true Word instructs us, “Train up a child in the way he should go; even when he is old he will not depart from it” (Proverbs 22:6 ESV).
Christopher was raised to know the living Lord; baptized as an infant into the Christian faith, and then confirming his belief in Jesus Christ his Savior as a young teen.
He committed his life before God and witnesses in faithful marriage to his sweet bride, Amy; and together they established their family.
Christopher loved Alli and Jackson. He was proud they called him “Dad.”
[Your] weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5
You know, when Lazarus had died, his older sister Martha’s complaint to Jesus was that had he, Jesus, been there, Lazarus would not have died. Jesus’ assurance to Martha then, some 2,000 years ago, is the same confidence Jesus gives us still today: “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die” (John 11:17-26).
On February 3, his body worn out, God called Christopher home. Come on, Christopher. It’s time. Come on home. I have everything waiting for you.
Christopher Todd Haertling. A man of determination, a tender heart, family loyalty, and faith in Jesus Christ, his Savior.
Taken before his time? No.
For the Almighty, Sovereign and Holy God, who has numbered the hairs on our heads (Matthew 10:30), the Lord [Who] is faithful in all He does (Psalm 33:4), knew the exact number of Christopher’s days on this earth.
See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands … Isaiah 49:16
The question now is not “Why?” The better question is “How?” How do I give God glory now in all of this heartache? How will I choose to give God glory and honor Christopher’s memory?
Our Lord God has the answer, “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to him, and he will make your paths straight” (Proverbs 3:5-6).
Is our grief heavy? Oh, yes.
But there, too, Jesus promises, “In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).
And our grief is not without Hope, for it is rooted deeply in Jesus Christ our Savior.
Because Jesus lives, [Christopher] also will live. John 14:19
Johann Härtling, of the Saxony, Germany area of Pöppeln, was the father of Andreas, Andreas the father of Hermann, who immigrated to the United States of America, Hermann the father of Adolph Martin, Martin the father of Benjamin, Ben the father of Vernon, Vernon the father of three sons and three daughters.
I am one of those three daughters.
More than 235 years since Johann, that bloodline still lives on today in both my children and grandchildren.
The Hermann Haertling Family, circa 1894
Genealogical rolls trace a lineage, preserving the past for future generations. Each name represents a face, a life lived. Each one a link connecting from earlier days to what is still to come. Each with a story to tell.
This is the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah the son of David, the son of Abraham.
It is with a genealogy that Matthew begins the first book of the New Testament of the same name (Matthew 1). Matthew unfolds the story of the Christ child’s coming by looking back to the Old Testament — from Abraham to Jesus. Albeit, not something you usually expect in your traditional Christmas card generally filled with angel announcements, accounts of shepherds, and images of a newborn baby asleep in a manger.
Woven within the letters of each name listed is the unfolding story of God’s faithfulness flowing from generation to generation as He fulfills the promise first made to Adam and Eve in the garden (Genesis 3).
In linking Jesus to Abraham, Matthew brings us straight away back to the promise of God’s rescue plan for the world. Jesus is the long-awaited son of Abraham who will bring God’s blessing to all humanity.
… and all people on earth will be blessed through you. Genesis 12:3
The promised son of David. Matthew confirms Jesus’ human origin, the royal successor and legitimate heir to the throne of David’s kingdom (Matthew 22:42-46). The King for whom all of Israel was waiting.
A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.Isaiah 11:1
Then in a rare move, Matthew breaks with tradition by listing four women. The background stories of these four make their inclusion even more extraordinary: Gentiles, widows, tarnished pasts. Matthew shines light on God’s amazing grace.
For generations God has been using all types of people to move His plan forward. Real people. Imperfect men and women who have lived flawed lives, making poor choices, living life away from God.
Three sets of names. Three key periods in history. As one biblical scholar writes, “One gets the impression that Matthew pored over his Old Testament records until he could find the most questionable ancestors of Jesus available in order, in turn, to insert them into his record and so, it seems to preach the gospel — that is, that God can overcome and forgive sin, and can use soiled but repentant persons for his great purpose in history.”1
What about your story? Where Scripture’s first genealogy recorded in Genesis 5 underscores death — “and then he died” — the genealogy of Jesus does not end. Matthew emphasizes that Jesus came to save “his people from their sins.”
No matter your background, your pedigree, your last name, you can be part of Christ’s inheritance both now and throughout eternity. By faith in Jesus, you can be counted as one of God’s children.
Ah, dearest Jesus, Holy Child, Make Thee a bed, soft, undefiled, Within my heart, that it may be A quiet chamber kept for Thee.2
Photo: Far left, my grandfather, Ben Haertling, is seated on the lap of his father, Martin Haertling.
1 Fredrick Dale Bruner, The Christbook: A Historical/Theological Commentary, 1987 2 Martin Luther, From Heaven Above to Earth I Come, 1535
Some flour, milk and eggs, and just enough salt “to taste.” In my mom’s hands those baking ingredients meant mouthwatering Blatz Kuchen, Koffee Kuchen, and donuts.
Add a swatch of material to a needle and thread; and in mom’s hands, she could conceal fine running stitches within the seams of a new Christmas dress, a patch to a pair of daddy’s bulky work pants, and tailor-made gowns for a child’s Barbie doll.
She had a green thumb, too. Put a strip of rich dirt in her hands, combine it with seedlings, some water, and weeding — definitely, weeding, and she would have a garden brimming with rows of juicy, plump tomatoes, sweet corn, and a kaleidoscope of Irises, Poppies, and Hollyhocks.
What is that in your hand?
In the Old Testament book of Exodus, we read of Moses, a Hebrew born to slaves. He was raised and educated during his first 40 years in the household of Egypt’s Pharaoh. Through a series of events and poor decisions, however, Moses ends up fleeing from Egypt. Looking to put his past behind him, he settles down in Midian and becomes a shepherd (Exodus 2). But then God comes. God has something different for Moses.
After 40 years in Midian, God calls to Moses in a burning bush for his greatest work yet — the immense task of leading the people of Israel out of Egypt (Exodus 3). An assignment that would not be accomplished without leaning hard on the LORD God.
“Who am I that I should go?” “Who are you?” “What if they don’t believe me?” Insecurities swell. Focusing on his inabilities, the excuses begin. Moses even says, “Please send someone else” (Exodus 4:13).
I wonder. It had been about 400 years since any Israelite had heard a word from God. Did God graciously give Moses the signs recorded in Exodus to help boost his faith (vv. 2, 6,9)?
The ordinary and impotent becomes powerful when yielded in obedience to the Lord.1
“What is that in your hand?” God asks.
In his hand, Moses carried a shepherd’s staff. Used for herding and defending sheep, it reflects the simple existence he had settled for, becoming part of his identity and security.
“Throw it on the ground,” the Lord instructs Moses. When he does, the Lord transforms it into a serpent, a sign of Egyptian power that kings wore on their headdresses. Moses runs from it. The Lord then tells Moses to grab it by its tail. Now, grabbing a snake by the tail is usually not a good idea! But Moses obeys and when he does, it becomes a staff again.
That dry stick shows a lowly shepherd that “the ordinary and impotent becomes powerful when yielded in obedience to the Lord.” In Moses’ hands it is a long, albeit sturdy, stick. Released to God’s masterful hands it becomes a tool to accomplish God’s purposes. As God transforms the staff, He also begins to transform Moses, who will dominate a fearful Egyptian tyrant and lead a people out of slavery. The shepherd’s staff (Exodus 4:2) becomes the “the staff of God” (Exodus 4:20).
You give them something to eat.
Jesus taught this same fundamental lesson to His disciples in the miracle of the feeding of the 5,000; the only miracle recorded in all four of the New Testament Gospels.
After a day of teaching and healing, Jesus and the disciples are tired. “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest,” Jesus commands (Mark 6:30-44). But there is no rest; for in the remote place to which they go, a large crowd finds them. It is here that Jesus gives the impossible command, “You [disciples] give them something to eat” (v.37).
Can’t you just hear the weary disciples. “Seriously? Can’t we just send them away? Even if we could find enough food, we would have to spend a half year’s salary!”
The meeting of need is not dependent on the supply in hand, but on the blessing of the Lord resting on the supply. 2
As God questioned Moses, “What is that in your hand?”, Jesus asks in a similar way, “How many loaves do you have?” (v. 38).
“Only five loaves of bread and two fish” (Luke 9:13). Not anywhere near enough to feed thousands of hungry people; at least in the hands of ordinary men.
But then the Son of God takes the “only” into His hands. Looking up to heaven, Jesus gives thanks and then passes the loaves and fish to His disciples who in turn feed the people. In God’s masterful hands, “They all ate and were satisfied,” with leftovers filling twelve basketfuls (vv. 42-43).
Later those same powerful hands are nailed to a cross on Calvary as the Son of God satisfies the wrath of God, bearing the sins of all people for all time, bringing us peace with God.
God created each of us uniquely, male and female; each with our own blend of personality, abilities, passions, and experiences. Sometimes it may seem that what others have in their hands is more grand, of greater importance, or more worthwhile.
My mom wasn’t a top chef or master gardener feeding the masses or an acclaimed seamstress transforming the fashion world. Baking “flops” were a fact. She ripped out many-a stitches, removing unwanted threads. And now that I think about it, she never won a blue ribbon at the county fair for her flowers or her cheese cake, either. In God’s masterful hands, however, what she had in hers served her well as she served her family.
Take my hands and let them move At the impulse of Thy love; Take my feet and let them be Swift and beautiful for Thee. (Romans 6:13)
Take My Life and Let It Be, Frances R. Havergal, 1874
1 Stephen Cole, Serving God Effectively 2 Watchman Nee, Expecting the Lord’s Blessing
For years my mom woke early in the morning. Those hours well before daybreak when the night sky still holds back the sunrise. Farm work required it. As she aged and became less involved in the daily chores, her inner clock stayed right on schedule. “But now,” she said, “I wake up early and lying there I just think … the things I remember.”
Remember the days of old; consider the generations past. Ask your father and he will tell you, your elders, and they will explain to you. Deuteronomy 32:7
I, too, am an early riser. Although a few years younger than my mom was in her reminiscing days, I also wake well before daylight and remember.
Some call it rehearsing the deeds of the Lord; others refer to it as taking a spiritual inventory. Both involve an intentional act of remembering — the process of recalling the past, especially God’s presence and activity in life.
Remembering Leads to Praise and Rejoicing
My twin sister and I in our family home.
No, I do not remember being seven months of age. But this photograph stirs countless memories of the room in which it was taken and of that family rocking chair still found there. Many a birthday and holiday get-togethers, quiet conversations, and a share of gatherings weighed down in sorrow.
I do remember twenty-five years later, however, after this picture was taken. The morning my daddy found me awake and curled up in that chair in the wee hours of May 1st.
“Can’t sleep, uh?” he asked.
“No, I am just lying here thinking,” I replied.
Later that same day he walked me down the church aisle to give me away in marriage to my husband.
Looking back, God’s presence was evident in all things — interwoven throughout the innocent days of childhood, in building faith, and during the routines of family life.
Immanuel Lutheran School, grades 1-8, John Groenke teacher, Theodore Schroeder pastor. (Photo courtesy of Joyce Versemann)
In a one-room school house on cold winter days, twenty-one children warming themselves around a huge, black potbelly stove completing their studies. The outhouse “facilities” and the woodshed from which the older boys carried in logs to feed the potbelly stove. Sunshiny days and “Red Rover, Red Rover” recess games. In end-of-school-year Play Day relays, races and tug-o-war competitions. Ribbons awarded to the winners; participants were, well, participants.
All through Vacation Bible School stories and songs and art projects. In the red Kool Aid? Hmm, even while “enjoying” those cold, sugary drinks. (Yech!) Through influential, caring teachers — Mr. Groenke, Mrs. Mouser, and Mr. Golz, Confirmation Day preparation, and the Spring storm that took out the electric power the evening of my First Communion.
Everywhere. Seated around the supper table, the evening meal over, my brother, sisters and I reciting our bedtime prayers — “Now I lay me down to sleep …” A child’s voice echoing Grandma Haertling teaching The Lord’s Prayer in German as we cleaned eggs collected earlier from the hen house. Playing Sunday School on the little porch, the window-filled room off the kitchen. My doll students always seemed much better behaved than the rather vocal, spirited teddy bear students.
Every day. While working together tending row upon row of freshly planted potato seedlings, in the beauty of butterflies lighting on a rainbow of Zinnia blooms, and across fields of tasseling corn. And culling chickens under cover of darkness (separating the layers from those hens no longer producing). I still hear my twin sister’s voice, “I don’t know what’s back there breathing in that corner, but it’s no chicken!” If you know her, ask Connie about that one.
Remembering Leads to Repentance and Understanding
The Old Testament book of Deuteronomy is a book all about remembering. “On the first day of the eleventh month” of the last year of their wanderings, Moses urges the Israelites to look back and remember.
Remember how the LORD your God … to humble and test you in order to know what was in your heart … that in the end it might go well with you. Deuteronomy 8:2-16
Writing a short time before his own death, Moses recasts God’s law for a new generation poised to enter the land of promise. To reaffirm the covenant God made with them, His children, the people of Israel. The covenant previously established at Mount Sinai, the pledge they broke in distrust and disobedience.
Other nations feared their own gods. The Lord God sought a renewed commitment with His people based not just in rote obedience, but an obedience springing from a relationship with God to His people. A bond based on God’s might and awe and fear. A life together drenched in His own deep, unfailing love.
Remembering Produces Hope
Moses didn’t pull any punches. His speech calls each of the Israelites to remember their stubbornness, painful memories resulting in loss of life and a 40-year long, desert education. And to realize in hope the blessings that accompany obedience.
What do we do in the early morning darkness with memories of our poor choices and irresponsible behavior? A mental notebook filled with what ifs and could haves? Heartaches stemming from impatience and bullheadedness, of harsh words spoken in anger? Of life-altering tragedies? Memories that wiggle their way in with a side of guilt and shame added.
We leave them in repentance where they belong: at the cross of Jesus Christ who took on Himself the payment for sin. And we remember His abundant grace.
In him we have redemption through his blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that he lavished on us. Ephesians 1:7
Remembering God’s work in the past can lead to praise and rejoicing. Remembering can lead to repentance and to understanding. Remembering evokes hope for the future. For remembering the past produces confidence in Whom we believe — Jesus Christ.
I know not why God’s wondrous grace To me He hath made known, Nor why, unworthy, Christ in love Redeemed me for His own.
But “I know Whom I have believed, And am persuaded that He is able To keep that which I’ve committed Unto Him against that day.” (2 Timothy 1:12, Jude 24)
I Know Whom I Have Believed, Daniel W. Whittle, 1883
Well, it’s official. It is time to carry the torch. My uncle died a few days ago. In his passing, he signals the end of a generation.
Uncle Sonny was the last living uncle on my mom’s side of my family. He had been married to mom’s youngest sister, Viola.
His smile. That is what I remember most about him. A warm expression that seemed to go straight from his eyes down into his soul.
As the last surviving member of the “senior generation,” he had held a special distinction — an honor bearing the inherent responsibility of family and faith. My mom enjoyed the same regard when she was the last surviving aunt on the Haertling side, my daddy’s family. To some extent, those “seniors” took me off the hook.
But now, that generation is gone. It is time to carry on the spiritual torch of faith.
My mother, her sisters and brothers, with their spouses, and my Grandpa Richter, circa 1978.
I lived among people who were distinguished as both speaking and seeing witnesses of their faith. Parents and grandparents and aunts and uncles who by their words spoke of who Jesus Christ is. Through the hard times, in dark nights of grief, and in celebrations of joy, they sang of the Lord’s faithful love. In their prayers and words of encouragement, in their stories, and in what they taught raising and correcting their children, they spoke of what they knew.
As seeing witnesses, nothing was circumstantial, nothing indirect. Recounted in how they lived, they testified to a heritage of faith in Christ Jesus from what they understood firsthand: God is good. It was the same torch they had seen. The one the generation before them had passed on, preceded by the one previous. Flawed, imperfect people? Obviously. Faithful to God? Unmistakably.
In circa 67 AD, knowing his time here on earth was growing short, the Apostle Paul prepares to pass the torch. He writes the most amazing letter “to Timothy, my dear son” (2 Timothy 1:1-2).
Full disclosure: You may feel a little embarrassed reading such a personal message. It is one filled with deep emotion. (2 Timothy)
You then, my son, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus. And the things you have heard me say in the presence of many witnesses entrust to reliable people who will also be qualified to teach others. 2 Timothy 2:1-2
A speaking witness and a seeing witness, Paul charges Timothy, “You, however, know all about my teaching, my way of life, my purpose, faith, patience, love, endurance, persecutions, sufferings … the persecutions I endured. Yet the Lord rescued me from all of them …” (2 Timothy 3:10-11).
It is now Timothy’s time to carry the torch: “But as for you [Timothy], continue in what you have learned and have become convinced of, because you know those from whom you learned it, and how from infancy you have known the Holy Scriptures, which are able to make you wise for salvation through faith in Christ Jesus” (2 Timothy 3:14-15).
Quite a stirring message for us living in the 21st century. We are each recipients of the same Truth. Earnest remarks that Paul appealed to Timothy: to remain loyal to the Gospel of Jesus Christ, to avoid godless chatter, to remain on guard of false teaching, to keep our head in all situations. To endure.
So, a generation is gone. They were people who ran with perseverance. Their testimonies remain.
I am no longer a daughter or a grandchild or a niece. But, I am not alone. Less I forget, I am in the company of four siblings and 17 cousins who each belong to the now senior group of the Ben Haertling-Hugo Richter clan (sans spouses). And what a group we are.
The torch of faith is entrusted to each of us. It is now officially ours. And sustained by God’s faithfulness, it is time to carry the torch forward.
The Hugo Richter Seniors One cousin missing from photo. c. 2000
The Ben Haertling Seniors Vernon and Norma Haertling, four cousins now deceased. c. 2000
Let us ever walk with Jesus, Follow His example pure, Flee the world, which would deceive us, And to sin our souls allure. Ever in His footsteps treading, Body here, yet soul above, Full of faith and hope and love, Let us do the Father’s bidding. Faithful Lord, abide with me; Savior, lead, I follow Thee.
Gott ist die Liebe, Läßt mich erlösen: Gott ist die Liebe, Er liebt auch mich. Drum sag ich noch einmal: Gott ist die Liebe, Gott ist die Liebe, Er liebt auch mich.*
“God Loves Me Dearly.” Growing up in a Christian home set in a rural Southeast Missouri farming community, I cut my teeth on this beloved children’s Christmas hymn. Faith and family were the foundations of life.
On Christmas Eve, chores were completed a little earlier than usual. Cows were milked, livestock fed and bedded down, the chicken coop was secured; and we headed to church.
There in the hush of a cold winter evening, children’s voices rang out. My siblings and I, together with our elementary school classmates, eagerly told the story of God’s amazing love, of Jesus’ birth. Sentimental thoughts. Treasured Christmas memories.
Christmas with my sisters, brothers and me, circa 1960.
August Rische, a German Lutheran pastor, penned “Gott Ist Die Liebe” desiring to introduce the homeless children with whom he worked to God. First seen in 1852, the words prevail true today nearly 170 years later:
How does God love me? Dearly. Profoundly. So that I may live. This is how God showed His love among us: He sent His one and only Son into the world that we might live through Him. 1 John 4:9-10
How does God love me? Eternally. From eternity past into eternity future, God set me free from sin forever. For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life. John 3:16
How does God love me? Completely. All the way. Jesus, the Son of God, suffered the full wrath and punishment for my sin. But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. Romans 5:8
How does God love me? Mercifully. Seeking the lost, forgiving and restoring those who repent and turn to Him in faith. Jesus Christ was literally born to die. But because of His great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions — it is by grace you have been saved. Ephesians 2:4-5
In the stillness of the night at another time in history, heavenly voices rang throughout the sky. Angels. Messengers of God announcing, “I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ the Lord.”Luke 2:10-11 (emphasis added)
Jesus was born of the virgin Mary. He took on humanity and lived a perfect life for you. He died a sacrificial death and rose to everlasting life for you. Even you. Yes, God loves you dearly!
*God loves me dearly, Grants me salvation, God loves me dearly, Loves even me. Therefore I’ll say again: God loves me dearly, God loves me dearly, Loves even me.
Great joy filled the Haertling home situated just east of the village of New Wells, Missouri, that July day in 1932. Into a family of three daughters, a healthy son was born.
The child came from a long line of Saxony German Lutherans who had immigrated to America in the mid-1800s for religious freedom. His father was a farmer, as was his father before him, and his father before him, who was also born to a farmer. By the grace of God, that boy child grew to adulthood. He became a farmer, too … and my father. A man of character. An authentic mix of courage, commitment and creativity.
I don’t know where my daddy was born. “Behind the wood pile” he would say with an impish grin during one of those silly childhood questioning games. To which I can still hear my grandma’s “O Gott!” response. He was likely born at home. But I never asked.
A Saxon father was concerned for the well-being of his family. Consequently, faith played a vital role in a child’s upbringing. Daddy was Baptized into the Christian faith on August 14 shortly after his birth. Fourteen years later, after instruction and having “professed faith in our Lord Jesus Christ and vowed obedience to His Word,” he was “received into full Communion with the Evangelical Lutheran Church by the solemn rite of Confirmation.”
Professed faith. Vowed obedience. Solemn rite. Some rather weighty words for any person, much less a young teen. Did he ever question his commitment? I never asked.
Daddy attended a one-room school through the eighth grade. Did his sister Melva, who was six years older, show him the ropes the first days? Maybe where to store his lunch box or put his coat?
His First Grade marks hint at a slow start to his schooling. It seems after the first quarter, however, he figured things out. In fact, in later years he received National Board of Examiners certificates in both penmanship and reading. I wonder what books he enjoyed most? Who was his best friend? What games did he play at recess? I’m afraid I never asked.
He and my mom began their married life in the same church in which he was Baptized and Confirmed. They remained together 53 years, until his death. I never asked how they met or how he knew she was “the one,” nor about the courage he mustered at age twenty-five to raise five children under the age of three.
My sisters, two of my three brothers, and me, circa 1958.
I loved watching him record the play-by-play action during the St. Louis baseball games we attended. Daddy was a “south paw.” The brisk strokes of his pen gave an account of athletic skill; letters and digits documenting each player’s performance. That’s right … penmanship certificate … grade school. I never asked why as a Cardinals fan he came to admire Steve Carlton, a Philadelphia Phillies player.
Dad sang in the church choir. Mom was in the choir loft, and my sisters and I eventually joined, too. He loved to dance: polkas and two-steps, waltzes and the Schottische. And when he got the chance to combine the two — to sing his favorite, “Lucille,” at a community dance — well, that was the cat’s meow! When did he develop a fondness for music? I never asked.
My dad was not flawless. His commitment could border on hardheadedness, as surely as it could reflect a tender heart. What joys and heartaches of life shaped him? Was it family needs? Community issues? Our nation’s struggles? I never asked.
Daddy with his firstborn son, Glenn.
On another day some 2,000 years ago, there was no joy in a home in the village of Bethany, located on the eastern slope of Mt. Olivet, southeast of Jerusalem. Only deep sorrow. Jesus had delayed arriving. The young man Lazarus, who had been ill, had died. (John 11)
From the language of the New Testament book of John and the order of the three names, we may reasonably conclude that Lazarus was the youngest of the family, with two older sisters. And Jesus loved them — Martha and her sister [Mary] and Lazarus.John 11:5
Likely, the last time Jesus had been with them, He left the family well, in health, and joy. (Luke 10:38-42) But changes come, don’t they? When we part from our friends, we don’t know what may affect us, or them, before we meet again.
Now present, Jesus — the true Son of God and true Son of Man — stands before the grief-stricken Martha.
Confident of His power to heal the sick, Martha addresses Jesus, “Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”John 11:21
With no explanation for his absence, Jesus tenderly leads Martha’s thoughts away from her dead brother to the most remarkable revelation of Himself. Listen. Hear his compassionate voice. “Your brother will rise again … I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die.”
And then He poses to Martha the most decisive personal question: “Do you believe this?” John 11:25-26
Martha knew what the ancient Hebrew Scriptures taught and what Jesus Himself endorsed concerning the resurrection (Daniel 12:2; John 5:28, 6:40, 44, 54). Yet, was she prepared that the One who stood in her presence did not merely have power to resurrect, but that He is the Resurrection and the Life? How astounded she must have been as she listened.
In the midst of her pain, with her heart stilled in the calm majesty of His presence, the Master beckons Martha to the most significant confession of faith. To declare what she knows about Him: “Yes, Lord. I believe that you are the Messiah, the Son of God, who was to come into the world.” John 11:27
Martha may not have fully understood the depth of her own words. She may not as yet fully connected Jesus’ teachings with who He is. Could she have ever dared to imagine what she was about to witness?
At the tomb of Lazarus, Jesus’ claim becomes clearer: He calls in a loud voice and raises the man dead four days to life. In this momentous event — in which others are allowed to share — they lift the stone, but only Jesus can bring the dead man out. They free him from the grave cloths, but only after Jesus has given life to him.
Jesus is the author of the Resurrection. More than a doctrine, much more than a theological concept, Jesus not only gives new, eternal life, He is the very source of Life. That is part of His glory! (John 11:4, 40)
Jesus performed many signs while He walked on this earth, with the raising of Lazarus the seventh and final sign recorded in the book of John. And like a historian, the Apostle summarizes his narrative in the book’s final chapter: But these are written that you may believe that Jesus is the Messiah, the Son of God, and that by believing you may have life in his name.John 20:30-31
It is a shame that many questions in life never get asked. This one, the most significant, however, does: Do you believe Jesus, the Resurrection and the Life?
Let us hold fast the profession of our faith without wavering; for He is faithful that promised. Hebrews 10:23
Cover photo: My then 10-year-old father’s elementary school class of 1942, #16, far right side.
Were she still alive, we would have celebrated my mother’s 91st birthday recently.
Mom lived 88 full years. She didn’t have it easy. She didn’t have a lot of stuff. But she had purpose and meaning. She left a legacy worth living.
She was the great-great-granddaughter of legal German
immigrants, common farm folks who left their homeland for a home where they
might enjoy religious freedom.
Her own mother died in childbirth when Mom was eight years old. A relative raised the infant sister. Her father never remarried. Mom helped her 15-year-old sister with the care of their four siblings; on the heels of the 1929 Great Depression.
Faith was central in Mom’s life. An enduring faith lived out in the everydayness of life. Belief in the One True God — Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Jesus was her Savior from sin, death, and the devil. She was baptized and confirmed in the Christian faith and attended school through the eighth grade. The Scripture verse she was given on her 1942 Confirmation Day to help guide her through life was alive in her memory until her death: Teach me to do your will, for you are my God; may your good Spirit lead me on level ground. (Psalm 143:10)
1942 Confirmation Class of Evangelical Trinity Lutheran Church. Mom seated, first on the left.
As to marriage, a covenant relationship with God between one man and one woman for life (Genesis 2:23-25, Matthew 19:4-6). She never entertained other options. She and my daddy were married until his death. 53 years. Sure, they had their differences. But I guess you learn how to work through those when together you trudge to the milk barn every morning at 4:30 a.m. and again in the evening and milk some 60 dairy cows. Every day. Twice a day. Seven days a week. Fifty-two weeks a year. On the coldest, darkest days of winter and the blistering, hot days of Missouri summers. Note to self: Substantial “gray matter” required.
Life was precious. Children a heritage, a gift from God (Psalm 127:3-5). Mom gave birth to three boys and three girls; one child was lost through miscarriage. The taking of an innocent life through abortion: incomprehensible. Mom silently carried to her death the grief of burying her 5-year-old firstborn son lost in a tragic accident.
My mother had a gentle, giving spirit combined with grit. She lived patiently, worked hard, and minded her own business (1 Thessalonians 4:10-12). Following her wedding day, she moved in with her husband’s parents, into their home for 20 plus years. Mom performed with grace the very delicate act balancing her roles of wife, mother and daughter-in-law in a three-generation household.
Faith. Marriage. Life. Family. My Mom left a legacy worth living. That I leave such a heritage.
Jesus lead thou on Till our rest is won; And although the way be cheerless, We will follow calm and fearless. Guide us by Thy hand To our fatherland.
Cover photo: One of my favorite memories with my Mom. (Norma Haertling, 1929-2017)
