HIS MAJESTY THE BABY

Taranaki Daily News, 20 December 1924, Page 1 (Supplement)

HIS MAJESTY THE BABY

“There came a little 'Child to earth, long ago; And the Angels of God sang songs at His birth, high and low. Out on the night so calm, and still, Their song was heard; For they knew that the Child on Bethlehem Hill Was' Christ the Lord.” (Rev. A. H. Collins.) OHRISTMAS recalls a familiar picture-. The artist depicts the busiest spot, in the busiest city of the world, at the busiest hour of the day. It is near the Exchange, London. The streets are thronged . There are lines of carriages and cabs and coster carts, moving in every direction. In the centre of the roadway stands a solitary policeman to regulate the traffic. His right hand is upraised, and the stream of conveyances is arrested. Why? The picture tells the reason. Right in the foreground a little child is seen crossing with his nurse at his side, and beneath these words are written: “His Majesty the Baby.” Busy men and women halted and the traffic was stayed whilst a little child crossed over!

The same -thing happened in old Jerusalem in the long ago, and it happens every Christmas-tide. Business comes to a brief standstill, factories and shops are closed, and the people keep festival because, as the hymn says, “There came a little Child to earth long ago.” But this is not all. When “His Majesty the Baby” has passed on his way the city grows busy again and people have been busier than ever since the advent of the Wonder Child. Everything He said and did has become more wonderful than all the golden fancies and all the golden dreams. Themistocles said that Greece ruled the world, that the Athenians governed Greece, that he ruled the Athenians and his wife ruled him, and his little child ruled his wife. It was another way of saying that the baby is king.

Round the face and form of a child the great questions of home, church and state gather, and the great battles rage. fhe child is a storm centre in the nations; the eyes of statesmen and educationists are on the child and they recognise that the citizen of to-morrow is in the school of to-day. In the ages before the Christ came the child had no chance. In Greece and Rome the fate of the newly-born was settled by the parents. Infant mortality was dreadful; today child culture is carried on under the aegis of government and the National Treasury is under tribute for the poor man’s child. The change has come so silently and so gradually that we hardly realise how great it is. Without flourish of trumpets, without earthquake, wind or fire, the whole situation has changed; and whatever revolution the years may have in store, it is safe to say That the greatest and the most splendid, will be along the lines of ’ the great creative miracle of Bethlehem. If for no other reason than this, we might well rejoice in every return of the Christmas festival, with carol and roundelay and chiming bells.

But this does not exhaust the meaning of the advent season. In the picture we have outlined there were others than “His Majesty the Baby.” Some were hurrying to the business of money making; some were off to schools and colleges to grow wise; some were glad and gay; and some carried sad hearts and heavy burdens. It was like that on the first Christmas morning. The Maji came to wonder and worship. The shepherd found the Wonder Child as any man may do amid his daily task. The Scribe was prejudiced and could not see the divine in the common place, the most High in the most lowly, though they came of a race whose most illustrious leader was cradled in an ark of bullrushes, and their greatest king was once a shepherd lad serving under those same keen Syrian stars. Herod too, was there, though his conscience made him a coward. Best of all, Joseph and Mary watched and loved and pondered.

Christmas means different things to different folk. Dickens, “the apostle of Christmas,” has showed us that. There is little Paul Dombey. He has only a few days to live. But he is moving about the house. He finds a workman mending a great clock in the hall, and he is asking the man questions about clocks and chimes. Do .people watch in the lonely church steeples by night and make them strike. How are the bells rung when people die, and are they different from wedding bells? or do they sound different only in the fancies of the living? Ah! in that last question, Paul Dombey gets very near our hearts. Do the bells say the things they seem to say, or do they only seem to say them? Do not the bells, whether Christmas or other chimes, take us as they find us?

Let Dickens teach us further. Think of Trotty Veck of “the Chimes;” when things were going badly with Trotty and Richard and Meg, the Magistrate said people like them should be put down with the utmost rigour of the law.” Suddenly the bells chimed out, and seemed to say, “Put ’em down! Put ’em down! Put ’em down!” If the bells said anything they said that, and they said it till Trotty’s brain fairly reeled. But follow the story a little further, and the same chimes said something very different. Meg and Richard are to be married on the morrow, and Trotty’s heart is full of glee. “Just then the bells, the old familiar bells, his dear constant, steady friend, the. chimes, began to ring. When had they ever rung like that before? They chimed out so lustily, so merrily, so happily, so gaily, that he leaped to his feet and broke the spell that bound him.” A few minutes later Trotty and Richard and Meg were, dancing with delight to the gay glad music of the bells! When they were sad the chimes seemed mournful; when they were gay the chimes iseemed blithe. “Are they different bells,” said little Paul Dombey, “or do they only sound different.” He was getting very near to the heart of things; very near to the heart of Christmas.

The eye only sees what it has the power of seeing. Christmas Day, and all other days, only brings to us what we bring to it. The Chinese have a lovely legend of the great bell at Peking. The Emperor sent for Kuan-yin, the caster, and described the bell he desired. It was to be larger and sweeter toned than any bell ever made before. 'The music was to be heard a hundred miles away. Honours would reward the maker if he .succeeded; but a cruel death if he failed. Kuan-yin mixed his finest metals, and laboured night and day; but when the bell was tested, it failed. He tried again, and was defeated. He was at his wit’s end Then Ko-ai, his beautiful daughter, consulted an astrologer. The oracle assured her that if the blood of a fair virgin mingled with the molten metal, the music would ravish the ear of every listener. Ko-ai returned to the foundry, and as the glowing metal poured from the furnace, she threw herself into the shining bath. Easterners say the music of that bell is the music of her sacrifice. It is an Oriental myth; but it might help us to interpret the solemn sweetness of the Christmas Bells, as they shake their music on the warm, sunny air.

We make or mar the Christmas chimes. Over the Babe born in Bethlehem and cradled in the cattle stall, more bells have rung than over all the princes since the world began. He is the World’s Joy Bringer, and His secret is love and service. There is a German legend which tells how one Christmas Eve, a poor man was going home through the forest. He heard a cry of pain, and. found a poor child hungry and cold. The good man took the little stranger to his forest home. His children welcomed the foundling and shared their evening meal. Then as they sat round the log fire a change came over -the child and lo! it was the Christ Child. If in our Christmas joy we think of others, care for and serve others, we shall not miss A MERRY CHRISTMAS