The Case of the Stolen Stiff

The following was my attempt to preach a sermon on the reliability of the accounts of resurrection of Jesus into a sort of hardboiled detective story. Blame it on St Matthew. He's the one who tells us about the coverup, conspiracy, and general corruption among the powerful. It just begged to be done.
There are no leggy blondes or suggestive salacious dialogue here. I was gonna use it with my Sunday morning crowd. Maybe a later version will have a bit more of that sort of thing. The odd twist at the end was my attempt at reflecting what you so often see in those old detective stories.
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   The name is Spadestein. Sh'muel Spadestein, Private Investigator.
   It was crunch time in the big city. It was Passover, and everywhere you went, you could hear folks munching on matzoh. It sounded like Egypt the day after the locust plague started.

   The big story on the lips of every newsboy in town was about this fellow, Jesus of Nazareth. Seems the carpenter-turned-rabbi was selling himself to the masses as the latest in the long line of Messiah wannabes. There were rumors, most difficult to verify, about him being some sort of magician, with powers to cure the incurable. Blind beggars seeing, deaf hearing, lepers cleansed, you name it. Plenty of witnesses to a supposed resurrection over in Bethany a few months back--a known associate of Jesus who went by the handle “Lazarus.” He’d made himself scarce of late, though, claiming he was getting death threats from some very powerful and influential figures.

   Then, just a week ago, the Nazarene rode here into J-town like a king! Had the crowds coming in for the big holiday throwing him a parade, calling him Son of David, the works. Naturally, the authorities had nabbed him, charged him with treason, and fitted him with a cross on Skull Hill. Justice served; end of story.

   Except… Man, did I hate “except”! Nothing worse than loose ends! Life is full of ‘em, though. Tug that one thread, and pretty soon you’re gonna need a new shirt—or knitting lessons. Like that old saying about nothing being sure but death and taxes. A recently-vacated tomb had a lot of people thinking that statement oughta be revised. Seems a certain dead Messiah wasn’t satisfied with his accommodations, and left without paying the tab.

   Who knows? Could be he was holed up with his buddy Lazarus some place. An exclusive club for the recently revivified, perhaps.

   A couple days later, a very well-dressed cockroach skittered into the office of Shmuel Spadestein Investigations, seeking shelter from the light. The nervous little man was an errand boy for Caiaphas, the high priest.

   “We—that is, the chief priests—want to secure your services, Mr Spadestein. We want you to find out what happened to the body of Jesus of Nazareth.”

   “I thought that was all sowed up,” I said. “Papers said some of his gang stole the body. End of story.”

   “Well, not quite. You see, some of those same followers are now claiming he rose from the dead, and that they have seen him, alive.”

   “Desperate people sometimes tell desperate stories.”

   The little man’s eyes got big, and he began to stammer, “Where did you hear--? Ahem. We want YOU to find out just who stole the Nazarene, and where they’ve stashed him. I’m sure we’ll all feel better once these religious nuts are silenced.”

   “I get 20 shekels a day, plus expenses, with a two-day retainer fee paid up-front.”

*****

   Let’s get one thing clear: The carpenter was dead. No one could take the beating he did, followed by a crucifixion, and still be alive. I’ll say one thing for the Romans: They’re very good at execution. Scourging by the cat o’nine tails is no bar fight. Plenty of guys died just from the beating, because when they stood up straight, there was no flesh left to hold the insides inside. And then top it off with crucifixion? Even if Jesus had been the toughest palooka this side of the Jordan, the cross woulda’ finished him off. Witnesses say a guard on duty ran a spear up under the guy’s ribs, and blood AND water came out. Probably ruptured the sack around the heart. You don’t just go for a stroll after that.

   But, just for the sake of argument, let’s say he only looked dead. A couple of his followers wrap him up tight in linen, pour 75 lbs of aromatic spices into the folds of cloth, then dumped him in a cool cave with very little air. If he’d survived the treatment by his enemies, he’d died at the hands of his friends.

*****

   The tomb was in a private cemetery. It belonged to a prominent member of the City Council, Joseph from Arimathea. Turns out, he was a follower of Jesus, had claimed the body, and buried it in his own tomb. It was still unused at that point, intended for him and his family, but was close enough to Skull Hill to not break the Sabbath.

   The doorway was still wide open, the big flat stone having been rolled out of the v-shaped indentation in front of the entrance. I ducked my head in to look around. It was empty alright. No body was home. The caretaker confirmed what I’d just seen. Said he thought maybe Jesus’ mom had taken the graveclothes.

   “Excuse me?”

   “Yes sir. The body was not found, but the linen shroud and the handkerchief around his head were folded up, still there.”

   “So, if Jesus walked out of here, like Joseph & the rest believe, he did it—in the nude? Good thing it was dark!”

   “I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir. Perhaps one of the guards saw something.”

   Guards? For a tomb? As it turns out, the Nazarene had claimed on several occasions that he would rise from the dead, so chief priests convinced Pilate to post soldiers in front of the tomb to keep his disciples from stealing the body & claiming he’d pulled off the stunt.

   I contacted the local garrison and managed to talk with one of the four who’d been on guard that night. Tertius was young and—very enthusiastic about serving the Empire!

   “Yes sir! Myself, Cassius, Brutus and Valerius went on guard duty for the 4^th watch, Sir—3 to 6 a.m. to civilians.”

   “And what did you see?”

   “We saw… We saw nothing. We fell asleep and Jesus’ disciples stole the body, sir.”

   “You fell asleep? On duty? All four of you?”

   “Yes sir.”

   “But you’re sure it was the disciples who stole the body out of tomb?”

   “Who else would have, Sir?”

   “One last question, Soldier. Aren’t there very severe penalties for falling asleep on duty—like, execution?”

   “That’s up to the governor’s discretion, Sir.”

   His story smelled, or maybe it was his cheap aftershave. A bunch of fishermen sneak past trained, armed soldiers who have ALL fallen asleep, at the same time--and manage not to wake them with the racket of stone grinding on stone as they try to get in the door?

   Okay, maybe they were really good, but sneaking off into the night with an unwrapped, three-day-old corpse over their shoulders? Just seemed like a naked lie to me.

   The tale folded, like a recently-used shroud. That was another thing that didn't add up. Stripping a stiff before carrying it away--that's messed up enough, but it takes a special kind of weirdo to carefully fold up all that linen before tiptoeing back out past sleeping guards! Who were these guys? Fishermen or decorators from Better Tombs and Gardens? It was all just a little too neat."

   Desperate people sometimes tell desperate stories. This one had the jingle of silver changing hands under the table. 

*****

   My client had engaged my services to find who habeased the corpus, as the Romans like to say. I asked around, and located his mother and several of the members of the Nazarene Mob, as I’d come to think of them. To a man, or woman, I guess, they all seemed to believe that Jesus really was alive again!

   Simon “Rocky” Johnson said that Jesus had met personally with him the afternoon of the day the tomb was found unoccupied. He said that they had talked about good spots to go fishing, though the smile on his face made me wonder if he wasn’t joking. John, “Thunder” Zebedee had recently moved the Carpenter’s mother into his own home, as one does for an aging parent. He said seeing the empty shroud was enough for him to believe Jesus had risen. Thomas, a.k.a. “The Twin” told me that he had seen Jesus, up close and personal. He was sure it was really him because his hands and side still bore the wounds from being crucified. There was no doubt in his mind that Jesus was alive, he said.

   Another Mary, this one Magdalene, said she’d seen him in the garden around the tomb, and she hadn’t even recognized him til he called her by name. She’d mistaken him for the caretaker. Maybe he was wearing some sort of disguise, because another Jesus-follower, Cleopas, said he and his travelling companion had taken a long walk with Jesus and sat down to dinner with him before they realized who it was.

   Quite a few agreed that he’d shown up to dinner, even with all the doors and windows locked tight. He’d eaten a piece of fish, to prove to them he wasn’t a ghost.

   All of these witness accounts had a few things in common. Sure, they had all been followers of the Nazarene, but none of them seemed to be wild-eyed, dangerous zealots—well, except for Simon the Zealot, but even he said Jesus was teaching him to reign in his anger and learn to love the Romans. None of these folks seemed dangerous, or even crazy, except for their agreement that a dead man wasn’t a dead man anymore.

   The thing that really got me was that not a single one of them had expected to see Jesus alive again! Women in the group were heading to the cemetery to visit his grave. Their report that their rabbi was alive was met with derision by the rest—until they saw him for themselves! That made me wonder, would you hallucinate seeing someone alive that you never expected to see alive? Would it happen to large groups, where they all agreed on what they saw, and heard, and touched, and when it had happened?

   Say what you like, but these folks did not move the body. All of them loved Jesus. Absolutely adored him and hung on his every word. Why would they deny him the most honored burial a Jewish man could receive? This is a city of people that love to keep up the old cemeteries. King David and a lot of other great old men and women have well-cared-for graves here. Why would you so dishonor someone you thought was dead by moving them? It just didn’t add up. But like Tertius had said, “Who else would do it?”

   Tug on a loose thread…

   But these were the “true believers.” Not everybody liked the man. He had plenty of enemies. Enemies in high places, with lots of influence. And when Jesus showed up on their turf, calling them out for hypocrisy and corruption, they lost a lot of their power. They’d been out for his blood for a long time, but the masses loved him, and they couldn’t touch him without starting a riot and bringing Rome down on their heads. When they finally managed to lay a finger on it, it had been an inside job.

   Maybe I could talk to the guy who turned him in. Plainly he was no friend to the rest of them, so maybe he could give me some insight into the dynamics of the Nazarene Mob. Maybe he had some idea who’d robbed the tomb. I asked the chief priests if they knew where I could find Judas Iscariot. They told me they knew exactly where he was hanging out. I guess they thought they were pretty clever. Suffice it to say, Iscariot had reached the end of his rope, and he wasn't talking to anybody--ever again.

*****

   I had been around the city better than a dozen times the last few days. Talking to witnesses, checking on alibis, double checking stories, rephrasing questions to see if somebody would slip up. I was beginning to identify with the donkey turning the grindstone—around, around, around—except the only thing being ground down was me. I couldn’t make heads or tails of any of it, and if I were any closer to an answer, I sure couldn’t see it.

   I remembered, just about then, that the office bottle might still have a few sips left in it, and that I very much wanted to be sure.
   Caiaphas’ representative was waiting in my office when I arrived, just about closing time. I dimmed the lights in deference to his nature.

   “I suppose you want a report on my progress with the stolen body case.”

   “Mr Caiaphas is very anxious to hear what you’ve found out, yes.”

   “Well, Mr—um, I’m sorry, I can’t recall your name.”

   “I’ve been told I have that effect on people.”

   “Ah, I see. So, um, what was your name again?”

   “We are very interested in your findings, Mr Spadestein.”

   “Oh, alright. Here’s the thing… The truth is… I don’t actually have anyone pinned down right now as your grave robber.”

   “Well, surely you have some suspicions; some idea who might have done it! Some leads you haven’t followed up on yet?”

   I had some suspicions, alright. But where my leads were leading, I wasn’t to sure I wanted to follow.

   “I have spoken to anyone and everyone I can who is connected in any way with this case. Here is what I have so far. Jesus is dead, but he’s not in his tomb, and everyone of his followers seems to genuinely believe that he rose from the dead. Their belief in this stands strong, even though I know your bosses have been leaning on them pretty hard. They’re losing friends, social status, work, freedoms. None of these people have anything to gain by maintaining such a ridiculous story, so I don’t think any of them are responsible.

   “The guards’ story—which I don’t believe, by the way—is that they were asleep when the tomb was vacated. That means they can’t be absolutely certain who was there.”

   “Who else would have done it?”

   “That’s just what they said. Now, I know that none of your playmates has the body, or they’d have produced it by now. That really only leaves us with one possibility. No one stole the body. But you knew that, too, didn’t you?”

   “Of course we knew! But you wouldn’t believe the story the guards reported to the chief priests! There was an earthquake as a figure dressed in white, glowing bright like the noonday sun came down out of the sky and rolled back the stone from the entrance, all by himself! Terrifying, apparently. They all fainted at the sight of him, so the part about being asleep isn’t quite a lie. When they woke up, the tomb was empty. Naturally, we couldn’t have them blabbing that to everyone, so we bought their silence and gave them a much more feasible explanation. People do love a good conspiracy story, after all.

   “Our livelihoods were at stake, Mr Spadestein. If people started believing that Jesus actually rose from the dead, as he promised he would, we could all kiss our jobs and our pensions goodbye.”

   “So Jesus really did rise from the dead, and you knew it… Why did you hire me then? You knew I wouldn’t find anything.”

   “To create further suspicions. To come up with more plausible alternatives. A tiny seed of doubt can grow into a great crop of unbelief.”

   “Yeah, or it can be the thing that drives a man to seek the truth. Here, take care of the office bottle for me. I think you’ll need it more than I do.

   “See ya later, Mr Whatever-it-was. I’m off to meet the man who’ll put you out of a job!”
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mp3 here.

Melvin's Palmless Sunday

Now the feast of Passover was about to begin, and as Jesus and his disciples neared Jerusalem, they stopped upon the mount of Olives. Then the lazy carpenter, who walked everywhere, suddenly decided his feet were too tired to go on. He sent two of his followers to a nearby village to filch a donkey colt for him to sit on.

Andrew asked him, "Master, are you about to preach to the crowds* again?"

"And if you get caught by the owners," Jesus continued, ignoring him, "give them this loaf of bread that I made, and tell them, 'The Lord kneads it.' That will satisfy them, and by the time they realize it is leavened, and they can not eat it during the feast, we'll be long gone."

The disciples returned with the colt and its mother, saying, "This colt has never been ridden and is very unruly, so we brought the mother as well." They laid their cloaks upon both of them, unsure which Jesus would attempt to sit upon. For a time, he sat on both of them, but straightway discovered this would not work.

Arising from the ground between them, he dusted himself off and said to his followers, "No man can sit on two asses, for he will hate the one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot sit on both Lenore and Sanda." By this, he meant the colt, whose name was Sanda, and its mother, Lenore. (Named, it was supposed, for the sound of her braying.)

Deciding at last that the prophecy of Zechariah would best be fulfilled by him sitting upon the colt, he did so.

For it is written, "Rejoice greatly, O Daughter of Zion! Shout, Daughter of Jerusalem! See, your king comes to you, righteous and having salvation, gentle and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey."

And as they came down the mountainside, he held on to the mother's mane for balance. Seeing that her mane was quite tangled and full of burrs and bits of straw, he began to remove them, gently combing his fingers through her hair.

And the colt upon which he rode began to trot recklessly down the hill, getting ahead of his mother, and nearly spilling Jesus onto the ground yet again. So the crowd that went ahead of Jesus, and those who followed, began to shout, "Whoa, Sanda! Bested is he who combs in the mane of Lenore! Whoa, Sanda, to the summit native!"

At last, the party came to rest in the valley below. There by the roadside, a wise seller of melons had placed his fruit stand. And he was calling out to any who would listen, "Behold, the sun is hot, but my produce is cool--and so are my prices! Come, buy your fresh melons at Melvin's Melons! Remember, buying local is a mitzvah!"

Jesus dismounted and began to peruse Melvin's merchandise.

And the son of the carpenter cried out in a loud voice, "Eighteen shekels for a honeydew?! Hath not my Father spoken in the Law: Thou shalt not steal? Thou wicked purveyor of second-rate fruit! Who shall save you from the coming wrath?"

Having said this, he shoved his sandaled foot through the side of Melvin's fruit stand and overturned his box of change.

"Second-rate?!" Melvin shrieked, "I suppose you think you could find a better deal inside the temple courts?"

And Jesus answering, saith unto him, "Verily, I say unto thee, if I cannot, I'll wreck the whole place myself!"

With that, he mounted Sanda and goaded the colt up the hill. Melvin was very angry and would have seized him, but he could not, for his time had not yet come. His replacement wouldn't arrive for another two hours.

When they entered Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up and asked, "Who is this that keeps falling off the donkey's colt?"

And the crowds replied, "This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth in Galilee."

And Melvin saith unto them -- the next shift workers having finally arrived, half an hour late, and their wages were docked accordingly, "Nazareth? Ha! Nothing good comes from Nazareth!  Not only did he not buy anything from me, but neither did that bunch of fishermen with him! He's more of a NON-profit, if you ask me!"
__________

*This is probably a reference to this pericope.

Coming this February 2nd...

The Amazing, Fantastic, Stupendously Ugly Christmas Sweater, epilogue

And finally...
 

    I asked my Grandpa Arnie, “Whatever happened to your amazing, fantastic, stupendously ugly Christmas sweater?”

    “Oh, I outgrew it the next year. So, I gave it to my friend Lucinda, because it would still fit her. She didn’t have a very warm coat – and such a, ahem, “festive” sweater suited her perfectly! Besides, with some of my sweater yarn in her shoe, it just made sense that both the parts of the sweater would want to live close to each other. And THAT’S when the sweater became the best gift ever – because it was something I GAVE. Not something I GOT!

    “Grandpa,” I asked, “did Lucinda pass the sweater on to someone else?”

    “Well, heh-heh,” he chuckled. “In a manner of speaking, yes. Say, isn’t it time to add Baby Jesus to our manger scene? Why don’t you go get the box he’s in?”

    I brought in the wooden chest. Mary and Joseph and the shepherds and the manger were already on the hearth. Only the baby was left – and we always waited until Christmas Day to put him in the manger. I opened up the box, and found the final ceramic piece of our Nativity set. Baby Jesus was wrapped securely in a bright, multi-colored sweater with a giant poinsettia on it! It was Grandpa Arnie’s Christmas sweater! But how did it get here?

    “You remember your Grandma Lucy? Well, ‘Lucy’ is short for ‘Lucinda.’ And when we got married, your Grandma still had that ugly Christmas sweater. She couldn’t wear it any more, but she found a certain little baby in a manger who needed it – and it has kept him safe and warm all these years!

    “ ‘It just makes, sense,’ she said. “The best gifts aren’t the ones you get. They’re the ones you give! And the child in the manger is proof that God thinks so, too.”
   

The Amazing, Fantastic, Stupendously Ugly Christmas Sweater, pt 4

The New Kid In School

    “Well, the poinsettia covered up the stain from the spaghetti sauce incident, but NOW I had to wear it! Can you imagine being a boy eight or nine years old, and being forced to wear a sweater with a great big flower on the front of it? It was humiliating! I was so embarrassed that I wanted to hide – but where can you hide when you’re wearing the amazing, fantastic, stupendously ugly Christmas sweater? I’ll tell you: Nowhere!

    “I suddenly had a great idea! Since Beulie had crocheted the poinsettia onto the OUTSIDE of my sweater, I could just turn it inside-out and wear it! So I did that, and you know what? It was even more horrible on THAT side! It was like all the different colors on the sweater were trying to run away from each other, but they couldn’t because someone had sewed them together! So what could I do? I turned it right-side-out and put it on again. I experimented briefly with wearing it backwards, but I looked like a flower pot walking away from you, and everyone snickered when they saw it. Finally, I decided I would just face the shame head-on. Folks at school would get used to it, eventually.  I put my sweater on the right way.   

    “There was a new girl in our class that day. She didn’t look up from the floor very much, and when she did, she didn’t seem very happy. And then she saw me -- and she smiled. Her eyes lit up, and her smile got bigger. I think she even laughed a little bit.

    “I introduced myself to her, because that was the polite thing to do. She told me her name was Lucinda. Her family had just moved to our town.

    “ ‘I really should thank you, Arnie,’ she said. ‘You just made my day! When I walked into school this morning, I was very nervous. I didn’t know anybody here. And I was worried what others would think when they saw that my clothes were a little shabby. And then I saw your sweater, and I thought, Maybe I don’t have it so bad after all! You really cheered me up!’

    “Just then – well, before I can tell you what happened next, I have to tell you about my dog. He was a – well – he was a German shepherd/ poodle/ dachshund mix crossed with a genuine, all-American mutt!  He was a mix of so many different kinds of dog, we called him Casserole! Casserole was my favorite dog ever! He could fetch, roll-over, play dead.

    “But the thing he liked to do most of all was chew on things. We never had to worry about branches and sticks in our yard, so long as Casserole was around. He’d chew them up ’til there was nothing left. If we’d been thinking about it, we could have rented him out to other families to take care of the sticks in their yards, but we didn’t think about that. The problem with Casserole was, if he ran out of sticks and bones, he was just as likely to gnaw on the fence, or your toys, or even you, if he was bored enough.

    “That morning when I met Lucinda, Casserole got out of our yard. It’s just barely possible that a certain young man, who shall remain nameless, had left the gate undone. And so, during recess, Casserole showed up at my school! He raced around the schoolyard, barking happily. Some of us threw snowballs at him, and he tried to bring them back, but they melted too soon. It was about that time that I was meeting Lucinda.

    “Just then, Casserole saw something that looked delicious to him. He came racing up and grabbed Lucinda’s shoelace in his teeth. Before I could tell him to stop, Casserole had bitten the bow right off of her left shoe, and run away again! Have you ever tried to walk around with one shoe tied and the other one untied? Step-flap. Step-flap. Step-flap.

    “Her left shoelace was now too short to tie a bow in, so all around the school she went: Step-flap. Step-flap. Step-flap. All over the schoolhouse. Step-flap. Step-flap. In the hallways. Step-flap. Step-flap. Walking up to the blackboard to do a math problem.  Step-flap. Step-flap. Step-flap.

    “She couldn’t walk home that way. She needed a new shoelace, or something she could use as laces. What could we use? What could we use?

    “And then I figured out the solution to Lucinda’s problem. Do you know what it was? Do you remember how I told you that one of the sleeves of my sweater was about an inch longer than the other? Now do you know what I did? That’s right! I unraveled a bit of that sleeve – it was a red stripe – and tied a good knot in the blue yarn next to it. I dipped the ends of the red yarn in paste and twisted them into points. Once it was dry, Lucinda had a nice red shoelace, and I had sweater sleeves that were the same length!”
*****

Click the Ugly Christmas Sweater link below for the previous parts.

The Amazing, Fantastic, Stupendously Ugly Christmas Sweater, pt 3

Joseph’s Sweater of Many Colors

    “I remember one chilly Sunday morning, I wore my new sweater to church. I think it must have been the Sunday right after Christmas, and everyone was showing off the new clothes they got. People were wearing new coats, new hats, new scarves, new boots. And underneath, they were wearing new shirts, new pants, new skirts. There were new ties and suits and dresses. And lots and lots of new sweaters. And there I was, wearing the amazing, fantastic, stupendously ugly Christmas sweater!

    “My sweater and I walked into Sunday School, and Miss Kelly-Kelly (She was our teacher. Her name was Kelly O’Hannon, and she married Robert Kelly, so her name became Kelly Kelly. Naturally, us kids all called her “Miss Kelly-Kelly”) Miss Kelly-Kelly took one look at my sweater and said, ‘Oh my! Your sweater reminds me of Joseph’s coat of many colors!’

    “She was always saying things like that. When my sister Beulah knitted her a bright red scarf, Miss Kelly-Kelly said, ‘Oh my! This reminds me of Rahab’s scarlet thread!’ When Billy Higgins tried to sneak his slingshot into church, she said, ‘Oh my! Are we looking for Goliath?’ One time, the Grogan’s donkey got out and made such a ruckus they had to interrupt the church service to take him back home, and she said, ‘Oh my! That reminds me of Balaam’s donkey!’ And if you tipped your chair back on two legs, she’d say, ‘Oh my! Be careful, Eutychus!’ Everything reminded her of a Bible story.

    “So, of course, she thought of Joseph’s coat when she saw me. And it got her so stirred up that she decided to tell us THAT story instead of whatever the lesson was for that day! We all loved the story so much that we decided to do it as our Bible drama for Children’s Sunday. (On that Sunday, every class got up on stage and did something for the service. They might sing a song or recite Bible verses, or act out a Bible Story or something like that.) And what else did we use for Joseph’s coat of many colors? My amazing, fantastic, stupendously ugly Christmas sweater!

    “Now, Children’s Sunday only came around once or twice a year, and we wanted to really put on a good show for everybody else. So we practiced and practiced on it. We’d come home after school and hurry up with our chores and homework, and then we’d rush to the church to work on our play. It was gonna be great!

    “Then, one night, Miss Kelly-Kelly invited the whole class to come practice at her house, and she would serve us dinner. She made spaghetti and meatballs. (Of course, SHE called it ‘spaghetti and Esauce’ after Jacob’s brother, Esau.) Wow! Was that spaghetti sauce ever bright red! I remember, because I spilled it on my sweater! I went to take a bite, and one yummy meatball went rolling off my fork. It bounced off my sweater and landed back on the plate!

    “I tried to wipe off the tomato sauce, but it was no use. It had stained my sweater. And it was a wool sweater, so you couldn’t wash it, or it would shrink. Nope, I was stuck with a big red splotch, right in the middle of my new sweater! What was I going to tell my mother? Worse, what was I gonna tell Beulie? She’d probably think I did it on purpose!

    “My friend, Freddy Apple (that was really his name) said, ‘Maybe no one will notice. They’ll probably think it’s just part of the sweater!’

    “ ‘Maybe, but Beulie will notice.’

    “Freddy’s brother, Franky (and they had a sister named Candy, if you can believe it) had a plan. ‘Just put your hand over it whenever she comes by!’

    “So that’s what I did. When Beulah walked by, I put my hand over the stain.

    “She stopped, and said, ‘Are you okay? Do have a tummy ache?’

    “So I started rubbing my hand in little circles over my stomach, and I said, ‘No, it’s just really delicious spaghetti! Mm-mm!’

    “Another time, when she walked past, I covered the spot up with my arm.

    “ ‘Are you sure you’re feeling all right?’ she asked.

    “ ‘Sure, Beulie! Just, uh... practicing the Pledge of Allegiance! Um... Oh yeah! With liberty and justice for all!’

    “She looked at me like I’d fallen out of a tree. Then she just shook her head and walked away. I was practicing the Pledge of Allegiance quite a lot that evening! But you can’t keep hiding something like that. Eventually, I had to tell my sister the truth.

    “ ‘Beulie,’ I said, ‘something’s happened to my sweater.’ And I took my hand away. My sister looked at that big red splotch on my sweater, and she got a very serious look on her face. I’d never seen her look like that before. I was scared. ‘It’s tomato sauce,’ I said. ‘It was an accident,’ I said. ‘Freddy Apple spilled his spaghetti on it.’

    “She just kept staring at the spot. She didn’t move. ‘Okay, that’s not true,’ I said. ‘It was me. I spilled the spaghetti – but it WAS an accident. I didn’t mean to! I’m sorry.”

    “Beulie blinked a couple times, looked at me and said, ‘I’ll fix you, Arnie.’ I started to back away, and she said, ‘No, I mean your sweater! I think I can fix it.’

    “She borrowed my sweater for a few days. When she brought it back, she had crocheted the biggest, reddest poinsettia you’ve ever seen, right smack-dab in the middle of the amazing, fantastic, stupendously ugly Christmas sweater! If anything, it made it made it even MORE stupendously ugly – BUT it completely covered up the spaghetti stain. And Beulah never told Mom and Dad about the accident.

    “Our Bible play went just fine, by the way.  But after that, every time Miss Kelly-Kelly saw a poinsettia, she’d say, ‘Oh my! That reminds me of Joseph’s coat of many colors – but I have no idea why!’ ”
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Pt 1 and Pt 2

“Winter Wonderland”: A Hymn of the Persecuted Church. A Christmas Song Analysis

“Winter Wonderland” is one of those popular winter weather tunes that have made their way into our minds as “Christmas songs,” despite the complete lack of lyrical reference to the celebration of that holyday. But, lest we too hastily imagine that there is no religious content in it at all...

The 1934 lyrics to “Winter Wonderland,” by Richard B. Smith, are, in actuality, a sort of wintry “By the Rivers of Babylon” for cold war era Christians in communist countries – like the U.S.S.R. – who were unable to publicly practice their faith.

While it is unclear as to whether Smith was a religious person, his heart clearly reached out to the persecuted church. He penned these words while he was in a sanatorium with tuberculosis, and so he clearly knew something about being restricted.

The composer of the music was one Felix Bernard, who was born Jewish in New York City, and, while he didn’t contribute to the lyrics, no doubt also was immersed in his people’s history of persecution – and was therefore an ideal match for Smith’s lyrics.

Sleigh bells ring, are you listening?
In the lane snow is glistening

We note that, while it is winter, and nearing the holyday season, there are no church bells to be heard, but only sleigh bells. “The lane” is the road to the church building.  It glistens with snow, because no footprints mar the way. No one is permitted public religious expression, and so the church is sadly boarded-up and abandoned.

A beautiful sight, we’re happy tonight
Walking in a winter wonderland.

The meaning here is likely two-fold. First, it is the false attitude of happiness that these secret believers must wear, despite how their hearts must be breaking at the closing of the church. They must let no one know, however, that the untraveled lane saddens them, lest they be arrested for their faith. Secondly, they are – in fact – filled with joy, appreciating the beauty of Creation, and also because of where it is that they are walking TO. More on that in a moment.

Gone away is the bluebird
Here to stay is a new bird
He sings a love song as we go along
Walking in a winter wonderland.

The bluebird of happiness has flown away. No longer are public expressions of Christianity tolerated. They realize now how happy was their previous, un-persecuted state of affairs.

However, though outward happy times may have “gone away,” the “new bird” has come. Undoubtedly, this new bird is the dove, representative of the Holy Spirit, who sings peace, joy and “a love song” in their hearts, buoying them up in these difficult times. Again, there is the reference to walking, the destination of which trip we will now discover.

In the meadow we can build a snowman
Then pretend that he is Parson Brown
He’ll say, “Are you married?” We’ll say, “No man”
But you can do the job when you’re in town.

The apparently whimsical scene of building a snowman in the meadow hides a much darker meaning. In the communist pogroms, clergy have been rounded up and arrested. Churches have been closed. The believers are “happy tonight, walking in a winter wonderland” to a secret church service “in the meadow.” Lacking priest or pastor, they stand before a snowman, repeating their marriage vows. However, they swear to have a real church wedding when “Parson Brown,” their minister, is released from prison. Then, he can “do the job when” he’s “in town.”

Lumigyo Amnatovitch, a leading scholar on the persecuted Soviet church in the cold war era, suggests a bit of a different interpretation.

“The Snowman was a sort of renegade priest who performed the sacraments in secret outdoor services at night. Whether it was one man or a group of them will likely never be known. To the persecuted believers, he was simply “Father/Pastor Snowman.”

While most “respectable” repositories of knowledge reject this story outright, even Wikipedia has this to say about the alternate bridge lyrics:

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The original bridge, about a couple who make a spur-of-the-moment decision to get married, was supposedly considered inappropriate for children. A 1953 version of the sheet music contains the following replacement bridge

In the meadow we can build a snowman,
and pretend that he’s a circus clown.
We’ll have lots of fun with Mister Snowman,
until the other kiddies knock ‘im down!
When it snows, ain’t it thrillin’?
Tho’ your nose, gets a chillin’
We’ll frolic and play, the Eskimo way,
Walkin’ in a Winter Wonderland.

In addition, the fact that (as noted above) the circuit-traveling country parson trekking from village to village is no longer part of the American cultural scene has also contributed to the circus clown replacing Parson Brown. (emphasis mine)

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They won’t touch the theory that the song is about the persecuted church, of course, but they acknowledge that America’s own religious decline contributed to the rewrite!

Later on we’ll conspire
As we dream by the fire
To face unafraid, the plans that we’ve made
Walking in a winter wonderland

The underground congregation goes home, renewing their commitment to boldly hold on to their faith – and perhaps, are scheming a revolution to overthrow their persecutors!

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--excerpted from Do you Hear What I Hear? The Stories

Behind Our Beloved Christmas Carols, by Allen S. Brain