A Newsletter of Opinion on Current Australian Christianity

As we approach this traditionally-celebrated time of year I decided to remind us all of our obligations of telling and celebrating the truth about why God decided to send His Son as a baby to this earth.

Since there are so many new readers, if anyone is interested, I have written before about Christmas at:


and at:


This year specifically I would also like to direct our minds to our persecuted brothers and sisters, in particular those being aided at the moment, on our behalf, by the Barnabas Fund and Gospel for Asia.  Your prayers and financial support of those Christians in far countries who are homeless, orphaned, displaced, or otherwise imprisoned by Islamic Terrorists and Communist governments, will be well received and gratefully accepted.

The Real Christmas

The following anonymous poem showed up on my screen just recently. Always willing to share the good news, I think it sums up mostly what I think about the significance of the season.

“Twas the night before Christmas; and strange as it seems I wasn’t indulging in covetous dreams; But reading my Bible, I searched for a clue Why Christians take part in this holiday too.

I plainly could see that it carried His name, But the spirit behind it just wasn’t the same. The songs spoke of wise men, of virgin and child, Of shepherds, of God, and all men reconciled;

But nothing was said of the blood and the cross; Of repentance, and faith, and of counting the cost. They sang of the babe, His miraculous birth, But not of the day when He’ll judge the whole earth.

My Bible said nothing of Santa, or toys, Of Frosty the Snowman, and small drummer boys. A reference to Rudolph not once did I see. But it seems Jeremiah did mention the tree.

I sat and I pondered this curious matter, When out on the roof there arose such a clatter That I knew in a moment he soon would be here; So I prayed in the Spirit and stood without fear.

He slipped down the chimney, quick as a flash, And stepped from the fireplace all covered with ash. There stood St. Nick with his bag and his beard, He looked at the Bible I held, and he sneered,

“Another fanatical Christian, I see; No stockings; no holly, no pictures of me.” I asked him if Jesus was God in the flesh, He said that was something he couldn’t confess.

He said, “I am Santa, I come from afar.” I stood in the truth – “The Devil you are. That suit and that beard doesn’t fool me one bit. Your jolly deception is straight from the pit.

Beneath all your Ho Ho Ho’s Lucifer lurks; With your all-seeing eyes and your gospel of works Like a thief in the night you impersonate Christ, Returning to judge the naughty and nice.”

“So call Christmas pagan,” he said, “That’s O.K. ‘Cause that’s what my sons at the Watchtower say. You’ll look like a pagan or like a deceiver, But none will suspect you to be a believer.”

I said, “I don’t care what your servants will say, My loyalty lies with the Ancient of Days. No matter how many abuses are hurled, My Bible says be not conformed to this world.

You have no power, and no part of me, So I stand on God’s Word, and command you to flee.” He squealed like a pig that was stuck with a knife. He ran to the chimney and climbed for his life.

And I heard him exclaim, as he drove out of sight, “Merry Xmas to all, and a long, dark night.”

– Unknown

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