Pioneer Christian Monthly - December, 1978

First Christmas In A New Country
John H. Martens

It had been some time since the bright hues of the autumn season had graced the Canadian countryside. But now that beauty was no more. The trees were bare and their foliage gone, scattered by the wind or piled up in golden coloured banks. A hush seemed to have fallen over the land, as if the good earth was wondering why the warming sun rays were not, caressing the fields as in the summer gone by when bountiful crops had sprung from the earth, Called forth by the providence of an omnipotent Creator.

There was no snow on the ground yet in these first weeks of December and that is somewhat unusual for Canada. But of course, John Houtman and his wife did not know that. After all, they were not in the country very long yet. In fact, they had arrived only in April as immigrants in Canada, where they were now settled somewhere in the countryside in the Great Lakes region, in charge of a large farm, owned by a well-to-do Canadian.

After a busy, hot summer and many new experiences and not to forget a twinge of nostalgia now and then and even at times a little homesickness and longing for the Old Country with its many fond memories, the Houtmans. along with all humanity, were now drifting on the stream of time towards the last month of the year, towards the month of December and Christmas.

It seemed to both of them that the hectic pace of life was slackening somewhat in these final weeks of the waning year. During the busy spring and summer seasons crops had to be planted and harvested, but now in the late fall, the outside farm work was done and although in barn and stables the farm animals called for constant care and attention, there seemed to be more time for John and his wife to reflect on all the happenings and new experiences of their first summer and fall season in Canada.

But their thoughts did not dwell only on all the happenings of the past months. It was only natural that they also turned to the coming Christmas season. And then one evening in December John's wife spoke out in so many words what was on the mind of the two of them. For with the shortening days and the declining hours of daylight, memories of many a Christmas in the Old Country, in Holland, were creeping up. There is nary a Christian nation in the world which has not celebrated the birth of the Saviour in its own particular way or surrounded it with special details and sung about the momentous happenings in Bethlehem so long ago, in its own language and poetry. So it was in Holland. And here they were sitting in the kitchen of their farm home, somewhere in Ontario in Canada, close to the shores of Lake Huron and it was getting close to Christmas time, their first Christmas time in this new country. And who can fault them for feeling a little sad, for longing for the Old Country and wishing they could soon be there themselves and take part in the simple Christmas celebrations as they had done since they were children? What wouldn't they give to be able to be present in the little village church, where a huge Christmas tree would reach almost to the ceiling and the many real candles on its branches would spread a soft light over the crowd of parents and neighbours come with the children to church to celebrate together the birth of Jesus, in a program presented by the children of the local Christian school? How beautiful were those Dutch Christmas songs. Was there anything more moving and speaking more eloquently of a simple piety than the words of , "Nu syt wellecome, Jesu, lieven Heer" ?

"It'll be pretty quiet around here at Christmastime, John", his wife remarked a few days before Christmas and he looked with a somewhat vacant gaze through the window of their farm kitchen into the distance where steel-blue clouds spoke of the approach of winter and heavy snows. "We'll miss the children's Christmas program in the church and the story of Christmas preached in Dutch by the minister. We will miss the close communion with multitudes of worshippers in full churches and we will not hear father and mother tell of Christmases of former years. And you know, we will not see granddad, dear old granddad's eyes shine with anticipation at once again in his thoughts being able to stand at the manger of Jesus his Saviour. And they have told me, John, that here in Canada they have only one Christmas day. Have you ever heard of that? Only one Christmas day and not two like in Holland? They tell me that the day after Christmas is called Boxing Day and that people give each other presents. But for me it is still a Christmas Day.,'

John hardly knew what to say. He himself also felt keenly a sense of loss and he agreed with his wife. Since their arrival in Canada the previous spring they had worshipped with other immigrants in the basement of the local Presbyterian Church, which had thrown open its doors to the newcomers from overseas. Not that the number of worshippers at these immigrant services was very large. There were perhaps only thirty people, children included, present at these meetings. And yet, John's family had found abundant spiritual sustenance and comfort there.

Listen", John said, "on Wednesday, Christmas Day, the people of our little congregation have made plans to come together in the basement of the Presbyterian Church just like we do on Sundays. The Presbyterians gave their permission, although they thought it strange that people would want to gather in church at midweek, even though it is on Christmas Day. It will be something like we were used to in Holland, at least that is what I understand. Maybe we can sing our dear old Dutch Christmas carols like "Ere zij God" and "Daar is uit 's wereld's duist're wolken".

John's wife brightened hen w she heard his words. Although she knew most of the people who attended the immigrant church services only from short encounters after the sermon was over, it was clear to her that most women and not a few of the men were suffering somewhat of a letdown at the approach of Christmas far from the familiar surroundings of their home country with its own subtle Christmas moods.

When Christmas morning dawned, John started his chores in the barn a little earlier than usual, for he wanted to be in time for the Christmas get-together in the Presbyterian village church that same afternoon. Strange, John thought, when he stepped outside in the crisp morning air, that nothing pointed to the long awaited arrival of Christmas Day. In Holland, in his native village, church bells had always told of the wonder of Jesus' birth and nobody would have missed the proclamation of the incarnation of our Lord as the bells tolled over the roofs of the village.

As he walked towards the barn it was still dark all around and the stars twinkled overhead. Then John heard clearly, despite the absence of tolling bells, the message of Christmas in this stillness, in which nature and humanity seemed to stand speechless and breathless before the miracle of the manger. Before he entered the stable he cast a final glance upward at the still dark heavens, where the stars glittered and twinkled blue and white as they once did when they shone over the shepherds of Ephrata. John remembered the words of the Angels announcing the coming of the Prince of Peace and he rejoiced. For a moment he was as one of the shepherds.

After having listened to a Christmas address by King George VI of England, broadcast by radio to His Majesty's Canadian subjects - and was the King of England hard to understand! speaking such strange English, it was in fact more difficult to understand the King than Canadians! - John and his spouse walked to the village to the Presbyterian sanctuary. A light snow was falling now but the half hour walk was not unpleasant, something like the familiar after-church walks in their native village in Holland. In the shrubs by the roadside little chicadees peered curiously at the two pedestrians and a few blue jays registered by raucous shrieks their displeasure at this infraction on the Christmas peace.

The basement of the little village church gradually filled up with immigrant people. They were mostly farm workers in their first year in Canada. They were men used to hard work and long days and all of them loving their church, where the Word of Life was brought to them, pure and unadulterated. They brought their children with them, little tousle-haired youngsters in home-knitted sweaters.

A quiet young man sat behind the piano and although he had no music from which to play, his unexpected talent was most welcome. An impromptu program was soon in progress. Many Dutch Christmas songs were sung there in that basement and the Presbyterian caretaker who had gone to take a nap in an adjacent room came back to see what all the singing was about and he stayed till the end of the meeting. The men sat with their children on their knees and with their untrained voices in unaffected enthusiasm accompanied the alto's and soprano's of their womenfolk in praising the Lord for the fulfilment of his promises to his people. A little boy and a little girl, heads shyly to one side, sang the same song they had presented in church at the village "Kerstfeest" last year in Holland. The words -"in Bethlehem's stal, lag Christus de Heer" did not even sound out of place in the basement of a Canadian Presbyterian Church and the Presbyterian Church caretaker applauded loudly when the children were finished and the others looked up somewhat startled. For applaus in the Church was something they were not yet used to, even if it was in the basement.

Time flew by and when a little youngster managed to run to the front and beat time with one hand during an especially lively carol, everybody smiled at the little virtuoso, with the soul of a budding artist.

The Gospel of Jesus' birth was read from St. Luke 2: 1-20 and the gaze of the men and women never wandered from the reader; and although the Presbyterian caretaker of course did not understand the reading from tne "Statenvertaling", his loud "Amen" at the conclusion of the Dutch reading of the Christmas Gospel, spoke most eloquently of his oneness in Christ with these new Canadians.

Then the caretaker reached behind a curtain and produced an English Bible in the King James Version and faultlessly read in his own language the story of Bethlehem and when he was finished he sat down and some said afterward they saw a tear blinking behind the glasses of his spectacles. And why not? For this was a day, when all voices of Christendom were as one. And also the shepherds were moved to tears as the words of the old Dutch carol say. Do you remember the characteristic words: "De herders tot schreiens bewogen, 't liep tegen het nieuwe jaar."

On the way home neither John Houtman nor his wife talked very much. Each had his own thoughts. The snow was falling thicker now and blowing in their faces. Once at home, John's wife said to her husband, "John, this has been one of the most blessed Christmases I have ever had. Everybody so freely singing and showing their joy at the birth of Jesus and their thankfulness for God's promises. We were all really close and also the Presbyterian caretaker was one of us. I longed to be in the Old Country at Christmas time, but it has been such a good hour together, I would not have missed it for anything in the world and I am going to write about it to Holland, to mother and dad and granddad."

"Yes," said John, "we were all as one in the Lord. You know, when we are all close to the manger and bending over it to behold the newborn King, then we are also close to each other and that's what we were this afternoon."

And on this Christmas Day, when John Houtman and his wife walked the gravel road to a Canadian village to bring homage to the Prince of Peace, history was made. For this was the day marked in the history of the Church Universal as the day when a new unit of the great army of Christ, showed its elan and enthusiasm in singing of its love and adoration for its Commander. And although perhaps at other places, in far away Rome or in other great world capitals, in mighty cathedrals and impressive sanctuaries thousands of worshippers may have thronged together, and even broken all previous church attendance records, John and his wife and their little group along with Christians anywhere, also shared abundantly in the blessings of God Almighty, the upholder of the humble and the supporter of the lowly.

At bedtime a foot of snow had fallen. The next day two feet covered field and road and more fell during the day, making the roads impassable. Across the snow covered fields, a mile or two distant, one could now barely see the steeple of the Presbyterian Church in the village. Huge snowdrifts had piled against the fences. But as sure as the Presbyterian Church was still there, John knew, so certain was the omnipresence of the Almighty despite snow, ocean, or any other obstacle. And John's wife wrote about it all to Holland.