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Premium Member
Join Date: Jun 2004
Location: San Antonio
Posts: 1,868
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Christmas Eve
At this time of the year well really on this day of the year I like to read my favorite Christmas story. This is a long read for some and most will just look at it and pass it by, but maybe a few will take a couple of minutes of their day and have a thought or two to themselves about this story.
Anyway I wish you all and your families Merry Christmas.
MERRY TIFTON!
by
D. James Kennedy
A.B., M.Div., M.Th., D.D., D.Sac.Lit., Ph.D., Litt.D.,
D.Sac.Theol., D.Humane Let.
I thought that most Americans wouldn't know a sheep from a goat, but what are they familiar with? Obviously, the answer came back: television. If there is anything Americans know well, it's TV. About that time there was a very popular program on called The Millionaire. Though it has now been off the air for many years I have taken that theme, adapted it, taken some liberties, and used it to present a modern parable of Christmas.
A MODERN PARABLE
Long ago, in a land far away, there lived a man named John Beresforth Tifton—a man whose teeming wealth was vast beyond the dreams of avarice—a man who had a most unusual habit. It was, indeed, strikingly strange. He had the custom of every now and again of selecting certain individuals, by some inscrutable criteria known only to him, and bestowing upon them a gift of one million dollars. Beyond that, he also adopted them into his family, gave them his name of Tifton, and made them his heirs. Of course, this had enormous transforming effects upon the individuals who were the recipients of “the gift.”
The gifts were delivered by his secretary, a gentleman by the name of Michael Anthony—easily recognized by the bowler hat, the umbrella under the arm, and the suitcase in his hand that contained within it the cashier's check for $1 million.
First, there were just a few dozen, and then scores and then hundreds, and finally, thousands of
recipients of “the gift.” Mr. Tifton had left instructions in his will that out of the vast holdings of his estate this custom was to be continued, so over the years and several centuries that passed, literally tens of thousands of people around the world became recipients of “the gift”—all unexpectedly,
As one might expect, back in his native land, many who had received the gift, and also the name of Tifton, got together to discuss how they in some way might honor and remember their generous benefactor. They decided to do so by celebrating his birthday, and that they did. They wrote books and articles. They sang songs they had composed about this great benefactor, about his munificence that transformed their lives. They even came up with Tifton cards that featured various paintings and likenesses of this wonderful man.
The celebrations continued for many, many years. Then one day something happened that was going to change it forever—and it happened right here in America. You see, some Tiftons were
discussing the Tifton Eve party they were going to have that night, when a couple of non-Tifton Americans overheard them, and being great party-crashers, such as we are, they decided they would just sort of slip right in and enjoy the party—which they did. They heard talk about someone named John Beresforth Tifton. They picked up little pieces, snippets of the story, and concluded that he obviously was a generous man who gave various gifts to people—probably things like ties and handkerchiefs and toiletries and shirts and pajamas.
That seemed like a wonderful idea, and they told their friends about the party the next day. They, in turn, told others, who told others. After all, his birthday did come in the middle of the winter and this would be something that would brighten up the dreary winter months. First thing you know, everyone was celebrating Tifton Day. Why, they made it a national holiday right here in America! They even had Tifton trees. Of course, the fact that those trees didn't even grow in the land that Mr. Tifton lived in didn't bother them in the least.
So it continued, until one day a couple of the real Tiftons from Mr. Tifton's native land were on a trip to America, and they landed in New York harbor on the afternoon of Tifton Eve. They said one to the other, “Wouldn't it be wonderful if we could find another Tifton in America to celebrate Tifton Eve with, but that's not likely. This is such a big city, I doubt we could find even one in such a short period of time.”
However, to their amazement and their wondering eyes, as they were walking down the street, they looked into a department store window and saw a sign that said, “Tifton Special—50% off.” They exclaimed, “Marvelous! We have found a brother.” They were amazed to see that the department store was named after someone named Macy. Why hadn't he named it “Tifton,” after himself? They didn't quite understand, but they decided to make his acquaintance.
Just as they started to go in the front door, they heard someone across the street call out, “Merry Tifton.” They turned to try and find this person and heard someone on their side of the street respond with “Merry Tifton.” First thing you know, there was a whole chorus of voices saying, “Merry Tifton! Merry Tifton and a Happy New Year!” They were dumbfounded. “Why, Mr. Tifton has been extraordinarily generous to these people in America. We have never seen anything like this anywhere else,” they said.
They asked somebody about it and were told, “Oh, you're strangers. Well, we're having a Tifton Eve party at such and such an address. Why don't you come tonight, and you can learn all about our custom.” So they did. It was a large home, and the party was well under way when they arrived. There were scores of people there, and there was a band playing—rather too loudly, they thought. There was the tinkling of glasses, dancing, laughter, and drinking. Several people were staggering around as if they were drunk.
The two Tiftons were bewildered. “Mr. Tifton would not have approved of this kind of conduct.” They couldn't understand it. They marveled at what they had seen—especially that afternoon. The one said, “Did you notice some of the people who were shouting 'Merry Tifton'? Why some of them... Why, they didn't look like millionaires at all. They looked ... they looked like... like paupers.”
“Well, I didn't want to say anything, but you're absolutely right, brother. They did. Let's ask this fellow here: Excuse me, sir. I wonder if you could help us. We were just noticing these Tifton cards on your mantle, and we notice that most of them don't even say anything about Mr. Tifton. We were wondering about this big fat man in a green suit . . . riding in a chariot pulled by reindeer. We know there aren't any reindeer in Mr. Tifton's land. We can't understand this at all. Could you help us?”
“Oh, you're strangers and don't understand. Well, let me introduce myself. My name is Benny. Benny Bootstraps is the name, and I'll be glad to tell you about our American Tifton celebration.”
They said, “Well, first tell us, sir, when did Mr. Tifton give you your million dollars?”
“Say again? What did you say—a million dollars? Ha! You... you must be joking. I had to borrow three hundred dollars to pay for my Tifton presents.”
“Well, then, what is it all about?”
“Well, you see, I'm not an expert by any means, believe me, but it's all written down in a book about his life. Most people have one in their home. I must say I haven't read very much of it, but as I gather, it's sort of the story about a man who made a great deal of money and, you see, he gives the principles by which he did that, and if we will just read those principles we, too, can get rich. We might even become millionaires.”
The Tiftons looked at one another in astonishment and wondered how in the world could such a distortion of Tifton Day have come about. A “do-it-yourself book.”—that is what it has degenerated into. They figured they must continue their investigation, so they asked another gentleman. “Excuse me, sir, I wonder if you could help us. We are trying to understand about your Tifton Day celebration.”
This fellow said, “Well, I'll be happy to explain it to you. My name is Tommy Tradition. Who are you?”
“Well, we're both named Tifton.”
“Tifton! Ha! I'll bet you get a lot of kidding about that this time of year.”
They looked rather amazed at one another and said, “Well, I suppose you could say that.”
“Now, Tifton,” he said, “I've celebrated Tifton all of my life. My parents celebrated it too. I used to put my Tifton stocking on the mantle when I was young, and we sent out Tifton cards and got our Tifton morning presents. Oh, it's great fun.”
“But, sir, when did you receive your million dollars from Mr. Tifton?”
“Million dollars? What in the world are you talking about? You see. It's.... It's tradition. It's... Well, I could just boil it all down and say it's... it's just tradition, that's all.” He turned away, muttering something about strangers coming over here questioning their precious traditions.
Not willing to give up quite so quickly, they turned to a final gentleman. Since he looked like he was dressed quite well, they figured he must be a real Tifton. They said, “Mr. Tifton, we're also Tiftons. I wonder if we could ask you a question.”
He said, “My name's not Tifton. It's Mick Mythology. What can I do for you?”
“Well, we're trying to understand this... this Tifton Day celebration.”
He said, “You really don't understand it?”
They said, “Honestly, we don't think we do.”
“Well, let me see if I can explain it to you, though I certainly should be the last one to try to do that. You see, it's said that there was this fellow who lived a long time ago, somewhere far away, and he had a gift-giving propensity. He gave all kinds of different gifts to people—you know, the kinds of things that we continue to do today. It seemed to be a good idea. Now, of course, it is probably just a fable. There are, believe it or not, some people who actually believe he really lived. However, with our modern advancements and scientific technology, we're reasonably convinced he never really lived at all. But it's a nice idea, and so we just picked up on the idea and we continued it.”
They said, “You really don't believe there ever was a Mr. Tifton.”
“No, I don't believe it myself, but you know, who am I to question other people? If they want to believe it, it's up to them. It's a nice idea, as I said.”
By now our two friends are utterly and totally confused. Just at that moment there came a knocking at the door that was hardly audible because of the raucous laughter and the sound of the beating drums and the music. When it was repeated and still unanswered, they saw, to their amazed eyes, the door open, and there was the perennial descendent of Michael Anthony—easily recognized by the bowler hat, the umbrella under the arm, and the briefcase with the $1 million cashier's check. They said one to another, “Smashing. At least somebody at this party is going to discover what Tifton Day is really all about and is going to become a Tifton and understand.”
Mr. Anthony stepped a little way into the room and said, “Ahem. Excuse me, please”—but no one paid him any mind at all. They were going on with their laughing and drinking and dancing and they didn't even hear what he said. He stepped a little farther into the room and spoke even louder and said, “I beg your pardon, but I have here with me . . .” A burst of laughter drowned his voice out, and no one heard what he said. He finally went up and accosted a man near the door and said, “Excuse me, sir, but you see, I represent . . .”
“Hey, Mac, knock it off, will you. This is Tifton Eve. We don't do business on Tifton Eve. Ain't you got no respect? Come see me on Monday morning. Here, have a drink. Celebrate. It's Tifton Eve.”
Mr. Anthony stood there with his briefcase and a cocktail in one hand looking utterly dumbfounded. At length he set the cocktail down on the table, turned, and walked out the door as unnoticed as he was when he walked in, and nobody received the gift. The celebration went on undisturbed.
THE SPIRITUAL TRUTH
Well, there you have it, my friends—a modern parable of Christmas. I wonder, do you understand the spiritual truth clothed in physical terms? I wonder how many of you who are weary and footsore from tromping through the malls for the last few weeks have the real Gift? How many of you who have writer's cramp and a gluey taste in your mouth from sealing so many Christmas cards have the Gift? I also wonder if there are some here who are so spiritually benighted, as all of those folks at the party I described, that you do not even know what the gift is?
Our text said, “Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.” What is that gift? The tragedy is that here in modern America, founded by Christians, there are millions of Americans who haven't the foggiest idea. They are just like those people staggering around at that party. Let me tell you what it is, if you don't know. The Scripture says, “The gift of God is eternal life.” That is the gift Jesus Christ came into this world to bring. Have you received that gift? Do you know that if some pharmaceutical company came up with a pill that would guarantee people two hundred years of healthful, youthful, vital life, there would be a line of people from New York to Los Angeles wanting to buy it. Christ offers us eternal life—200 billion, quadrillions of trillions of centuries in a perfect, undying, amaranthine life . . . freely. He offers it freely.
TEXT: “Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift.” —II Corinthians 9:15
The gift of God is eternal life. Have you received that gift? Knock, knock, knock. “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him.” (Revelation 3:20). When He comes into our hearts, He brings with Him the precious gift of everlasting life—a gift He paid for with an infinite price as the Creator died for the creatures sins, that He might grant to us eternal life if we will, repenting of those sins, place our trust in Him.
He is standing at the door of some hearts right now and knocking. Will you, like those in our parable, ignore the knock, or will you open the door and invite Him into your life that you might receive the gift? If you don't, I suppose that all I can say to you is “Merry Tifton.”
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