Some things from childhood stay in the mind throughout our lifetime, and this incident is etched on mine. I am going back now more than eighty years, and how the time has flown. I want to tell you a story about Two Chimneys.
I was five or six years old at the time, World War II was ongoing and my father was serving in the army in India and that left my mother, my sister and me at home. It was getting close to Christmas and at school the playground talk was of what you were hoping to be given at Christmas. Also of interest was the subject of how to communicate with Father Christmas, as he was considered to be involved in the matter of presents.
According to the seven year-old sages in the playground, the experts in the field, there were two ways of contacting him. One was to shout up the chimney and the other was to write a letter, specifying what it was you were hoping for and then throw it up the chimney. I duly considered the options and decided to shout up the chimney. In those days, like everybody else, we had an open fire by which the living room was heated and so my option meant that I had to get up early before my mother came down stairs to light the fire. This I did and shouted up the chimney with my request. There came a gratifying response, for a gruff voice replied, ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Joy! My mother came down the stairs just after I had finished what I was doing, and so I told her. She just said, ‘O yes,’ but must have thought, ‘Silly child!’
Childish things pass away, but the voice! There had been a voice and about that I had no doubt. The years rolled by and with them came understanding, but still the voice. It was not a thing to be talked about; a voice in the chimney would provoke an odd response and so I kept quiet about the matter. The years continued to pass and I was now about sixteen or seventeen, the time when parents begin to talk sense. Talking to my mother, the subject of Christmas must have come up, for I mentioned the voice in the chimney. She laughed, ‘Didn’t you know?’ I said, ‘No,’ She laughed again and began to explain.
At this juncture I should give you a little more background. I gave this talk to a mixed group composed of British and Americans. The latter were United States airmen stationed in England with their families. They had built a church, called a minister and had a congregation of about two hundred people, of whom I was one. The British were the residents of a local Home For The Elderly. Americans are very generous people and every Christmas a group of church members visited the Home with gifts for the residents and staff. We also sang some carols, read the Christmas story and a gospel message was given. Because I was English I was asked to give the message each year and on one occasion I selected this childhood incident for the reason that there was a background to the story to which both the flyers and the old folk could relate. There was common ground between the two groups, as the old folk would recollect the construction of the earlier aerodrome and the Americans would learn something of the history of their Base.
RAF Lakenheath, home to the 48th Tactical Wing of the USAF, is now a multi-million pound airbase where some of the most high-tech fighter planes in the world are stationed. Some twelve thousand USAF personnel, servicemen with their wives and families lived in the area, hence the American church. At the beginning of the Second World War a simple grass landing-strip was laid about one mile from Lakenheath village. It was a decoy airfield, with life-sized plywood models of aircraft and was lit up at night to draw German bombers away from the four or five RAF fighter bases which had been built in the area. As the war proceeded a decision was taken to turn it into a bomber base with a tarmac runway. Because English men were away fighting the war, navvies from Southern Ireland were employed to build the airstrip. One of the clerical staff, a Mr Clancy, came with them together with his wife who were quartered in our house. They had for their use our spare bedroom, a down-stair room and they shared our kitchen. But back to my mother’s explanation.
It was Christmas time and early that morning Mrs. Clancy was lighting her fire when she heard a voice in the chimney. She was rather taken aback at first, but having a quick mind she realised what was happening, that I was shouting up our chimney. She listened and then in her best Father Christmas voice she answered. Later in the day she related all this to my mother, to their joint amusement. The explanation of how the sound travelled between the two chimneys seems to have laid in the construction of the cottage. There was a twenty-five foot long oak beam running between the two chimneys and it seems to have acted as a sounding board and carried the sound of the two voices in our respective chimneys. And so my mystery was solved.
Years rolled away again. I was now twenty-six and my chimney comes again into the picture, a metaphorical chimney. I began to hear a Voice in it, not about Christmas presents, no actual words, but their grew a realisation in my mind that God and I were not friends. It was His Voice sounding in the chimney. The message was one of alienation and I realised that what I needed was some reconciliation. What I thought would be the answer would be some good deeds and some sorrow for my past, my porkies (lies), the spite and malice and so forth. I thought that to regret these things would help make me acceptable to God and I went away to drum up some regret and do some good deeds.
After two weeks I held a conference with myself, but there had been no progress. Obviously I needed to try harder. After some days I held a second review but regret proved to be an elusive substance and good deeds were not forthcoming, and still no reconciliation was in view. I could not drum up a scrap of remorse or repentance and the seriousness of my position dawned on me for I could neither please God nor mollify Him; His wrath was on me. But then a Voice sounded in my chimney; ‘Go just are you are.’ Impossible! How many plead guilty in the courtroom? To confess would invite condemnation. But that silent Voice spoke again. ‘God knows anyway; and I know.’ And so I plucked up courage and went, just as I was in an act of confession. What an unbelievable change. God became the God of all grace, the Father of mercy. The judge had vanished and in His place stood the Father; and I found peace in my heart. I began to read my Bible and I found some words in it which I wished I had known at that crucial time. They occur in the Letter to the Hebrews (Hebrews 4, verse 16), ‘Let us, then, come boldly to the throne of grace, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help in time of need.’ There are others I have found. ‘If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just to forgive us our sins. (1 John Chapter 1 verse 9).’
The Voice I had heard in my chimney was the voice of Jesus, the full-grown baby of Bethlehem and what He has to say is still valid. It is found in various forms, in various passages in the Bible. One of the simplest runs, ‘Come unto Me all you who are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’ That is how I found things to be.
Now the child never pays for its presents from Father Christmas; they come for free. neither does the child of God pay for that greatest of gifts, eternal life. It also comes free. Who paid for us to receive that gift? I could not pay, nor can you. The answer is ‘Jesus,’ He offered Himself in a voluntary death and so paid the price for our eternal life. He hung on the cross for only six hours, not clinging on to His life, and then yielded it up. Jesus’ voluntary death was the price
The angels’ song had been, ‘Peace on earth on earth goodwill to men.’ This is the goodwill of God; there are no men of goodwill, for ‘all have sinned and fail to reach the glory of God (Romans chapter 3 verse 23).’ The angels were there singing the praises of God on earth for maybe five minutes, maybe fifteen. If it had been only one minute it would have been long enough to sing their message, but in heaven, it has never come to an end and will last for all eternity.
May you have the peace of God, true peace, in your heart this Christmas. Amen
