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Cybersalt News

Sunday greetings everyone.

Mandatory mask wearing and a 50% attendance capacity restriction have returned for churches in our province. I really appreciate what my pastor wrote to our church family and thought I would share it with you. You can read "Ferocious Faith in the Face of Fatigue" at: mailchi.mp/c732dc8939f5/ferocious-faith-in-the-face-of-fatigue

Today's video share is a beautiful new song (at least new to me)for this wonderful Christmas season we are in.

Click Here to Watch the Video

Enjoy the rest of today's mailing!

~ Pastor Tim

'Twas the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the annual yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus Musculus.  Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the wood-burning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure regarding in imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific title of St.  Nicholas.

The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective accommodations of repose, were experiencing subconscious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through their cerebrums.  My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head coverings, were about to take slumberous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon the arenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a cacophony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source thereof.

Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing this fenestration, noticing thereupon that the lunar brilliance without reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline precipitation might be said to rival that of the solar aeridian itself -- thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature airborne runnered conveyance drawn by eight diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a miniscule, aged chauffer so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller.  With his ungulate motive power travelling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity than patriotic alar predators, he vociferated loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen -- "Now Dasher, now Dancer...et al.  -- guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the thirty-two cloven pedal extremities.

As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location and was performing a 180 degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved, with utmost celerity and via a downward leap, entry by way of the smoke passage.  He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the the ebony residue from the oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof.  His resemblance to a street vendor I attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle.

His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability.  The capillaries of his molar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with blood which suffused the subcutaneous layers, the former approximating the coloration of Albion's floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus avium, or sweet cherry.  His amusing sub and supra-labials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adornment appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water.

Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smoking piece whose gray fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly.  His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of pectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical container.  He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund, multigenarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being.  By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless.

Without utterance and without dispatch, he commenced filling the afore-mentioned hosiery with articles of merchandise extracted from his afore-mentioned hosiery with articles of merchandise extracted from his afore-mentioned previously dorsally transported cloth receptacle.  Upon completion of this task, he executed an abrupt about-face, placed a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage.  he then propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed-bearing portions of a common weed.  But I overheard his parting exclamation, audible immediately prior to his vehiculation beyond the limits of visibility: "Ecstatic yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to that selfsame assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubriously beneficial and gratifyingly pleasurable period between sunset and dawn!"

Remember back when we were kids and every time it was below zero outside they closed school? Yeah, me neither.

"Be a Billionaire!"

and Help

Refugees and

Persecuted Christians

"Biscuits and sermons both improve with shortening."

The 'No Vacancy' signs over all the motels in Bethlehem were for your sake. "For your sake he became poor." (2 Corinthians 8:9)

- John Piper

'T'was the night before Christmas
and all through the town
Not a sign of Baby Jesus
was anywhere to be found.

The people were all busy
with Christmas time chores
Like decorating, and baking,
and shopping in stores.

No one sang "Away in a manger,
no crib for a bed".
Instead, they sang of Santa
dressed-up in bright red.

Mama watched Martha Stewart,
Papa drank beer from a tap.
As hour upon hour
the presents they'd wrap.

When what from the T.V.
did they suddenly hear?
'Cept an ad which told
of a big sale at Sears.

So away to the mall
they all flew like a flash...
Buying things on credit...
and others with cash!

And, as they made their way home
From their trip to the mall,
Did they think about Jesus?
Oh, no, not at all.

Their lives were so busy
with their Christmas time things
No time to remember
Christ Jesus, the King.

There were presents to wrap
and cookies to bake.
How could they stop and remember
who died for their sake?

To pray to the Savior...
they had no time to stop
Because they needed more time
to "Shop til they dropped!"

On Wal-mart! On K-mart!
On Target! On Penny's!
On Hallmark! On Zales!
A quick lunch at Denny's

From the big stores downtown
to the stores at the mall
They would dash away, dash away,
and visit them all!

And up on the roof,
there arose such a clatter
As grandpa hung icicle lights
up on his brand new step ladder.

He hung lights that would flash.
He hung lights that would twirl.
Yet, he never once prayed to Jesus...
Light of the World.

Christ's eyes... how they twinkle!
Christ's Spirit... how merry!
Christ's love... how enormous!
All our burdens... He'll carry!

So instead of being busy,
overworked, and uptight
Let's keep Christ in our Christmas
and enjoy some good nights!

Featured Illustrations are items well suited for illustrating or inspiring a point in a sermon, speech, or devotional. Funny, moving, or perhaps even graphic, the point of them is the point you make with them.

Rev. James Snyder, God's Penman, writes . . . . 

Christmas is the time of the year for some marvelous traditions, and it seems as though each area has its own. The ghosts of many Christmases past haunt us today.

One church I pastored some years ago had a tradition not found in too many churches, at least the churches I am familiar with. Each year at Christmas time, they entertained the Sunday school children with a Christmas party that included an appearance of jolly old St. Nick who gave gifts to the children.

Needless to say, I was not an enthusiastic supporter of this particular tradition in the church. I was appalled that they were mixing something so pagan with the real Christmas story. I did not want to confuse the children by mixing fiction with the true meaning of Christmas.

The Cybersalt Digest is a ministry of Pastor Tim and Cybersalt.