Behold!

From the Vision of Nephi, the Son of Lehi:

“And it came to pass that I looked and beheld the great city of Jerusalem, and also other cities.  And I beheld the city of Nazareth; and in the city of Nazareth I beheld a virgin, and she was exceedingly fair and white.

“And it came to pass that I saw the heavens open; and an angel came down and stood before me; and he said unto me: ‘Nephi, what beholdest thou?’ And I said unto him: ‘A virgin, most beautiful and fair above all other virgins.’ Ad he said unto me: ‘Knowest thou the condescension of God?’ And I said unto him: I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things. And he said unto me: ‘Behold, the virgin whom thou seest is the mother of the Son of God, after the manner of the flesh.’

“And it came to pass that I beheld that she was carried away in the Spirit; and after she had been carried away in the Spirit for the space of a time the angel spake unto me, saying: ‘Look!’ And I looked and beheld the virgin again, bearing a child in her arms. And the angel said unto me: ‘Behold the Lamb of God, yea, even the Son of the Eternal Father!’” (1 Nephi 11:13–21a)

Carol: “What Child Is This?”

What Child is this who, laid to rest

On Mary’s lap is sleeping?

Whom Angels greet with anthems sweet,

While shepherds watch are keeping?

This, this is Christ the King,

Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing;

Haste, haste, to bring Him laud,

The Babe, the Son of Mary.

Why lies He in such mean estate,

Where ox and ass are feeding?

Good Christians, fear, for sinners here

The silent Word is pleading.

Nails, spear shall pierce Him through,

The cross be borne for me, for you.

Hail, hail the Word made flesh,

The Babe, the Son of Mary.

So bring Him incense, gold and myrrh,

Come peasant, king to own Him;

The King of kings salvation brings,

Let loving hearts enthrone Him.

Raise, raise a song on high,

The virgin sings her lullaby.

Joy, joy for Christ is born,

The Babe, the Son of Mary.

The C-C-Choir Boy

by Fred Bauer

Everyone was surprised—everyone except Mrs. Brown, the choir director—when Herbie showed up in November to rehearse for the church’s annual Christmas cantata.

Mrs. Brown wasn’t surprised because she had persuaded Herbie to “at least try.” That was an accomplishment, for lately he had quite trying nearly everything—reciting in class, playing ball, or even asking his brothers or sisters to pass the potatoes at the family dinner table.

It was easy to understand why: he stuttered. Not just a little either, and sometimes when his tongue spun on a word, like a car on ice, the kids laughed. Not a big ha-ha laugh, but you can tell when people are laughing at you even if you are only nine years-old.

Mrs. Brown had figured that Herbie could sing with the other tenors—Charley and Billy—and not have any trouble, which is exactly the way it worked. Billy was given the only boy’s solo, and the rest of the time the three of them sang in unison . . . until, that is, Charley contracted the measles. Even so, Billy had a strong voice, and Herbie knew that he could follow him.

At 7:15, the night of the cantata, a scrubbed and combed Herbie arrived at the church, wearing a white shirt, a new blue and yellow bow tie, and his brown suit. Mrs. Brown was waiting for him at the door.

“Billy is home with the flu,” she said. “You’ll need to sing the solo.”

Herbie’s face grew pale. “I c-c-can’t,” he stuttered.

“We need you,” she insisted.

It was unfair! He wouldn’t do it. She couldn’t make him! All these thoughts tumbled through Herbie’s mind until Mrs. Brown told him this:

“Herbie, I know that you can do this—with God’s help. Across from the choir loft is a stained glass window showing the manger scene. When you sing the solo, I want you to sing it only to the Baby Jesus. Forget that there is anyone else present. Don’t even glance at the audience.”

She looked at her watch. It was time for the program to begin.

“Will you do it, Herbie?”

Herbie studied his shoes. “I’ll t-t-try,” he finally answered in a whisper.

A long 20 minutes later, it came time for Herbie’s solo. Intently, he studied the stained glass window with the manger scene. Mrs. Brown nodded, and he opened his mouth, but at that exact instant, someone in the congregation laughed.

“H-H-Hallelujah,” he stammered. Mrs. Brown, who was accompanying on the piano, stopped playing and started over again. Again Herbie fixed his eyes on the Christ Child. Again he sang.

“Hallelujah, the Lord is born!” his voice rang out, clear and confident. And the rest of his solo was just as perfect. After the program, Herbie slipped into his coat and darted out the back door—so fast that Mrs. Brown had to run to catch him. From the top of the steps, she called, “Herbie, you were wonderful! Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you, Mrs. Brown,” he shouted without a stutter. Then, turning, he ran off into the night through ankle-deep snow—without boots. But then he did not need them. His feet weren’t touching the ground.