CONTEMPT OR JOY TO THE WORLD

“Do I like Christmas?… Me?”

“Yeah, it’s the most wonderful time of the year, right? You know, ‘Joy to the World!’?” I beamed at the young lady sitting in my Bible study class.

“Joy to the World? No, it’s more like ‘Contempt to the World’ in my family.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“I grew up in an environment soaked and saturated in contempt; conversations forever exploding, condescending looks, hostile humour, name calling, sneering, eye rolling, mimicking, mockery, sarcasm… you name it—there were no rules—we were soldiers skilled at weaponizing our words and wits in all-out war.” The articulate youth went on to explain that her parents were unhappily married, and their grief trickled down into her sibling relationships.

I decided to open a window into my own childhood trauma. “The orphanage where I grew up had a similar environment, childish outbursts, and derision… ‘Whatever!’ was our usual comeback.”

A wry smile inched its way across her face. “Yeah, that was one of our favourites too. I admit, we were rather unkind, even vicious to one another, saying things like: ‘I can’t stand you!’ Truth was that we hated the game, but we couldn’t help ourselves; it was the only survival strategy we knew.”

“You know what I didn’t understand before I met Jesus?” I asked.

“What?”

“Contempt is always harmful to the person expressing contempt. Sure, it may feel good at the time, but it’s the fastest road to unhappiness.”

“How did meeting Jesus change you?”

“Honestly, I’m still changing; daily I open my Bible and read how people sneered at Jesus from the cradle to the cross. Look at this,” I read Isaiah 53:3, “He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as one from whom men hide their faces He was despised, and we esteemed Him not.”

“How could He take that kind of treatment?”

“L-O-V-E.” I answered.

She sat in silence, eyes on the floor. “I’ve heard a lot about love, but my parents’ loveless marriage produced a home of hate. Truthfully, I really don’t know what love looks like.”

“Can I ask you to close your eyes for a moment to imagine the birth of Jesus?”

“Okay.”

“Can you picture the Creator of the Universe coming down from paradise to be our Saviour?”

“Yes.”

“Where was He born?”

“In a barn.”

“Tell me what you see.”

“He’s wrapped in rags, lying in a filthy animals’ feeding trough, flies swarming, a heavy foul stench clouding the air, yet angels sang praises to God.”

“Why are angels singing praises to God?”

Tears filtered from her closed eyes. “He was born in a stinking barn! They treated Him with such contempt?… Yet… what love! What joy!”

Her wide tear-filled eyes shone: “Do you think Jesus can change me?”

“Absolutely!”

“Can you pray for me?” she sobbed.

“Yes, of course.”

That one prayer ignited a spark of joy in her heart—calm tear-soaked confessions to siblings, parents, and relatives followed, and those heartfelt conversations created a Christmas that, for the first time, brought joy to her world.

As a pastor, God has given me opportunities to share with struggling souls what only Jesus can do to transform lives.

It Is Written Canada daily reaches into homes—knocking on the doors of hearts. I know, because it was through watching It Is Written at the orphanage in Saskatchewan where I grew up that my heart was first reached with the influence of the Divine Spirit, awakening an interest in the joy of eternal realities.

– Mike Lemon