It's Christmas Eve, and from anyone's perspective, it's been a successful one. The whole family is together to celebrate, there is a rather large pile of presents under our tree, my mom prepared a Christmas ham for lunch, and we all sat by a cozy fire and ate pumpkin pie and homemade fudge while opening presents (one of our family traditions is for each person to open one present on Christmas Eve, but to save the rest for Christmas day).
To end our evening, we went to a Christmas Eve service. Not only is this another family tradition, but it's also an obligation, at least for my dad. He's the pastor of a small church in Dearborn, Michigan (think ghetto Detroit). It takes about an hour to drive from our cookie cutter home in the suburbs to the church, which is in the middle of a hurting community in which about one out of every three buildings is borded up, there are liquor stores on every corner, and I would actually encourage Albert to bring his gun along (if you know me, you know this rarely happens).
So we went to church, enjoyed a Christmas skit by the children, sang a number of Christmas hymns, and lit candles to commemorate the night when Jesus came into the world. It was nice, but I would hardly say that I was moved. In fact, I was really just looking forward to starting the hour-long drive back to our cozy house to partake in more Christmas festivities. After a few minutes of post-service mingling, we piled back into our 2002 Toyota minivan and took off for home.
The only good thing about driving through the hood is that gas is cheap, and my dad made sure to bring cash. There's a particular gas station where he always stops. We pulled up, and he got out of the car to pump gas. Since he was paying with cash, he had to go inside to give money to the teller. So he walked toward the station and as he did so, I noticed a man who was loitering outside the store approach him. I reacted the way I typically do when I see people like that.
"He's just going to ask for money," I thought to myself. "They all ask for money, and they all use it for the same thing." A neon lotto sign flashed in the background as my dad came out of the store. When he did, the man approached him, and I could see that he was saying something. He followed my dad to the car, and my dad handed him a couple of bucks. When I saw the man's face, he became real to me. He was no longer just a bum on the corner begging for change. He became a person. A person with needs and wants and hopes and dreams, just like me. And he is spending Christmas Eve in the freezing cold at a gas station.
I asked my mom if we had any food in the car, and it just so happened that we had some apple sauce. So my mom got out of the car to talk to him as my dad continued pumping gas. She asked if he wanted some apple sauce, and he said "Yes, that would be great." As they exchanged words and my mom handed him the apple sauce, he gave her a hug. Tears started flowing down my face, as the reality of what so many people are facing this time of year really hit home. Here I was wearing a flashy new watch and anticipating all the other presents I would be opening tomorrow, while this man-and so many others like him-are just looking forward to their next meal.
Wow. This really put things in perspective for me. With all the hustle and bustle of Christmas preparation-shopping for presents and planning nice meals, trimming the tree and decking the halls-I failed to prepare for the most important part of Christmas: Christ. Preparing for Christ means getting our hearts ready to not only receive him, but also to share him. It's about remembering who he is and why he came. He came to serve the least of these. Christmas presents are nice, but they have no intrinsic value. And when I'm surrounded by hurting people, presents really aren't even that exciting to receive. I failed, once again, to focus on the true meaning of Christmas. Shame on me for being so selfish that during this Christmas season, I haven't looked beyond my own wants to find a way to bless those around me.
I still love all the sentimental things that surround Christmas, and I'm sure I always will. But I need to add another tradition-sharing the love of Christ with those in my community who are less fortunate that I am. It's a simple gesture that can mean a lot, both for those I reach out to and for me. As we drove away from the gas station, I prayed for that man and his family. Only God knows what his needs are, and only God can bring healing in his life. But I am so thankful that God put him in my path to remind me about what's really important.
I hope that as you celebrate Christmas, you, like I was tonight, are reminded of the true meaning of Christmas. Celebrate the birth of Jesus, God's Son, who came not to give shiny presents, but to bring hope to the hopeless and new life to those who are lost.
Merry Christmas.
