Let us choose to give what we can with love to celebrate the birth and life of “the infant come down from above.”
It’s Christmas Eve. Tonight, children will hang their stocking, leave plates of cookies, and drift off to sleep with dreams of Santa and his reindeer-powered sleigh.They will wake early and rush to the Christmas tree with anticipation for the gifts that have magically appeared during their slumber. This question hovers in their mind: “What will I get for Christmas?”
There’s something important in learning to joyfully and gratefully receive what is given to us. If we let them, Christmas gifts can symbolize greater gifts that are available to us if we will receive them–the grace, mercy and kindness of the Son of God, whom we celebrate this season. The questions of “What will I get for Christmas” can become “What am I willing to receive from Christ?”
There’s a companion question that we would also be wise to ask: “What will I give Him this Christmas?”
In 2016, I spent three months as a volunteer in a refugee camp near Thessaloniki, Greece. The “camp” was actually an abandoned warehouse filled with thin canvas tents what couldn’t keep out the chill of the oncoming winter. The smell of sewage and garbage filled the air, along with feelings of tension and uncertainty. Hundreds of women, men and children wandered the camp with only the clothes they were wearing when they were forced to flee their homes in Syria and Iraq. Often, children ran around without shoes and without anything to do. Many individuals struggled with depression and anxiety. All wondered when they would receive what they hoped for most: the opportunity to rebuild their lives in a safe and permanent place.
Although they were grateful to be alive and safe, they often felt their efforts were in vain. They were stuck in the camp, without the opportunities to work, attend school or even select the foods they ate. Many felt that despite their best efforts, there was “no room in the inn” for them.
It was in these conditions that I arrived as a volunteer, anxious to give and serve and love. My first few weeks were filled with frustration. I could see obvious unmet needs, but the politics of the camps and regulations of voluntary organizations were strict. I wanted to give blankets and clothes and food and water, but I was prohibited from doing so. What could I give to my new friends?
One day, my perspective on giving changed. In the camp there was a quiet, clean, and private space for mothers to bathe their young children. Most of my days as a volunteer was spent in this space–hauling and boiling water, sanitizing small plastic bathtubs and bath toys, and speaking with the mothers who nearly every afternoon would bring their infants and toddlers to the tent for a bath. My favorite moments were observing and listening to the stories from the mouths of the incredible, resilient refugee women. Some told me of their life before the war. Some shared accounts of their long journeys across the sea and from camp to camp. Others expressed sorrow and frustration for what they had to endure in their waiting.
That day, a young mother came to the tent with her only child, a son. As she bathed him, she told me it was his first birthday. I thought of the way most infants celebrate their first birthday–with a one-year-old photo shoot, birthday cake, and presents. This boy spent his birthday in a refugee camp. The only gift he received that day was a bath from his loving mother.
“A bath could be a gift?” I wondered. Yes, it could be. And it was for this child. Because it symbolized the many sacrifices this mother and her husband were making to get him to safety, that bath was one of the most beautiful gifts I have ever witnessed.
Months later, I was back in the United States at home for the holidays. On Christmas day, I attended a worship service where the choir stood and sang the song “What Shall We Give?” I listened to these words:
What shall we give to the babe in the manger,
What shall we offer the child in the stall?
Incense and spices and gold we’ve a-plenty-
Are these the gifts for the king of us all?
What shall we give to the boy in the temple,
What shall we offer the man by the sea?
Palms at his feet and hosannas uprising;
Are these for him who will carry the tree?
What shall we give to the lamb who was offered,
Rising the third day and shedding his love?
Tears for his mercy we’ll weep at the manger,
Bathing the infant come down from above.
“Tears for his mercy, we’ll weep at the manger, bathing the infant come down from above.” When I heard those words, I was no longer sitting in a pew during the Christmas service. Instead, I was transported back to a small, dimly lit tent where a loving mother bathed her young son. I thought of another Son. The Son who was born in humble circumstances and who slept in a manger. Could my tears for his mercy be just as meaningful a gift as that mother’s bath?
On that night long ago, when Jesus Christ was born, Mary gave Him life, the animals shared their manger, shepherds made a visit, and later, wise men offered their finest treasures. All these gifts, because they were given with sincere hearts were received by Him. This Christmas, let us choose to give what we can with love to celebrate the birth and life of “the infant come down from above.”
Invitation: Choose one gift you will give to Christ this Christmas.
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