The Corner – A Story for Christmas 2025

“Now Peter and John were going up to the temple at the ninth hour, the hour of prayer. And a man who had been lame from his mother’s womb was being carried along, whom they used to set down every day at the gate of the temple which is called Beautiful, in order to beg alms of those who were entering the temple. When he saw Peter and John about to go into the temple, he began asking to receive alms. But Peter, along with John, fixed his gaze on him and said, “Look at us!” And he began to give them his attention, expecting to receive something from them. But Peter said, “I do not possess silver and gold, but what I do have I give to you: In the name of Jesus Christ the Nazarene—walk!” And seizing him by the right hand, he raised him up; and immediately his feet and his ankles were strengthened. With a leap he stood upright and began to walk; and he entered the temple with them, walking and leaping and praising God. And all the people saw him walking and praising God; and they were taking note of him as being the one who used to sit at the Beautiful Gate of the temple to beg alms, and they were filled with wonder and amazement at what had happened to him.” – Acts 3:1-10 (NASB)

            There were days when Robert wondered to himself, “How did it ever come to this?”  Life had not turned out the way that he had planned.  The joyful, exciting life that he and Sally dreamed of having started out well enough but then lost its trajectory about a year and a half ago.  Robert and Sally were enjoying a beach vacation on the Gulf Coast when it all started.  The weather was warm and sunny, the seafood was delicious, and the days were filled with a lot of laughter and fun times spent together.  They had saved a little and scraped up enough money for a full week’s vacation.  It was the first time away in several years and they were determined to make the most of it.

          At that time, Sally was working as a supervisor at a local department store in Nashville and was making decent money.  Her full-time status provided the health insurance for the two of them.  Robert’s employment had been a little hit and miss along the way.  He was a copy editor for a local magazine and newspaper.  He would travel into work each day and spend his time in front of a computer screen trying to produce good copy for the paper.  But even then, he could see the writing on the wall… so many print publications were moving to on-line options and with the advent of AI and other editing tools, Robert wondered how long he would survive in that career path.  But for the moment, they had decided to leave work well behind and enjoy the sun and the sand.

          On the fourth morning of their vacation, Sally awakened only to discover that she was a little stiff and sore in some places.  Once she got up and going, things seemed to improve and quite honestly, she forgot all about it, just figuring that all the walking and playing in the surf and the sand had taken a little toll on her muscles.  But the next morning, the pain and stiffness returned.  She downed a few Advil and was soon feeling better.  It was on the way home a day or so later when she once again noticed the stiffness.  When they stopped for lunch just south of Montgomery, she had a little trouble standing up from her car seat.  Her steps into a local Milo’s for a burger were heavy and her back ached.  She noticed some stiffness in her hands and thought that was strange.  She and Robert again figured that she was just sore from the trip and that once she was home and in her routine for a few days, she would soon feel better.  But they were wrong.

          With each coming day, the stiffness increased, her joints felt like they were on fire, and even standing and walking grew more difficult.  It was evident that something was attacking her body.  A virus maybe?  Some weird infection?  Some unknown condition?  Things grew worse over several days to the point that as soon as she stepped in the front door of their home from working a shift at the department store, Robert immediately insisted that they head to a local Urgent Care in their neighborhood.  The doctor listened to her heart, took her vitals, swabbed her throat, and listened to her lungs.  They tested her for COVID and the flu, but everything seemed to be in order.  He wrote a prescription for some anti-inflammatory pills and sent her home with the instructions that if things persisted, she should get an appointment with her primary physician.  At the age of 32, Sally was not a typical candidate for arthritis or anything of that nature. There were no weird lumps or bumps and no head injury to consider.  What was causing the issues was certainly a mystery.

          Things quickly and consistently grew worse.  The symptoms got stronger, the pain more intense, and the ability to walk was becoming a challenge.  Robert came home early from work one afternoon to take her to her doctor’s appointment.  The doctor listened carefully to her story, examined her thoroughly, and ordered blood work and a couple of scans.  But the mystery remained.  Big scary possibilities were ruled out.  There was no cancer, no viral infection, and no real answer.  A specialist was consulted and more tests were made, but nothing was revealed and slowly Sally’s symptoms became worse.  In fact, she became almost bedridden.  Robert had to help her stand to her feet, get her dressed, and assist her in making her way around the house.  The pain and anti-inflammatory medicines seemed to help take the edge off her symptoms, but they failed to provide any kind of lasting relief or cure.

          Sally quickly burned through all of her accumulated sick days.  It was becoming apparent that her return to work was in jeopardy.  The department store filled out the paperwork to get her on disability, which would provide a little income, but much less than her normal salary.  Her full-time status was lost, and soon so was her health insurance.  It didn’t take long for their meager savings to evaporate.  Robert’s part-time work was still providing a small paycheck, but even that was not enough to keep pace with doctor visits, medicine costs, rent, and groceries.  Luckily, the family car was paid off a year earlier, but even the cost of gas money made driving the car a calculated decision.  Robert would drive only when it was a clear necessity to do so.  With her condition deteriorating, Robert had to stay home more frequently, afraid to leave her in case she needed help.  And though, his employer was sympathetic, the day came when they had to let him go.  At 33 years of age, Robert found himself unemployed and very fearful of how to manage the chaos in his life.  That was the moment when Robert became a street-corner beggar.

          He found a marker and piece of cardboard.  He made a sign to hold up along the roadway.  It simply read, “Out of Work – Wife Sick – Anything will Help – God Bless.”  He thought long and hard about the best place to stand each morning.  He decided that the intersection at the top of an interstate ramp might produce the best results.  They lived about a mile from the interstate.  The was a corner with a traffic light to which he could easily walk.  And so early on a September morning, he got breakfast ready for Sally, put on his tennis shoes with extra socks, packed a bottle of water, grabbed his sign, and made his way to the corner.  He told Sally he would be home by late morning, hopefully with something to show for his efforts.

          It took him about 20 minutes to walk to his corner.  He arrived around 7 a.m., just as rush hour was starting.  He quickly learned a valuable lesson.  The best spots were a “first-come, first-serve” proposition.  Another man was already “working” the intersection.  He discovered, however, that there is a strange fraternity among those begging at street corners.  The other man told him about a spot just up the road where he might have a little luck.  Robert thanked him and went to find the other location.  His first day was not that great.  A few folks offered him a little cash.  One lady gave him a plastic bag with a toothbrush and stick of deodorant.  One guy handed him a bottle of water.  As he made his way back home, he counted $27 for his morning’s efforts.  Not a great start, but even a small amount gave him hope.  He would try again tomorrow if Sally was well enough for him to leave her for a while.

          The next morning Robert got up early, fixed a meager breakfast for Sally and himself and soon headed out the door.  She wished him well as she tried to hide her tears, hating the disruption her illness was causing.  This time he got to the corner just after daylight and long before any others claimed that spot.  For the next three hours he made his way up and down the side of the road each time the red light would catch a few new potential donors.  It didn’t take him long to understand why most of the beggars walked the dirt pathway beside the street rather than staying on the asphalt pavement.  Within just a few days his feet became sore from walking and his knees ached a little.  He tried to collect enough each day for a few groceries, or a little money for rent.  Of course, it was never enough… he and Sally would have to make choices each day about how to spend the donations.  Somedays they could buy groceries and some days they would try to afford the next round of meds.  The meds cost $75/week.  The local pharmacist was sympathetic to his plight.  He helped Robert when he could with various discounts and even paid for it out of his own pocket on occasion, but still, the weekly expense was daunting.

            Soon the warmer days of the early fall gave way to the cooler temps of the approaching winter.  Robert learned to layer up and keep moving as best he could.  He noticed how the cold mist of the morning had a way of creeping into this clothing and even into his own soul, or so it seemed.  He learned a few things about people along the way.  He saw compassionate acts of kindness and insensitive acts of aggression.  He was slowly becoming part of the landscape, the urban wallpaper of his city.  To most, he became all but invisible.  Some would roll down the window to offer a little cash, but some would roll down the window to shout an insult.  “Why don’t you get a job!”  “I’d give you money but you would probably just use it to buy drugs, alcohol, or cigarettes!”  He heard one mother say to her young child, “Don’t look at him!  Don’t make eye-contact.  He’ll walk over here wanting money from us.”  He was always amazed at how people found it easy to judge him and to project their thoughts on him.  And yet who were they to pretend to know his plight or to understand his story?  They didn’t even know his name.

            But mixed in with the difficult drivers, at times were friendly souls who would stop and offer some help.  One man offered him a pair of warm gloves when the weather got colder.  Some gave him socks.  Still others would occasionally offer a gift card to a local fast-food place.  He got a lot of toothbrushes, which always seemed odd.  And then there was Josh…

            Josh was a regular at the intersection, apparently working in the city and making the morning commute each day.  He would always roll down the window and speak to Robert.  He was the first to ever ask him his name.  And then he introduced himself.  “My name is Joshua, but you can call me Josh.  I want to help when I can.”  And yet the entire interaction, would last only 30-45 seconds depending on the traffic and the weather.  Sometimes Josh would give him a $5 bill.  At other times Josh would hand him a McDonald’s sack with a warm sausage biscuit.  Robert learned to keep a little wad of aluminum foil in his pocket.  He would wrap the biscuit up to keep it fresh and give it to Sally when he got home. Josh was different.  He was always willing to make eye-contact, always willing to speak, always willing to offer some compassion.  Robert would always look for the grey Honda Accord, and each time he saw it, he was glad to see his “red light” friend.

            There were some days when Robert didn’t make the usual walk to the corner.  There was an ebb and flow to Sally’s illness and on the really bad days, Robert was afraid to leave her.  Of course, those days meant no money.  Robert would always offer an upbeat word to Sally saying that he was sure that he could make up the difference the next day.  “I’ll just stay a little longer tomorrow,” he would say.  Sally always tried to keep him “pumped up.”  She tried to offer kind words, encouraging words, thankful words.  And yet even on the best of days, there were words not spoken out loud… both knowing that she was not getting better.  Robert was scared, really scared.  He kept hoping that something would change.

            As the calendar moved into December, Robert noticed a little uptick in donations.  He figured that some people still caught a little of the Christmas Spirit and were willing to share a little more.  Some days he collected as much as $50-60 dollars.  Those were good days.  And yet, when the weather was cold and rainy, it was hard to make the trek to the corner.  But each morning, if Sally’s illness would allow, he would awaken before dawn, layer up, grab his gloves and hat, and head out.  He would always give Sally a tender kiss on the cheek and whisper, “I’ll be back before you know it.”

            One morning, he saw the grey Honda pull up at the stop light.  As always, Josh rolled down the window and called him over.  This time he had a cup of coffee and sweet roll for Robert.  Robert was grateful for the warm drink.  Then Josh said, “Robert, I was thinking about you the other day.  I was wondering if you ever go to church.  Have you ever been a person of faith?”  Robert looked down for a moment shaking his head, and then said, “Well, my family use to go all the time when I was a kid.  But once I grew up and moved away, I kinda got away from all of that.”  He was afraid that his answer might disappoint Josh.  But Josh quickly replied, “No judgement!  I was just curious.  I try to go every Sunday myself.  Recently I was sitting in church and I just felt a little nudge in my spirit to start praying for you every morning, it was like a gentle whisper.  Can’t really explain that.  Just wanted you to know.”  About that time the light changed, a horn honked, and soon Josh was on his way again.

            It was maybe a week later when Robert saw Josh again.  This time, Josh showed up empty handed.  “Sorry man, I’m all out of cash today, I will catch you up soon, I promise.  But I can offer something that might help.  I was praying for you again this morning and I had another really strange moment.  I sensed that God was telling me to offer you a word of hope.  I felt like He was wanting me to tell you that things are going to get better soon.  Does that make any sense?”  Robert replied, “Well, maybe… I mean, I don’t know what to say.  But thanks.  And keep up the prayers.  I will take any help I can get these days.”  On his walk back to the house, Robert wondered about what Josh had told him.  “I could sure use a little hope right now,” he mumbled to himself.

            It was just a few days before Christmas.  The day was dark and cloudy.  Sally was struggling.  On this particular morning, the weather was lousy… spitting snow, a cold wind blowing.  Robert was shivering from the cold and his feet felt frozen as he pounded the pavement near the corner. He felt defeated but then his spirits lifted a little when he spotted his friend Josh pulling up to the light. Josh rolled down the window and said, “Robert!  You are going to freeze to death!  Come get in my car and let me give you a ride home.  I was planning to give you a little Christmas present today… good old cash… more than you will make here on the street corner today.”  At first Robert objected, but the cold was all but unbearable.  He crawled into Josh’s warm car.  Josh had a cup of hot chocolate and a $100 bill.  “Merry Christmas!” he said.  Robert was stunned and said that he could not accept the money… it was too much.  But Josh insisted.

            They drove a few blocks, when Robert said, “Just let me off at the next corner.  I’ll walk the rest of the way, it’s not far.  And besides, the roads are getting a little slick and you need to be on your way.”  Josh pulled the car over to the curb and let Robert out.  Then Josh said, “Well, in case I don’t see you again before Christmas let me wish you a Merry Christmas, Robert.  I’m still praying for things to get better.”  Robert paused for a moment as he got out of the car, thanked him, and cautiously said, “I haven’t told you anything about my wife.”  His voice trembled.  “She’s been really sick for a long time.  We’ve been struggling.  This Christmas money will lift her spirits.  Thanks.”  And with that, Robert closed the door and headed down the street.

            Josh, of course, knew about Robert’s wife because Robert’s cardboard sign had reminded him every time he passed by that she was sick.  He’d been praying for her as well and really did hope for better days for the two of them.  Josh decided to pull onto a side street where he could watch Robert in his rearview mirror.  He watched him as he walked down the street and then entered a house, five doors down from the corner where Josh had dropped him off.  Josh marked the spot in his mind, determined to do something special for Robert and his wife.

            It was on Christmas Eve, around 7:30 p.m. when Sally first noticed that something was a little different as she awakened from an early evening nap.  She felt a little better somehow, stronger, more alert.  There was less stiffness in her joints.  There was no fever.  Some of the weakness that had plagued her for weeks, seemed to be less intense.  On her own, she was able to sit up and put her legs over the side of the bed.  A few minutes later, she tried to stand up for the first time in weeks.  Her legs were shaky and it took some effort, but after a couple of attempts, she was able to stand while holding onto the bedside table to steady herself.  “Robert!” she shouted, “Come quick!”  He had been watching a Christmas movie in the front room of their small home.  He was startled by her voice and quickly ran to her room, fearful of what he might find.  Had she fallen?  Was she okay?  He opened the door and nearly passed out from shock.  There she was, standing by the edge of her bed!  “What?!?!  How are you able to do that?” he exclaimed.  He rushed to her side and embraced her.  “I don’t know,” she excitedly said.  I just woke up and something was different.”  Tears of joy began to pour out of her eyes. “Why am I feeling better?” she asked.  Robert and Sally just stood there, dumbstruck, amazed, confused.

            “Let’s see if you can take a few steps,” said Robert.  He held both of her hands as she tried to walk.  The first step was very tentative, shaky, and scary.  But then she took another step, and then another.  Although it took more than 5 minutes, they found themselves on the far side of the room, a good 10-12 feet from where they had started their trek. Robert watched as she slowly walked back to her bedside.  She all but fell into her bed, exhausted from the effort… but she had walked!  “It’s nothing short of a miracle!” shouted Robert.

            As he stood next to her bed, the two of them were laughing and crying at the same time.  Was she truly better?  Was her long season of illness about to end?  Robert heard himself say, “Let’s hope that tomorrow is even better!  Let’s hope…” and then his thoughts interrupted what he was saying.  He said to himself, “Here I am talking of hope.  Hope. Isn’t that what Josh had told me to believe in?”

            Before he could fully formulate his thoughts in that moment, he heard a knock on the front door.  “Who could that be?  Who would be knocking at our door?” Sally asked. “Be careful, make sure it’s safe to open the door.”  Robert walked to the door and looked through the tiny peephole.  There was no one at the door, but he could tell a package had been left.  He tentatively opened the door and saw a large carboard box, on the top of which someone had written, “Merry Christmas!  May you know the joy of hope and the promise of God’s Mercy.”  He looked up and down the street but saw no one out walking.  But he did notice the taillights of a car driving away.  Robert had seen enough cars over the past few months that he could immediately tell that it was an old Honda Accord.  “It had to be Josh,” he thought to himself.  He was grateful for his “red light” friend, whose last name he didn’t even know.  He was grateful for a man of faith who seemed to be living out the hope that Robert had trouble finding in his own life.

            The box was filled with many things.  There was a Christmas ham, plenty of sides to go along.  There was a homemade pumpkin pie. A gallon of tea.  There were cookies, along with a box of See’s candy.  And there was a collection of handwritten Christmas Cards from a Sunday School class, all offering Christmas wishes.

            On Christmas day, Sally was dressed and seated at the kitchen table.  It had taken over an hour for her to accomplish that task, but with each movement, she felt stronger, and more excited… more hopeful. Robert had warmed the Christmas feast in the oven.  They sat down together at the table for the first time in over 4 months.  It was the best of days.

__________

            Sometimes the healing we offer to others is not contained in our pious platitudes, meaningless expressions, or even financial gifts.  Sometimes the healing we help to usher into the lives of others is found in the consistent practice of our own faith, which allows us to gently speak hope into theirs.

Merry Christmas

Jon R Roebuck

 

Years ago, I pastored a very busy church in Nashville, TN whose demands filled nearly every hour of my life with lots of ministry activities:  people to visit, phone calls to make, sermons to write, Bible studies to prepare, as well as the day-to-day routine of keeping it all moving forward.  It was one of the most demanding and at the same time, one of the most exciting chapters in my life.  As I look back, there is much I don’t miss about serving there… meetings, committees, late hours.  But then again, there is also much that I do miss.  I miss the community.  I miss the preaching.  I miss the excitement of never knowing what a day might bring.  I miss the hope of making a difference in someone’s life.

In those days, there was a homeless man with whom I developed a friendship.  His name was Vance, and for over a decade he was a regular at our door.  He would show up periodically needing a little cash.  He always insisted that it was for getting into the Room In The Inn program downtown.  Getting a warm meal and bed for the night came at the cost of a $5 donation.  He would always ask me for $10… enough for 2 nights.  He was always very consistent during the winter months when the weather was colder.  His was a weekly visit with a weekly request for cash.  And though our church policy suggested never giving out any cash, my personal policy was to do what I could in any given moment.  It’s not that I am some model of Christian piety… I am not.  But there are times when compassion would rule the day and I would open up my wallet.  It’s funny now, looking back at those moments.  The money seems rather insignificant in comparison to helping someone in need.

I helped him so many times that I got to the point I almost resented doing so.  Can I admit that?  I use to wrestle with the right thing to do and would grow a little weary whenever I saw him ring the buzzer to get into the building.  But here’s what seemed so odd to me.  Whenever he came by, he always told me that he loved me, not in order to get the cash or gain favor, but because I think he really did.  Ever have a homeless man tell you that he loves you?  In those moments I could sometimes hear Christ whisper through his voice… and then I would wonder, if the homeless man ever heard Christ whisper through mine.

            Sometimes the expression of love can be found in the oddest of places.  It’s always nice, maybe even heart-warming when someone tells you that you are loved, especially when it comes from an unexpected source, or an unexpected place, or at an unexpected moment.  There are those in our lives from whom we expect such an expression… spouses, parents, children, and close friends.  But then sometimes the phrase comes completely out of right field, from a voice we were not expecting to hear.  I find a lot of grace in such a moment.  And I wonder if there is a boomerang effect in play.  Instead of waiting for someone to tell you that you are loved, what if you become the catalyst?  What if you are the one who willingly, freely, and joyfully tells someone else that they are valued, loved, and important?  Sometimes we all need to hear such words directed at us.  And sometimes, we need to let the voice of Christ whisper through us.

            It’s been my experience that we often assume someone else knows of our affection and appreciation in their lives.  Maybe the friendship has spanned many decades.  Maybe the listening ear you have provided through the years conveys a feeling of deep connection.  Maybe the consistent presence you have offered in their lives, even during tough times, is enough to demonstrate how you feel.  But then, for some reason, we shy away from a verbal expression of our compassion for them.  But sometimes it’s the verbal expression that they desperately need to hear.  Everyone you know is struggling.  Everyone.  There is not a person in your circle that couldn’t use a little encouragement.  Why assume that they would know of your support and compassion and concern, when you have the ability to actually tell them?

            There is a lot of grace conveyed when you speak of love.  It lifts the spirit. It speaks of worth.  It conveys security and community.  It makes life a little more bearable and a little more hopeful.  Make sure that you say it often enough to those who expect it and even to those who don’t.

I have a good friend who is struggling with his “raison d’etre.”  He longs to know why he is on the planet.  He’s had a long career as an economist and college professor.  He’s had a lot of experience in connecting the dots that string together the ability to monetize a project while seeing the bigger picture of creating social good with that project.  It’s a space that he likes to inhabit… one that gives him a sense of greater purpose.  I recently told him, “Everything you do before you turn 50, is all preparation for what you are really supposed to be doing.”  It sort of blew his mind a little and now he is in a discernment phase trying to figure out the next chapter of his life.  He wonders if it is time for a new job description.

          Ever wonder what you are really supposed to be doing with your life?  We’ve all asked that existential question.  We want our lives to matter.  We want to engage in worthwhile pursuits.  We want to make an impact.  Do our gifts and abilities find themselves in a place to meet the world’s need?  Are we making a difference, or are we just going through the motions of living and dying, earning a wage, and building an ordinary life?

          Most of us work under the guidance of a job description.  The HR department has a long list of activities, pursuits, and tasks that should be the focus of our working life.  The job description keeps us active and honest.  We don’t head into work with an uncertainty of what we should be doing.  The job description spells it all out in black and white.  Even the other aspects of our lives have a job description of sorts… maybe more of a list of expectations.  Being a parent carries a number of duties.  Being a spouse puts parameters around our lives.  Being a friend or a neighbor calls us into some type of accountability.  We tend to, at least, understand a little of what we are supposed to do with our lives.  That is, until something comes along to reframe our priorities.

          I was recently reading the Gospel of Matthew.  Chapter 10 is fascinating in a number of ways.  It records the moment when Jesus called out His 12 disciples… the 12 men in whom He would invest His life, His heart, His teachings, and His future ministry.  Matthew names them all, giving simple descriptors about each one.  For example, “Simon, who is called Peter.”  James the son of Zebedee.” “Simon, the Zealot.” Or of course, “Judas Iscariot, who betrayed Him.”  Not only does the writer name the 12 disciples, but he devotes the rest of the chapter to a description of what Jesus indicated these men would do, the perils they would face, and the journeys they would undertake.  They are being sent out to bear the image of Christ before the world, in both word and action.  They are told to go first, to the “lost sheep of the House of Israel.”  I find it interesting that “people of God,” can be lost.  Heritage alone doesn’t guarantee salvation, it takes belief and action.  The 12 are sent out to proclaim to their neighbors and brothers, that the “Kingdom of God is at hand.” It is breaking forth like the morning sun.

          And then, in a single verse, their job description is made clear.  Jesus declares in verse 8, “Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons.”  Such a list was seemingly impossible, but gloriously feasible.  With the authority and power of Christ Himself to undergird their journey, these 12 men take on the world.

          It would be nice to think that this calling was extended to just those 12 men.  But in reality, it is a calling we all share as Believers.  It is our reason for being.  It is our job description.  Above and beyond the duties of work, parenting, marriage, and citizenship, this is what we are called to do.  We are called to change the world by healing the sick, raising the dead, cleansing the lepers, and casting out demons.  It is daunting.  It is staggering.  It is demanding.  It is expected.  It is indeed, both seemingly impossible but gloriously feasible.  Romans 8:11 gently reminds us as we make our resolve, that the same Spirit that raised Jesus Christ from the dead, now lives in us.  Such a verse should offer us hope for our journey.

          The job description begins with this task: Heal the sick.  Though we might want to relegate such a responsibility to doctors who are educated and trained to do such work, still the burden falls on us.  More than physical healing, there are other sicknesses that need our attention.  Some face emotional distress.  Others languish in anxiety-laden illness.  Some battle sickening wounds of abuse while others have been broken by shame, guilt, and remorse.  Jesus tells us that such people are in need of our intervention.  We have been sent out to heal such wounds.  What is demanded of us is a gentle spirit, a patient attitude, a listening ear, and a willingness to be inconvenienced.  It is to see others through the eyes of Christ.  It is to long for their flourishing like a mother who dreams of all that her child can one day become.  It is to sit with, pray for, cry with, and be stirred to the task of healing.  It may well be that we are tasked with getting someone to the professional help that is needed.  Sometimes we are in a position to be the vital connecting point that gets need in touch with resource.  However, healing could take on other forms.  Maybe we need to become the friend they never had.  Or to simply show up when life demands companionship in the midst of a difficult moment.  Medicines may help, but human contact heals.  We have a healing grace to convey, if we are but willing to go forth.

          The second great task is to raise the dead.  That is a remarkable calling to fulfill.  I’ve spent most of my adult life trying to shepherd various congregations.  I’ve visited a lot of very sick people, prayed over them fervently, and days later buried them in the ground.  As far as I know, none of them have been raised to life again, at least not physically.  To be sure, our faith teaches us that such souls are indeed raised to eternal life through the power of Christ.  And certainly we have a part in that “raising to life” moment by faithfully proclaiming the Good News of the Kingdom in the hope that many will believe.  But to stand over a dead body and see it come to life again, the way Christ restored life… is something I have not experienced.

          But maybe our task is not a calling reserved for physical life-giving.  Perhaps in Christ’s calling, we are instructed to raise those who are dead both emotionally and spiritually.  That kind of resurrection I have seen on many occasions.  I know a woman whose past has caused her to die a little on the inside.  She is wounded, guilt-ridden, and very withdrawn.  But some friends discovered her story.  They began conversations.  They invited her to lunch.  They refused to let her languish and in so doing they have brought her to life again.  They are raising her from the dead.

          I know a man whose life once took a very difficult turn.  He was abused by his father and ran away from home.  He turned to alcohol and drugs in an attempt to bury the pain of his life.  He slipped into addiction and even prostitution to feed his habits.  But one Sunday morning he called our church as a last gasp for help.  “Can God ever love someone like me?” was his question.  A kind, patient, and loving member of the church took the call and changed his life.  About 6 months later, I baptized him as a joyful believer in Jesus.  He was lost and then found, dead, and then raised to life.

          Raising the dead to life will drain a little life from you.  But not to worry, it will be returned in amazing ways.  To give life, you have to give yourself away.  You have to invest time and energy. You have to risk a little acceptance and love.  You have to be patient and kind.  Rather than judge, you have to heal.  Intentionality to get involved has to supersede any selfishness on your part.

          The third task is equally demanding.  Cleanse the lepers.  Let’s move our thoughts away from a miraculous healing of a skin disease and think more in terms of redeeming the marginalized.  In the culture of the 1^st century world, those who suffered from leprosy were outcasts, forbidden a place in normal society, often abused or shunned.  They lived on the margins of society, lacking any standing or acceptance.  And yet, Jesus told His followers, go seek out those people and make their lives better.  Heal them and in so doing, redeem them and welcome them into community.

          Our shared calling is to discover ways to make the marginalized included.  It is to break down barriers, demand equity and inclusion, and welcome those who are different.  It is to take those who live on the outskirts and welcome them as beloved members of our community.  Leprosy takes on a lot of forms these days.  The marginalized include any that we would consider as “the other.”  Our list should include minorities, immigrants, those living in poverty, those suffering from mental illness, those who lack housing, those who can’t speak English, those whose cultural distinctions make them culturally unacceptable, those whose religion makes them targets, those whose sexuality violates the typical binary code, those whose physical challenges make them a burden.  What we fail to sometimes see, is that all we might long to marginalize have all been made in the image of God and therefore must become the targets of our love and not our scorn.  “Cleanse the lepers” doesn’t mean forcing them to look, and love, and live like you.  It means removing the margins from your thoughts so that your community grows and matures.

          And finally, Jesus commands us to cast out demons.  Perhaps it is a call to no longer demonize people because we do not like what we see in them, but to now see in them, the things that Christ sees in them, which gave them such worth that He gave His life to redeem them.  (You may need to read that last sentence again.) A lot has been written through the ages of Christian thought about demon possession.  Are there supernatural, “evil beings” that inhabit individuals, or is it that the evil forces surrounding and impacting a person’s life become so ingrained that they lose the capacity for rational living?  Like the Gerasene demoniac in Mark 5, is it possible that people feel so violated, so abused, so abandoned, and so dehumanized that they cry out for relief and maybe even cut themselves in an attempt to let some of the trauma leave their body?  Take a closer look at that story and you may well note that when the local community only saw the demon, Jesus only saw the person.

          We demonize others when we dehumanize them.  And once we dehumanize them, it gets easy to hate them, and maybe even long to destroy them.  Jesus demands that we cast the demons out.  Maybe the demons that need to be cast out, inhabit our own lives.  When prejudice, hatred, a longing for revenge, a disdain for others, a judgmental attitude, or other such thoughts that are antithetical to the Gospel take over our lives, maybe we need to cry out for our own redemption.  May Christ help us to see the heart of a person and not the demons within them.  In healing ourselves, we heal others.

          Heal the sick.  Raise the dead.  Cleanse the lepers.  Cast out demons.  Impossible, right?  But gloriously feasible with the power of Christ at work within us.  Go do your job.

        For Mark and Libby Thompson, the Fall had been anything but normal. Sure, the Fall temperatures had gradually become cooler, the leaves had turned brilliant colors, and many had fallen softly in the yard.  On the weekends, far away sounds were heard each Friday night when the local High School team was playing a home game. And because it was Fall, there had been several Festivals that had filled the downtown streets with “pumpkin spice drinking” visitors.  But the usual Fall family routine of the household had been disrupted by a literal “fall.” One afternoon, Libby slipped on some wet leaves on the driveway as she made her way out to the mailbox. She came crashing down onto the hard surface. Unable to even stand, she called Mark from her cell phone with the classic line, “Help, I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up!” She quickly explained the situation as she sat on the cold concrete.

        Mark was making his way home from work and was fortunate to be only a few blocks away when he received her call. Upon arriving home, he feared that maybe she was hurt more than they suspected. Tears streamed down her face, her hand was scraped, and her pants were torn. He tried to help her to her feet, but it became a futile effort. They decided to call an ambulance for assistance and to get her to the local hospital for x-rays. The good news was that no bones were broken. The bad news was that she had a bruised hip, a sprained wrist, and torn ligaments in her right ankle. In other words, she was down for the count. With a pair of crutches, a bottle of painkillers, a pressure wrap or two, and strict instructions to stay home and stay off her feet for two weeks, Mark and Libby limped their way to the car and drove home. It took a couple of days and nights to get used to Libby’s new routine of staying mostly in bed or in the recliner in front of the fireplace.

        Libby was a good patient, did what the doctor had ordered, but she was not one bit happy about her situation. With one week to go before Christmas, she was frustrated with all the things still left undone and the growing list of details to address before Christmas morning. She felt sorry for Mark, knowing that he would have a lot of chores to tackle. She would be limited to barely shuffling around the house on her very tender, sore, black and blue ankle.  The pain was manageable, but it was certain she would be off her feet well beyond Christmas morning.  The longer she sat, the more she thought.  And the longer she thought, the longer the “to do” list became.  There were packages left to wrap, errands to run, a tree to decorate, and a grocery list a mile long.

        Mark continued to tell her that he was up for the challenge.  He would make it all happen.  He could do all the things on the list, or so he told her.  “Not to worry, I will take care of everything,” he repeatedly said.  But in his mind, he wondered if Christmas might be a little less than “glorious” this year.  Each evening when he arrived home from work, he attempted to get a few things done on the list.  After supper, he would tackle one or two tasks.  The tree got decorated and the empty ornament boxes were put away in the garage.  He got the outside lights hung and the yard raked.  He cleaned and mopped and swept and had the house in “presentable” shape.  He found boxes and gift sacks for all the Amazon gifts that continued to arrive at the front porch.  He kept up with the laundry… although folding was never one of his strengths.  Together they worked on the grocery store list of things to purchase for their Christmas dinner.  And yet, still there was much to do.  His Christmas break finally arrived on the calendar at work with just a couple of days to “relax” before Christmas morn.

            Mark set an early alarm on the morning of December 23^rd.  This was going to be the first and maybe only day he had to whittle down the long list of errands to run.  He awakened around 6:30 a.m. and offered his usual morning prayers.  After praying for his wife and their grown son and his family (who were away in Montana snow skiing during the holidays), he prayed his usual prayer that he prayed each morning.  It was a prayer that he had prayed hundreds of times.  It was one of those general catch-all kinds of prayers.  “Father, help me to be your representative this day.  May I see the needs of those I encounter, may I hear the voices of the troubled, and may I speak words of hope to those who are desperate.  Make me generous, patient, and kind.”  It’s the kind of prayer we might all pray… maybe without even thinking of the words we speak, or the demands such an answered prayer might make of us.  It’s the kind of prayer we pray thoughtlessly, and perhaps devoid of any real passion.  Mark offered his prayer, not knowing that it had been heard by the Father, and on this day, it would be answered.

            He helped Libby get up and ready for the day.  He eased her into the recliner with a hot breakfast of good coffee, tasty, scrambled eggs, and a couple of slices of jellied toast.  She took her time with her meal, but Mark scarfed his down like a man on a mission.  As soon as the kitchen was cleaned and the dishes deposited in the dishwasher, he grabbed his coat, put on his favorite ball cap, and took one last sip of coffee… ready to take on the list.  The list included: picking up the ham from the Honey Baked Ham store, grabbing his clean shirts from the laundry, taking packages to the mall to have them gift wrapped by members of a church group who were raising money for missions, a trip to Sam’s to pick up a large poinsettia and some batteries, taking some coats to church for the annual coat drive, dropping off the Christmas cards at the post office – yes, he knew he was supposed to mail them last week, but it got lost in the wackiness the season – and then, of course, he would finish the day with a trip to the grocery store.  It was a lot.  But he was determined to finish up by early afternoon.

            It was spitting snow when he stepped out onto his front porch and made his way to the car.  He put a cooler in the trunk to keep the ham cold in case the day got long.  The back seat was full of packages, coats, and two boxes of Christmas cards.  The weather man had promised that it was only going to produce a light dusting and would clear by noon.  He hoped that for once, the weather man would be right.  He noticed a few slick spots on the neighborhood streets but found the main road into town all but dry.  The threat of bad weather certainly did not lessen the number of cars on the road.  Traffic was horrible all over town as people scrambled for those last-minute gifts and other holiday items.  Parking lots were full and stores were crowded.  Mark told himself that it was just going to be one of those days when you have to make up your mind to be patient and go with the flow.

            He made a quick dash to the Post Office.  Getting the cards in the mail was only going to take a moment.  It was mailing the packages that would eat up a lot of time.  The line was out the door with people waiting to get things sent to loved ones who lived far away.  What Mark thought would take him about 15 minutes, ended up taking nearly an hour. Once back in the car, Mark quickly made his way to church and dropped off the coats.  He felt good about his progress as he made his way to Sam’s Club.  He had to drive around the parking lot three times just to find a place to park.  The poinsettias had been picked over, but still he found a nice, big, red one that would surely perk-up with a couple of days of love and care.  And luckily, there was a big display of batteries near the front of the store and he stocked up with every size imaginable.  He didn’t even know if he would need batteries on Christmas morning, but he wasn’t going to be caught empty handed.  (It’s a guy thing…)

            The next item on the list was a stop at the local dry cleaners.  Ever since his fraternity days, Mark had insisted on having his dress shirts pressed and starched.  So, every couple of weeks, he made his way over to Park’s Dry Cleaning & Laundry to drop off or pick up a few of his shirts.  He had known Sam Park for a long time.  Through the years the two men had exchanged a lot of stories at the counter of the dry cleaners.  Mr. Park was a fellow member of the Rotary Club and often Mark and Sam shared a table at the weekly meetings.

        This year had been difficult for Sam Park.  His beloved wife, Rose, had died in early June.  They had been married for over 40 years.  Her loss hit him really hard.  They never had children and so the sting of grief was his to bear alone.  It was his year of “firsts.”  The first anniversary in July without her presence.  His first birthday in September without her gift.  The first Thanksgiving without her at the table.  And now it was the first Christmas without her warm and gracious spirit.  He was trying to get through the season the best he could but somedays, the grief was too much to bear.  Mark could see the sadness in his eyes and hear the empty longing in his voice as the two men talked for a few minutes.  Mark was worried about his friend and asked, “What does Christmas Day look like for you?  I know it’s going to be hard.”  Sam just nodded and looked away as if he could somehow avoid the question.  He finally said, “I’ve got nothing really unusual planned.  Probably will watch some football or maybe take a long walk.”  The response bothered Mark.  “What are you doing for Christmas lunch?  You really shouldn’t be alone, not this year,” said Mark.  “Why don’t you come and eat with us?  It’s just Libby and me this year, my son and his family aren’t coming till New Years.”  Sam protested and said what a kind offer it was, but he probably shouldn’t come.  But Mark insisted and told him not to worry about bringing anything, that having him in their home would be a great blessing.  And then Sam did something very unexpected.  He walked around the counter and gave Mark a hug and quietly whispered, “Thanks…”

        When Mark got back into his car he gave Libby a quick call.  “Well, I know I should have asked you first, but it just seemed like the right thing to do in the moment… I just invited Sam Park over for Christmas dinner.  I just didn’t want him to be alone… not this year especially.”  Libby, of course, understood completely and added, “Well, we’ve got more than enough to eat.  Of course he is welcome.  You did the right thing.”

        Mark’s next stop was that of picking up the ham at the Honey Baked Ham store.  As expected, the line was longer than he wanted it to be.  But he had ordered a few days earlier and hoped that the “pre-order line” might be a little shorter.  A young college kid, dressed in an Elf suit, opened the door with a loud “Merry Christmas!”  The Elf kid then asked if Mark had pre-ordered and if he had pre-paid.  That was when Mark discovered he had made a strategic mistake when he ordered the ham.  Yes, he had reserved a ham, but no, he had not pre-paid.  Those privileged to be in the pre-paid line had only a few minutes to wait.  But Mark and the others who had not pre-paid, soon found themselves waiting in a long back and forth line like you see at amusement parks when you are waiting for the newest roller coaster.  The Elf apologized and told him it might take up to 20 minutes.

        Mark soon struck up a conversation with those around him in line.  Several of the faces were familiar.  For the most part people were friendly and in a good mood, even though the line was a bit long.  He started talking the young man just behind him in line.  He was there to pick up a small ham.  “It’s just me this year,” he said.  “I usually head home to Indiana to be with the folks for a few days, but my boss has me working all the way through tomorrow night.  No time to go home this year.  At least I will make a little overtime.”  Mark learned a lot about him in 20 minutes.  His name was Alan and he lived alone.  He had just finished grad school a year or so ago.  Work had kept him way too busy to even think about dating or settling down.  He was a data analyst from Indianapolis.  He liked his job but at times it was a little too demanding.  “I’m going to miss my mom’s big family dinner this year for the first time.  She always puts on such a spread with plenty of great desserts.”

        Mark thought to himself, “What’s one more?”  He soon found himself inviting this complete stranger to Christmas dinner.  Alan didn’t have to think twice about the invitation.  “That’s very kind of you to offer.  You sure it’s okay with your wife?”  “The more the merrier,” Mark replied.  (Of course, in his mind he wondered if Libby would be excited about another person at the table.)  Mark told Alan, “No need for you to stay in this line any longer.  I’m getting plenty.  Just come over about 11:30 or so,” and he handed him a business card with the address and his cell phone if needed.  After putting the ham in the cooler in the trunk of his car, Mark called Libby to tell her that he had done it again… another mouth to feed at the table.  He told her about how he met Alan and how he just felt sorry for the kid.  “It’s no problem at all,” said Libby, “but we might need to add a little to the grocery list.”

        It was already past noon when Mark arrived at the Mall.  It was crazy busy.  He had to park a long way from the entrance.  At least the snow had stopped as predicted.  Normally, he would not have minded the long walk, but he was carrying an armload of packages to get wrapped by the church folks.  He waited in line for maybe 15 minutes at the makeshift wrapping station.  The older teenager who took his packages was very polite and proficient.  She asked which type of paper he wanted, did he want a bow, and did he want to make a donation to the mission fund?  Mark was so grateful for the help that he did indeed make a generous donation.  The teenager wrapping the packages explained that she was going on the mission trip herself next summer.  They were headed to Ecuador to work in a medical clinic for a week.  She was excited about the trip and Mark enjoyed seeing the joy in her face as they talked.  In just a few minutes the packages looked amazing, and Mark was once again on his way.

        He looked at his watch and noticed it was nearly 1:00 p.m.  He decided to treat himself with lunch at the mall food court.  There were about a dozen places from which to choose.  He decided to go with a Philly cheesesteak and fries.  A nice employee handed him his tray with a steaming hot sandwich and golden fries.  It smelled delicious.  Now to find a place to sit.  The seating area was packed.  He walked around and around but had trouble finding a place.  Finally, an older woman, who had noticed his plight, said, “You’re welcome to join me, if you like.  I’m not sure you have many other options.”  Mark took her up on her offer and sat down to lunch with his soon-to-be new friend named Gracie Reynolds.  They quickly struck up a conversation.

        The more they talked, the more Mark realized that Gracie was battling a bad case of loneliness.  It turned out that Gracie had been a widow for more than a decade.  Her husband was victimized with ALS and died only a year after the first diagnosis.  Gracie told Mark that it had been a terrible thing to see him go that way.  “He was always so strong, so full of life…” Her voice trailed away.  Even though it had been so long ago, she still missed him greatly.  “Christmas time always makes it worse,” she admitted.  “We used to travel during the holidays.  We once drove to New York to see the lights and all the Christmas decorations.  We even flew to Paris one year and sat at a sidewalk café on Christmas morning eating pastries and drinking the most delicious coffee.”  Mark and Gracie talked and laughed for nearly an hour.  She told him that she often came to the mall at Christmas time.  “I just don’t want to be by myself.  I like being around people and this place helps me escape my loneliness for a little while.”  “I can do better than that!” exclaimed Mark.  “Why don’t you come to our house for Christmas dinner.  It would be an honor to have you join us.”  There was kindness in his voice and sincerity in his invitation.  She replied, “The honor would be all mine… what do I need to bring?”  “Just bring yourself,” Mark responded.  We’ve got plenty.  I would love for you to meet my wife, Libby.  I think the two of you would really hit it off.”  It was settled.  She would come to dinner.

        Before leaving the Mall, Mark had one more, quick stop to make.  He walked to the See’s candy kiosk and bought a box of butterscotch chocolates for Libby.  They were her favorite and reminded her of early days when an Uncle who lived in California would send a box to the house each Christmas.  He called her from the car.  This time she simply answered by saying, “Let me guess… you did it again, didn’t you?”  He admitted that yes, he had invited yet another guest to the lunch table.  “Her name is Gracie and you are going to love her.”

        Mark knew that he was way behind schedule when made his way towards the local grocery store to pick up an ever-growing list of items.  He decided that he needed a little caffeine before making his assault on the grocery store.  He had been wanting to try one of those peppermint mochas he had heard so much about.  He pulled into a local Starbucks, which of course, was crowded like every other place he had visited that day.  The car line wrapped all the way around the building.  Mark decided it was probably better to park and go inside to get his caffeine fix.  He made the right decision.  There was just one other customer in line as he made his way to the counter.  The young 20-something coffee barista was obviously struggling to keep up with everyone’s order.  The man in front of him in line yelled at her because he had ordered his drink without foam, yet when she handed it to him… lots of foam.  “How hard is it to get something so simple, so wrong?” he yelled at her.  “I’m not paying for this.”  With his foamy drink in hand, he turned and stormed off.

        He noticed that her lip quivered a little when she asked him, “What can we get started for you today?”  Mark looked at her nametag.  Her name was Julie.  And even though it was not his fault in anyway, he apologized about the angry customer that had just stormed out.  “Sorry about that last guy.  There was no reason for him to lose it like that.  Obviously, he was having a bad day and he shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”  “Thanks,” she said quietly.  Mark decided to change his order and simply asked for a tall, black coffee.  Julie gave him a slight smile as though it was the first act of kindness she had experienced during a very long shift.  With coffee in hand, Mark sat down at a small table near the door.

        He was lost in thought when Julie walked up to the table and said, “Mister, I think you forgot your credit card,” as she handed him his Visa.  “Oh my goodness,” said Mark, “thanks a lot.  I would have probably not missed it until I had a buggy full of groceries to buy.  That’s my next stop.”  “Got a big Christmas meal coming up?” she asked.  “Well, yeah, sort of.  It just keeps getting bigger all the time.  You see I’ve…”  The conversation was interrupted by Julie’s manager telling her that it was time for her 15-minute break.  She whispered to Mark, “I could certainly use a little break.  It’s been a long day… in fact, it’s been a long month.”  Mark invited her to sit at his table and was surprised when she did just that.  Within a few minutes, she began to spill some of her story.  Sometimes it is easier to tell a stranger your secrets than it is to tell a trusted friend.

        Julie had moved South to go to business school.  At least that is what she had told her parents.  Truth be told, she wanted to be closer to her boyfriend and out from under the constant nagging of her parents.  But things were not working out so well.  Her boyfriend dumped her about halfway through the semester and her grades took a deep dive.  She was scared about tuition, grades, her rent, and everything else.  She took the Starbucks job to make a little extra cash over the holidays.  She had signed up for every shift they would give her, even working till 6:00 p.m. on Christmas Eve.  Mark listened to her story and could sense her anxiety.  He finally said, “I don’t know if you have plans for Christmas dinner. Like I told you, my wife and I are having a few friends over for lunch.  If you feel like being around some folks and want a good meal, you are welcome to come join us.  No strings attached.  You can leave as soon as we eat if you want.”  She hesitated a little.  “Why do you care?” she asked.  “Why would you invite a complete stranger for Christmas dinner?”  Mark responded, “You just sound like you could use a break.”  He took out another business card and wrote the address and his cell phone number on the back.  “Just think about it.  Come if you want.  No pressure either way.”  “Thanks, I’ll think about it,” she said.  Mark thanked her for the conversation and headed to his car.

        Once again, he called Libby.  Sheepishly he said, “Umm… there might be another person coming to dinner.  I just asked one of the employees at Starbucks.  Not sure she’s coming, but it sounded to me like she could use a little company so I invited her.”  “What in the world is going on with you today?” asked Libby.  “Are you determined to take in all the strays for the holidays?”  “Maybe so,” said Mark.  “It just seemed like the thing to do.  I promise this one will be the last.”  They talked a little longer about several items that needed to be added to the grocery list with all the additional folks.  The list was long and the afternoon was spent, but Mark found himself strangely excited about the extra people coming to dinner.

        It was after 5 p.m. when he pulled into the Publix parking lot.  He read over the list and added a few notes in the margins.  He grabbed a buggy and a Lysol wipe and made his way into the store.  There were lots of people moving their way up and down each aisle.  But everyone seemed pleasant and in the Christmas spirit.  Christmas carols were softly playing on the speaker system in the store as Mark began checking items off the list and filling his buggy.  He rounded the corner on the bread aisle when he saw a familiar face.  It was Fred Arnold.  Fred’s son had been in the High School Band with Mark’s boy, which seemed like a lifetime ago.  Weekends back in those days were filled with Friday night ballgames and all-day Saturday band competitions.  After High School, the boys went off to different colleges with different interests and so the friendship between the families dissipated a bit.  In fact, Mark hadn’t seen Fred in several years.

        For a few minutes they played the catch-up game, discussing the boys and their careers, work related issues, local news events, and stories from way back when.  Mark floated what he thought was an innocent comment… “So, I guess you guys have a big Christmas planned.”  Fred looked away for moment and said, “I guess you never heard.  Mary and I divorced a couple of years ago.  It got really nasty.  She took the house and dog, and our son has ping-ponged back and forth between us for the past couple of years.  This year, he’s spending Christmas with his mom.  So… no.  Not much planned for this year.”  Mark replied,  “Fred, I’m sorry to hear all of that.  I’m sure it’s been rough.”  At that point the conversation took a much more serious turn.  Mark tried his best to cheer up his friend but found most of the conversation a bit awkward.  Finally Mark said, “Hey, why don’t you join us for Christmas dinner.  We’ve got some guests coming over.  You wouldn’t need to bring anything.  Just come and have a nice dinner with us.”  “Are you sure that it’s not too much trouble?” asked Fred.  “I mean it is kinda last minute.  Libby won’t mind?” “We’d be honored to have you,” said Mark.

        And so the list of table guests became a little longer.  The room would be filled with both new strangers and old friends.  Mark didn’t even call Libby this time.  He just added a few things to the grocery list so that there would be plenty.  It was well past dark when he finally got home from his long day of running errands and shopping.  He helped Libby with some supper and surprised her with the box of chocolates he had purchased earlier in the day.  He added up the list of potential guests for Christmas day.  The table once set for 2 would now become a table set for 7.  Mark knew that he had created a lot more work for himself to get the house and the meal ready, but something about the promise of guests in his home both energized and encouraged him.  There would be stories to hear, emptiness to fill, brokenness to mend, and joy to restore.  What a great way to spend Christmas.

        Late that night, after watching It’s a Wonderful Life with Libby for the 2^nd time in a week, Mark finally crawled into bed.  He was reminded of his morning prayer… “Father, help me to be your representative this day.  May I see the needs of those I encounter, may I hear the voices of the troubled, and may I speak words of hope to those who are desperate.  Make me generous, patient, and kind.”  And then he thought of the ways that prayer had been answered.  The Christmas “list” was not a long, hand-written list of items to gather, but rather people for him to collect along the way.  People who needed a little Christmas in their lives.

        Christmas day came with warmer temperatures and bright sunshine.  And to Mark’s great delight, all the invited guests came to his house for Christmas dinner. He looked at the table, filled with delicious food, but also filled with new friends.  There was Gracie, the lonely widow from the Mall.  Sam, the dry cleaner was there as well.  Julie from the coffee shop showed up and even brought a cake.  Young Alan who had waited in line with Mark at the Honey Baked Ham store was there.  And old friend, Fred, was also seated at the table.  Strangers laughed like old friends.  The lonely found community.  The scared found hope.  And the grieving rediscovered joy.

        This Christmas season, as you venture to all those busy places that are a part of the routine, you may encounter some “soon-to-be-discovered” friends along the way.  They may have some needs, some pain, and maybe some loneliness.  In trying to heal some of the hurts in their lives, you may also find yourself strangely healed.  I hope you will see the needs around you, hear the voices of the troubled, and speak hope to the desperate.  Who knows what or who might end up on your list this year?

Merry Christmas

 

There was a certain summertime magic that was a part of family life while growing up in Rome, Georgia.  Every once in a while, my dad would receive some tickets to an Atlanta Braves baseball game from a benevolent old guy known as “Doc” Elliott who ran some sort of import business in Rome.  Dad would come home early from work.  We would load up the old brown station wagon and begin our trek to Atlanta Fulton Co. Stadium.  The journey to the big city was always filled with excitement and great anticipation.  And of course, the trip always included a stop at the old downtown Varsity restaurant just across from Georgia Tech.  After a couple of dogs and a Frosted Orange, we would head to the stadium and find the way to our seats.

The stadium was always alive with sights and sounds.  When the time was just right, Chief nock-a-homa, would run out to the mound, do his war dance, and then dash off to his tepee in left field.  (Those were different days.)  The players ran onto the field, the anthem played and the crowd cheered.  Long before the rhythmic sounds of the “tomahawk chop,” it was the stadium organist who stirred the crowd into a frenzy.  I remember buying popcorn that came in megaphone-shaped cardboard containers that could be used to cheer on the team after the popcorn was long gone.  And in those early days, there were superstars to cheer on.  Names like Aaron, Torre, Niekro, and Jackson were sprinkled throughout the line-up.  Every kid in the place would sit on the edge of his/her seat when #44 came to the plate.  We all expected “Hammering Hank” to hit a homerun every time, and rarely were we disappointed.

We typically stayed till the bitter end and made the slow trek back to the car.  Traffic was always a problem as we headed back north on I-75 toward Rome.  In those days, part of our journey included driving through Marietta where the big Kentucky Fried Chicken stood on the corner.  By that point in the evening, my brother and I were groggy in the backseat and ready to be home, but we both knew there was still a long drive to endure.  There was a new residential development along the road, apartments as I remember, that had a big sign planted near the entrance.  It read, “If you lived here, you’d be home.”  It always made me a little mad to see it, because I wished I did live there, so I could be home and not have to endure the long road to Rome.  It’s funny, but that sign still comes to mind when I think on those days.

“If you lived here, you’d be home.”  It’s odd how most of us spend our days in the anticipation of things yet to come.  When we are young, we dream of becoming a teenager, driving a car, and going on dates.  And then we long for the days of college and becoming independent for the first time.  And after college we yearn for that first job, or marriage, or a new city.  And even then, we are unsettled in the present and long for that which is still to come.  We dream of buying our first home or paying off a car.  We raise our kids and live vicariously through their lives.  We look to our emerging careers which all too soon becomes a glance at retirement.  We anticipate grandkids, and working in the yard, and taking lavish vacations.  It’s like our lives are a dream that we continually chase, never really thinking we have finally arrived at home.

Maybe home is all around us in every season of life.  We just lack the vision to see it.  Gospel writer Luke tells this story in chapter 10 of the Gospel of Luke, ^“As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him.  She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said.  But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, ‘Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!’  ‘Martha, Martha,’ the Lord answered, ‘you are worried and upset about many things,  but few things are needed—or indeed only one.  Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.’”

Martha missed the moment in time, or maybe the full reality of “being at home,” because of distraction and worry over her preparations.  She couldn’t experience the joy of being present in the moment because of looking ahead to an event that would unfold in a few hours.

In the Christian experience, we are definitively a “forward looking” people.  It’s written into our hymns, our prayers, Bible studies, and sermons.  We talk of that future Kingdom of Heaven.  We talk of that “day of rejoicing that will be.”  We talk of a better life that is to come.  There’s nothing wrong with glancing through the eyes of faith to that promised day.  We all long for heaven and when we will “bid farewell to every tear and wipe our weeping eyes.”  But let us not fail to find ourselves at home each day, living in the present moments of grace that include: messy lives, unpaid bills, overgrown lawns, empty gas tanks, dishes in the sink, and toys on the floor.  Home is the place we find security in the chaos, joy in the difficulties, and contentment in the midst of need.  If we learn to live in the “present place” of hope, contentment, and joy, we would, most assuredly, be at home.  I wonder if those to be pitied the most, are not simply those who may miss the joy of eternal life, but those who fail to see eternity in the moments of each day.  If you lived here, you’d be home.

Jon R Roebuck

 

          There is a very disturbing trend in modern American Christianity.  It isn’t low attendance, declining membership, aging buildings, or shrinking budgets.  It’s the absence of kindness that should worry us the most.  For a multiplicity of reasons, churches and their leaders have decided, both consciously and unconsciously, that kindness is no longer a virtue worth demonstrating or pursuing.  And when the church decided that kindness no longer mattered, the nation got the message.

            Christians have been called by Christ to be “salt and light,” or to be as a “city on a hill” whose light of goodness, hope, and grace extend deeply into the culture of the day.  But unfortunately, the light has dimmed, and our distinctive goodness is all but non-discernable.  For those charged to influence, infuse, and promote such virtues as love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control, we have lost that sense of calling.  In fact, it’s as though we have adopted and now promote that which is the exact opposite of such qualities.  We promote divisive bigotry, exclusionary practices, hate speech, racism, antisemitism, Islamophobia, and even violence.  Rather than challenge ourselves to represent the Prince of Peace as we proclaim Good News to the world around us, we have decided to adopt a limited world-view that teaches that it’s okay to hate our neighbors and demean anyone whose brand of religion differs from our own.

            The Gospel is to be Good News… not judgment, not hate, not discrimination, not anger.  Something about the message of Jesus should give life to those who have lost their way, their hope, and their future.  Jesus offers inclusivity, not a pious “religious border” control, not judgment, not condescension.  We have poisoned our minds to believe that we are to love only those who love Jesus with the same zeal and dogma that we hold.  We make little room and offer little tolerance for anyone not in our tribe.  Whenever we decide that we are the ultimate possessors of truth and thus, the real chosen people of God, we stand in a very dangerous place.  Maybe our task is not that of loving only the people who love Jesus, but loving the people that Jesus loves.  Suddenly our embrace of every neighbor becomes reorienting.  If we truly claim to love Christ, we must intentionally, passionately, and unselfishly love every neighbor who stands before us, regardless of their race, their origin, their gender, their language, or their practice of faith.  If you believe that heaven is only filled with your kind of people, you may be really shocked when the Kingdom leaves you behind in its wake.

            To be Christ-like is to be kind.  It is to be respectful, tolerant, grace-giving, bridge-building, and fence-mending.  Kindness demands less shouting, less hatred, less violence, less arrogance, and less warmongering.  Kindness demands decency, decorum, and dialogue… not social media rants, not caustic pulpit rhetoric, and not selfish control of every public space.

            There was a time when the pulpits of America set the tone and challenged the character of our nation.  There was talk of true liberty and justice for all.  There were calls for the end of hatred and prejudice.  Preachers spoke of love and grace.  In other words, there was a time when kindness mattered, and people listened.  But those were different days.  We are now faced with intolerance, explosive anger, and demeaning language… often spoken through the mouths of pastors and pulpiteers.  What have we become?  What have we allowed ourselves to embrace?  If the voice of reason, grace, and kindness doesn’t arise from people of faith, from whence shall it come?  There are choices to be made, conscious, deliberate, culture-altering choices.  Embrace kindness.  Pursue kindness.  Demonstrate kindness.

An Episcopalian Priest recently offered these words in a morning message.  “We must learn how to both kneel and stand at the same time.”  I can’t shake that image, nor the implications.  To kneel in the presence of someone is to show respect, loyalty, and perhaps servitude.  In contrast, to stand before someone is to affirm, convey, and perhaps communicate our own treasured beliefs or values.  When juxtaposed in the same phrase the words seem to be in conflict.  It is as though to both kneel and stand is an impossibility.  But rightly understood, they illustrate the tension deep within us, a tension in which our faith must reside.

            In the Christ-like humility of faith, we must learn to kneel in the presence of others.  To do so is to value, affirm, accept, and even befriend.  It is to show a level of respect and a sense of wonder at the made-in-the-image-of-God human being who stands before us.  It is to affirm the worth of that person and give away something of our own selfish pride that would make them seem less than equal in our minds’ distortion.  It is to see the face of God in their face and thus kneel in the presence of the holy.

            In contrast, as we stand in the presence of others, we do so while affirming our beliefs… the things we know to be right and good, noble and true.  We stand on our convictions, our well-worn affirmations of faith, our principles, our values, our sacred confessions.  We stand on the bedrock foundations that give us meaning, clarity, and promise.  Those foundations are vital.  The tension arises within us when we are called to kneel in the presence of others whose values, beliefs, and morals are not those we uphold.  It is not that we are called to step away from the  moorings of our faith, but that we use our faith to push ourselves forward into the Kingdom’s difficult work of grace.  What is created in that moment of conflicting emotion and thought is not compromise, but rather the mercy that we should long to both extend as well as receive.

           If we believe that everyone has to stand in the same mental, political, and spiritual space we occupy in order to be deemed worthy, then we will never learn to kneel in humility.  What we must affirm in the presence of others is not our well-parsed theology or doctrinal convictions, but simply the common bonds of humanity that join us to each other.  We affirm the love of God for us all.  In kneeling, we must acknowledge with value and worth not only the face of the stranger, but the face of God also reflected in that person.  We are bound together as His children.

             In kneeling we learn that we no longer have the right to judge, but only to serve.  We no longer have the right to condemn, but only to accept.  We learn that the convictions on which we stand give us the freedom, not to remain selfish, or bigoted, or biased, but to be fully conformed in the image of the One who taught us that to serve is the way of our faith.  It is in the giving away of ourselves, that our locked knees suddenly bend in gratitude.  And maybe as we kneel in an affirming posture of respect and acceptance that our faith longs for us to embrace, that someone might see over our shoulder to catch a glimpse of the Savior we proclaim.  We must indeed learn to kneel and stand at the same time.

– Jon Roebuck

          Mount LeConte is one of the tallest and most picturesque mountains in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.  The peak is listed at 6,593 feet in elevation.  Located just a few miles from Gatlinburg, it remains a popular day-hike for thousands of people each year.  At the summit, is a beautiful, rustic lodge surrounded by several cabins.  An adventurer can reserve a night’s stay from late March till mid-November.  Those who do so, will enjoy a both a beautiful view and a good, hearty breakfast to provide plenty of energy for the descending hike.  There are five trails or paths that lead to the summit.  The shortest, and by far the most arduous, is the Alum Cave Trail which takes hikers on a steep, magnificent 5-mile trek.  The longest trail, named the Brushy Mountain Trail, winds its way for over 9 miles.  All are distinct in many ways, but any of the five will get a hiker to the top.

            Sometimes the paths we take determine much about who we become and how we relate to the world around us.  Social scientists suggest that most of us become rather “set in our ways” around the age of 25.  By 25, most of us have defined much about our character, our morality, our priorities, our faith expressions, and even our political affiliations.  The paths on which we have walked for those first 25 “formative years” have influenced us in a number of ways.  There are hundreds, if not thousands, of paths that can lead an individual to adulthood.  It is in understanding our paths that we may unlock some of the divisive opinions and attitudes that are so prevalent in the American culture.

            I am often in discussions with people of good faith who scratch their heads and wonder how others can view the world so differently than they.  Many of us have felt the disconnect created in our relationships with friends, associates, neighbors, and even fellow church members over the past few years.  Surely, we have all asked some of these questions: “How can so-and-so support that candidate?  How can those politicians believe such legislation is good for our state?  How can people who claim a strong faith be so angry and spew such vitriolic language at others?  How can anyone not see the damage such attitudes cause?”  We wonder how some can get so confused, so lost, or so blind… or at least how their worldview can become so warped in comparison to our own.  We are all sane, rational adults and yet our views are so vastly different, even among those who read the same sacred texts.  How does it happen?  Maybe it’s the paths taken, or even the paths we were forced to walk as we made our way into adulthood that have made us so divergent.  Again, it is understanding the paths traveled that we might offer ourselves needed perspective.  It is not that every person should walk in lock-step or that all of us should think or pray or even vote the same way.  We need diversity of thought to make us better.  It is that we need to learn from each other and at least understand who we are and how we arrived at this moment.  Rather than walk in someone else’s shoes for a while, maybe we should consider the paths those shoes have walked.

            The path that leads through family life is certainly one of the most important paths we take on our way to adulthood.  We are strongly influenced by those who raised us.  In households where love and support were consistently offered, where key virtues were modeled and not distorted, the influence of home powerfully shaped us.  We grew to think like our parents.  We consumed the morals that were modeled. And so, we now speak the same language and think the same thoughts as our parents did.  Though we may step away from that nurturing path and take a slightly divergent way from time to time, we tend to become much like the family that raised us, for good or bad.

            The pathway of adolescence is also a powerful influence.  In my many years of pastoral ministry, I often told parents that they needed to know their children’s friends almost as well as their children did.  Those friendships are powerful and help to shape and mold opinions and positions.  We sometimes hear about the dangers of “running with the wrong crowd.”  There is some truth to that.  The close connections of teenage years speak strongly into the minds of our kids.

            The pathway that took many of us to college needs to be added to the list.  For many college represents the first time away from home.  College becomes the place to explore new thoughts, try new things, build new relationships.  Sometimes the path opens our minds to things never considered before or teaches the eager to ask questions about topics that up-to-this-point were either set in stone or were simply taboo.  Some leave college completely unfazed by all the influences and experiences, while others depart with a whole different set of values and ideals.

            Certainly the role of social media is a part of this conversation.  Those walking the path towards adulthood spend far more time glued to their screens than they do connected to family conversation.  We call those with millions of followers, “influencers” and rightly so.  With a single tweet or tik-tok video, opinions and thoughts spread like wildfire. It is in the wide-open space of social media that both good and bad thoughts are spread.  Misinformation travels just as quickly as the truth and we would do well to remember that.

            For most who are traveling to adulthood, the path of religion is extremely powerful.  The words proclaimed from the pulpit as well as the opinions expressed in the hallways, captivate, motivate, and infuriate.  Faith is so vitally important to most of us that even if religion starts to get a little askew and preaching becomes more about politicking than piety, most of us never notice until we are drawn into a “righteous anger” that is neither righteous nor ethical and certainly not in keeping with the morality that our Scriptures suggest.  To be fair, not all churches have yielded to a pseudo-Gospel that distorts reality and warps the great teachings of faith… but many have.  A pathway doesn’t have to diverge very far until it becomes distorted.  The Scriptures themselves suggest that “pure and undefiled religion in the sight of God is to visit widows and orphans in their time of distress and to keep oneself unstained by the world.” Such a notion is a far cry away from the abusive, misogynistic, fear-mongering messages that many proclaim.

             And so, we arrive at adulthood, well-informed or ignorant, wise or foolish, mature or lacking, confident or confused, or maybe with all of those traits.  We are very much the result of the paths that brought us to this place.  And even as we enter the adult world, we continue to choose the paths before us.  In other words, we can’t blame all that we have become on the inexperience of youth.  Many of us choose to continue down the same ideological paths that we have always walked.  Rather than search for new meaning, new thoughts, and new perspectives, we find others who closely match our set of values and join them for the next phase of our journey.  The more we walk in the presence of the like-minded, the more we reinforce limited viewpoints, narrow-minded opinions, and echo-chamber rhetoric.  Somewhere along the journey we may even lose a sense of discernment that would allow us to self-reflect and seek greater perspective.  The various viewpoints of our time divide us and the caustic politics tear relationships asunder and we wonder if such connections are forever broken.

            Like many of you, I am mystified at where we have landed as a people.  I loathe the divisive nature of both the political podium and the powerful pulpit.  I grieve over what we have become.  We are no longer “one nation under God, indivisible…” but warring factions that tear at the social fabric of what we aspire to be.  How can we even start the process of beginning again?  Is there a way to find reconciliation?  Can we reframe our conversations in a way that becomes constructive and not destructive?

          The answer lies not in more rants, more tweets, and more caustic words.  It begins with a desire to at least understand why some have made the choices they have made and supported the causes they deem important.  Some of the answers we seek are found along the pathways that every individual has walked.  As I stated previously, we are indeed, the product of our environment.  But perhaps there is still hope.  A commitment to lifelong learning, relationship building, and to the creation of space for community with those who stand in a different place are some of the ways we can teach new tricks to the old dog within us.  And maybe the best hope for the future is found in our continued walk, where all of our paths can willingly cross again, but this time with a sense of civility, respect, and understanding.