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When
asked to draw a picture showing what they would do if Jesus
came to spend the day with them, the second grade Sunday
school class went busily to work. After several minutes of
industrious coloring, Jenny approached her teacher with an
almost-finished drawing in hand. “Mrs. Kelly,” she said,
“I have a question. How do you spell Bloomingdale’s?”
Shopping
with Jesus. What an interesting image for the season. Given
that the season is very much about shopping. All of us do it.
Some of us, prancing and dancing. Some of us, kicking and
screaming. But most of us, hoping that the retailers had a
good year, given our concern for the economy and its recovery.
In fact, I read so much about that issue this Christmas that I
felt it was my patriotic duty to head for the mall. When my
car lease expired on December 7 and I had to shop for a new
vehicle (a task I generally detest), I actually felt good
about inking a deal before the end of the year….not so much
because of what I bought, but because I was doing my part.
Whatever it takes, George. Whatever it takes.
Clergy,
of course, are sometimes seen as scrooges when it comes to
shopping. Gold, frankincense and myrrh aside, every one of us
has a good sermon against the excesses of gifting, fearing
that the mall may be the best place to misplace the reason for
the season. Although I have noticed that the same preachers
who mug the malls from the pulpit on Sunday tend to appear in
them (for purposes of purchase) on Monday. Which proves
nothing, save for the fact that if over-commercializing
Christmas is a disease, virtually all of us are infected.
I’ll
fess up. I bought. I got. And I enjoyed both the “buying”
part and the “getting” part. Buying, of course, is
connected to giving. And I like giving. I mean, I really like
giving. When I was a little kid, I heard people talk about it
being more blessed to give than to receive. Like a lot of
things in the Bible that sound more pious than practical when
one hears them as children, I probably said to myself: “Does
anybody really believe that?” But then I grew up….got
smart….and found that most of those ancient aphorisms are
true.
It
is blessed to give. It feels good to give. And in spite of
what preachers tend to tell you, giving is not all that much
of a problem. At least at Christmas. Christmas brings out the
best in us. We put coins in the kettle and food in the
baskets. Why, Christmas brings out the best, even in the
worst. Which is why the conversion of Ebenezer Scrooge is,
apart from the nativity narratives of Luke and Matthew, the
most classic Christmas tale of all. The conversion of Scrooge
confirms what we would like to believe about ourselves, that
down deep, even the worst of us has the capacity to become
generous and kind. Scrooge’s story flatters us as givers.
I
can identify with that. I like giving. I like what it does. I
like the way it feels. I like what it says to me, about me.
Like a lot of you, I didn’t grow up with a lot. Money was
tight. It’s not that anybody told me that, so much as I
instinctively knew that. And I also know that a lot of people
who grew up worrying about money, still worry about money.
Having once felt “tightness,” they become “tight” for
life….spending cautiously….giving conservatively….always
looking for hard times….figuring that if they happened once,
they could happen again.
Which
got me to wondering why such is not the case with me. Then one
day I figured out the answer. At the outer fringe of my family
(when I was growing up) was my Uncle Walter….my Great-Uncle
Walter. And while he was a long way removed from me, the fact
that he had money was not lost on me. I mean, he had a lot of
it. Which he splashed around pretty good. At a very
impressionable age, I saw that. What’s more, I internalized
that. It seemed like my Uncle Walter did a lot of good. And it
seemed as if doing good made him feel good. I found myself
wanting to be like him. I don’t know whether I identified
with his generosity, with his sense of well-being that grew
out of his generosity, or with his success in business which
made his generosity possible. Like a lot of things in our
childhood, there were a lot of messages back there. And I
probably “got” them all.
What
I didn’t get were a lot of lessons in the art of being a
receiver. For my uncle was resourceful and independent, while
receivers often see themselves as needful and dependent. And
few of us like feeling that way. In fact, we will go to almost
any length to avoid feeling that way. Our language gives us
away. “I paid my dues,” we say. “I earned my
way….carried my share….held up my end….shouldered my
responsibility.” Did you hear all of those verbs
(paid….earned…. carried….shouldered)? Those are power
verbs. Those are working verbs. Those are verbs of action.
Those are verbs associated with givers. Those are not the
verbs of receivers.
A
colleague who has spent several years in campus ministry
suggests that this explains why some students disparage their
parents during their university years. It is humbling (perhaps
too humbling) to admit that at age 20 and 21, you are still
financially dependent on mom and dad. But more than financial
dependency, it is also humbling to realize that other things
like your genes, talents, strengths, weaknesses, body image,
and even large parts of your personality, have come to you as
things received from those same parents. At the very time when
you want to think of yourself as self-made and self-directed,
you look in the mirror one morning and are forced to realize:
“Good Lord, I look just like my old man.” Then you take a
good course in psychology, forcing you to look even deeper
into the mirror and admit: “Good Lord, I even think and feel
like my old man.”
That
same difficulty with receiving affects relationships at the
other end of the age spectrum. Elderly people fear that they
will become sufficiently incapacitated so as to necessitate
their being on the receiving end of care from a loved one. I
jokingly tell Kris that when that day comes, she should put me
on an ice flow and push me out to sea. But my humor gives me
away. Like many of you, I assume that being on the receiving
end of perpetual care will be equated with “being a
burden.” And I don’t like the feelings that go with the
word “burden.” Is it any wonder that the receivers of care
sometimes lash out against the very ones on whom they are most
dependent….and to whom they should be most grateful?
Need
more convincing? Consider this. Ask a university fund raiser
which group of alumni is most antagonistic when approached for
pledges and contributions. They will inevitably answer: “The
ones who attended this school on full scholarship.” It’s
tough to be a receiver of anything. It’s even tough to be on
the receiving end of love….God’s, or anybody else’s. Let
me read to you a sentence that you will find astounding:
“Nothing is more repugnant to capable, reasonable people
than grace.” You know who said that? John Wesley said that.
Having held out against grace for a number of years (even as
he was preaching its merits to others), he knew whereof he
spoke.
Into
all of this, we Christians introduce a story. It is a simple
story about a God who wanted to do something for
us….something so strange and outside the scope of ordinary
imagination…. something so beyond what we could conceivably
do for ourselves….that God resorted to angels, pregnant
teenagers and stars in the sky to get it done. And whatever
you think about the details of the story, remember that their
purpose is to show us that Christmas is not something we can
do for ourselves, but something that God does for us. The
details strike the mind as “extraordinary,” precisely so
that we will not view what they represent as “ordinary.”
“For unto us a son is given.” All we can do at
Bethlehem is receive him.
As
a Jew, Rabbi Michael Goldberg is impressed by the utter
passivity of the characters in the nativity. As a Jew, he
resonates to the great saga of the Exodus, where heroes like
Moses, Aaron and Joshua are anything but passive receptors.
Instead, they come across as superheroes…. mighty
actors….people prodded by God to create a new future, not
receive one. If you want to understand the force of
Goldberg’s point, take time to contrast the Old Testament
narratives of the Exodus with the New Testament narratives of
the nativity. When depicted by churches, nativity narratives
are (in point of fact) tableaus. They are still lifes. Nobody
does anything. Nobody says anything. Everybody just gets into
position and stands around.
Here
at First Church, we do a nativity pageant every three years.
This was the year. Many of you were present a couple of weeks
ago. It’s a day for great singing and minimal acting. But
none of the actors say anything. People just walk into
position and portray their part. Once again, I got to be a
king. There are three good things about being a king. First,
you get to sing all by yourself. Second, the costumes are the
very best in our wardrobe closet. Third, the kings enter late
in the drama, meaning that for most of the pageant, we sit in
the parlor drinking coffee, rather than standing stiff and
still in the center of the chancel. By the time we enter,
everybody else has been standing in place for several minutes.
In fact, Mary and Joseph (and their real, live infant) have
been on the scene for nearly half an hour.
You
also need to know that as participants in the drama, we are
encouraged to maintain our pose and posture long after the
pageant is complete. This enables children to come up and walk
among the characters (even seeing and touching the baby),
while parents and grandparents take pictures from the front of
the chancel. It’s all wonderful and touching. It’s also
hard on the characters. In fact, at one of the pageants
(remember, we do this twice on the same afternoon), Joseph
stood so still for so long that I heard him mutter under his
breath: “I’ve been rigid for such a long time that my back
has locked up.”
But
we need the nativity stories. We need their passivity. Because
we need to allow the God of these stories to give us an
unexpected gift. Somewhere, somehow, somebody has to train us
to be receivers.
I
suppose it might be easier to accept the gift if we knew more
about the giver….and more about the motives of the giver.
For we tend to be a suspicious lot. I mean, picture yourself
as having a son….a teenage son. Picture him as being sixteen
years old. No, make him fifteen and a half. Picture him as
beginning to fill out physically, but not quite there
socially. Which means, of course, that where girls are
concerned, he is something of “hunk,” but socially inept.
Now
watch what you do (as parents) when your son comes home from
school with a package. It is a Christmas package. From a girl,
no less. It is not a girl he has gone out with, so much as a
girl he has “kinda talked to at a couple of parties.” The
present turns out to be a sweater. A soft and lovely sweater.
A cashmere sweater. From having priced such sweaters yourself,
you know that (even at one of the outlets) there may be $100
involved in this gift. Suddenly you hear yourself saying:
“Son, you need to take that sweater right back to her and
tell her that your parents won’t let you accept it. You want
to know why? We’ll tell you why. Because this girl is
obviously making an assumption that isn’t true, or looking
for a relationship that you are not ready for. Every gift
comes with a claim, and you’re not ready to be claimed.”
Well,
I’ve got to tell you. God’s goal (in giving you his gift)
is to claim you….to lure you into a relationship….to draw
you closer….to suck you in….to cut through your defenses
with something that will be incredibly hard to resist.
“Pssst….here kid….wanna see a baby….?”
More
amazing still, just when you are least expecting it, God may
strategically withdraw….ever so slightly….leaving you
holding the baby. Oh, by the way, the gift is non-returnable.
Note:
I originally introduced some of these ideas a decade ago under
the title “Tis Perhaps More Blessed to Receive.” At that
time, I resonated to an op-ed piece in the Christian
Century by William Willimon of Duke University. At this
juncture, I can no longer cite the date or recall the title.
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