The Spirit of Offering

In the story Marcia read, Jackie's Gift: A True Story of Christmas, Hanukkah and Jackie Robinson by Sharon Robinson, the Robinson family noticed what their neighbors, the Satlows didn’t have, and sought to provide what was missing. To the Robinsons, it wouldn’t have been Christmas without a tree and ornaments. To the wise men who traveled from afar to pay homage to baby Jesus, nothing said Hosanna like frankincense, gold, and myrrh. If they had thought about it, or perhaps had been parents of a newborn themselves, they might have brought nappies or some sort of luxury swaddling—but they didn’t. They brought what they knew to be valuable, just as the Robinsons did.

The gifts of the Magi and the Robinson family expressed their affection. Jackie and Rachel Robinson hadn’t encountered many Jews and certainly had no exposure to Jewish practices or traditions. Thus they had no way of knowing Sarah Satlow’s orthodox parents would have plotzed at the sight of the tree. What they knew was the same commandment baby Jesus would learn and grow to teach all who followed him: From the 15th chapter, 7th verse of the book of Deuteronomy, “If there is among you anyone in need, a member of your community … do not be hard-hearted or tight-fisted toward your needy neighbor. You should rather open your hand, willingly lending enough to meet the need, whatever it may be.”

That sensibility informed Jesus’ Sermon on the Mount, and perhaps inspired Rachel and Jackie Robinson to go out on Christmas Eve and get another tree, to choose from among their ornaments ones they would lend. And it is that spirit of offering what is most precious to us, that willingness, yea, that desire, to share it with others, that defines Christmas. For our brothers and sisters worshipping deep in the heart of the Christian tradition, Christmas celebrates the birth of a savior. Here, we lift up the salvific gift inherent in the spirit of generosity made available to all who heed it. We can go a step further than the Magi or the Robinsons. Like Mary and Joseph and the Satlows we can receive the gifts of our neighbors in the spirit in which they were given, even if they don’t fit the occasion. Yes, we can re-gift, but more importantly, we can see through to the heart of their intention and by acknowledging that, we give them what they meant to give us: what we all value—- to be cared about, to be recognized, to be appreciated.

So this Christmas, no matter what Santa brings, no matter how quickly you stash something into next year’s Yankee Swap pile, take a moment to consider your neighbors’ longing. Consider not just what you would want but what they need, and if you have no other point of reference than yourself, give that: give of your good heart and your kind soul, and remember what The Little Prince taught: that “it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.” And perhaps less well known but no less true, “The meaning of things lies not in the things themselves, but in our attitude towards them.”

When Sarah and Archie Satlow see in a tree not a symbol of Christ but the love he learned from the God of their understanding, and when Mary and Joseph recognize an expression of adoration in otherwise impractical gifts, they remind us how to find meaning that can save us by restoring us to love. Amen.

Christmas Eve Enlightenment

Parishioner's Response by Patricia Caspers

I didn't grow up spending Christmas Eve in church. In fact, I didn't spend much time in church at all, so for me Christmas wasn't about the birth of Christ so much as it was about time with family, eggnog, the scent of gingerbread cookie ornaments mingling with the evergreen scent of the tree, and laughter.

When the family scattered because of death and divorce, Christmas changed too.

Because I didn't have faith in the Christmas miracle, for many years my sense of loss at Christmas was stronger than my joy-- and that's still true to some extent, especially since moving 3,000 miles away from the tiny family I have left. I often feel like shouting a la Charlie Brown, "Isn't there anyone who knows what Christmas is all about?" But as much as I appreciate the beauty in Linus's heartfelt monologue, I just don't believe.

I'm learning, though, that all families change over time. Children grow and go their own holiday ways or bring families of their own to the gathering. Death and divorce happen all around, and there are enough melancholy holiday tunes to remind me I'm not alone with my loss.

This year we bundled up our children and attended the candlelight service at First Parish in Fitchburg where we have recently become members. It's a place where my atheist husband and I can enjoy the beauty of the season without feeling like frauds.

The choir carolled, Marcia read a story for all ages: Jackie's Gift: A True Story of Christmas, Hanukkah and Jackie Robinson , (with which I became so enthralled I forgot where I was or what I was doing until my little guy led me blinkingly back to my pew), and Leaf reminded us to accept all gifts with the spirit in which they are given.

While Leaf spoke I thought about all of the Christmas celebrations I've attended with various families since the last happy eve I spent with the Caspers' clan, and I realized that those holidays were gifts, too, yet I accepted them begrudgingly or refused them altogether.

We spent a quiet Christmas morning at home with our children and, for the first time, the evening with my in-laws, whom I'm still coming to know. While I reminisced fondly about Christmases of Old, I kept Leaf's words in mind and was grateful for each gift of the day: a skype with my parents in California, the Santa sparkle in our children's eyes, a tamale assembly line and impromptu mini-feast with my brother-in-law, and of course, the pie.

It's a good and sometimes difficult lesson for every day, to be present to the gifts instead of the trials-- remembering the woman who let me and my over-tired, tantruming preschooler ahead of her in the grocery line, instead of the tantrum itself.

But that's the great thing about life; it offers ample opportunity for learning, and failing, and learning again. And that's a bit of miracle I'll carry into the New Year.