As Christmas approaches I have been thinking about the time I left Mary and Joseph out in the cold. I don’t really know if their names were Mary and Joseph, but it’s possible. And I’ve thought about them often over the years. A few years ago, our family made a quick trip to Pennsylvania and back for a funeral in December. We (read I) try our best to make good time and stop as few times as possible whenever we’re on long trips. We (read I) usually try to combine stops for optimal speed; food, fuel, and bio breaks all at the same time. But, at one point in this trip we realized we would need to make a stop at one of the many rest stops along route I-95S. No food, no fuel, just the break. Ugh.
When we parked, I noticed a small beat-up pickup truck next to us, perhaps a twenty-year-old Nissan or Toyota. A well-loved truck to be sure. Sitting alone in the passenger seat was a woman who looked pleasant but perhaps a bit sad. As we walked to the restroom, a nice older gentleman coming back from the building made a lighthearted comment about one of my girls who was fussing about something, and then continued on his way towards the parking lot.
As I returned to the car, I noticed the same truck was still there. The woman was now sitting sideways in the open door of the truck and the older man who had been friendly a few moments earlier was in the driver’s seat doing something with pliers from a Leatherman tool. “Excuse me, sir,” the woman said to me. I looked at her closely for the first time and noticed that she wasn’t as young as I first thought, though much younger than him, and that she was pregnant. She also looked like she had had a hard life, as did her companion. “Do you have anything you could give us? We’ve got a long way to go and we’re almost out of gas?” I saw that there were some food wrappers on the dashboard and that there might have been a mishmash of personal belongings strewn in the truck. “I’m sorry,” I said, I don’t carry any cash on me.” She said, “Thank you,” and I got into our car and off we went.
Two things occurred to me as I merged back on the highway: First, I remembered that I did have cash – two dollars. Not gas money, but better than nothing, yet I didn’t even look. I really don’t carry cash with me often, I rationalized. But then I thought about how I didn’t really try very hard to help these two persons, offering a silent prayer of confession. My cynical side rationalized that they were really fine, likely living near the interstate and taking the opportunity to get donations from travelers stopping for breaks along I-95. My pastoral side said that they could have been modern day bearers of the Son of God, a pair of nobodies on a journey during which they struggled to find the kindness that all people deserve, and offered another silent prayer of confession.
I will never know who they were nor which of my thoughts was most accurate. Regardless, I did not take an opportunity to aid someone who asked for help. No matter their intentions or need, I had a chance to respond in accordance with Christ’s invitation, and I did not take it. Granted, when I do have cash, sometimes I give to panhandlers, and sometimes I do not. I still rationalize and still ask for forgiveness for my failures. In this season when we remember that our Lord came in such a fragile state to parents who needed but could not find a place to stay, I wonder how many are like them in the world today? Too many, I’m sure.
I don’t know where my Mary and Joseph were headed or where they’ve ended up, but I pray they arrived and that “Mary” had a safe and healthy conclusion to her pregnancy. I will work this Christmas to make sure I have the room in my heart to respond a bit more fully the next time someone asks for my help. I can do more than I think I can to alleviate the suffering of others. Most of us can. As Christmas draws near and we think about gifts given and received, let us thank God for all our blessings, and for giving us hearts big enough to love others. May we use them in this season and all the year long.
