“And the Word became f lesh and l ived among us” (John 1:14).
Bonnie Wheeler tells of a week before Christmas when her daughter Becki was recovering from massive orthopedic surgery in a pediatric ward where candy canes and jingle bells mingled with I.V. poles and wheelchairs.
Whenever Becki’s bed was bumped, she screamed with pain. One rough, tough little boy named Tyrone was always either running through the ward or riding a tricycle at full speed, and kept going through Becki’s room. Bonnie sat down for a talk with Tyrone, explained about Becki’s surgery and her pain at being bumped. Bonnie discovered that Tyrone had been beaten almost to death by his father and at the end of the week, the day before Christmas, would be released to a foster home.
Tyrone asked why Becki was black like him instead of white like her mother. Bonnie told him about adoption. After that, Tyrone became Becki’s fiercest protector. He made others keep quiet when around her and would often stroke Becki’s hand.
During one visit, Bonnie mentioned Christmas to Tyrone. Tyrone, his huge dark eyes, haunted by a lifetime of sadness and abuse, said, “Lady, Christmas ain’t never gonna come.”
Bonnie writes: “At that moment, I was forced to see the pain of some of those at Christmas, usually a joyful and loving time. I took Tyrone in my arms and hugged him tight, telling him, ‘Christmas always comes because God loves you. And I do, too.’ It was all I could do, but for that moment—for Tyrone—it was enough.”
Ironically, in those times when it feels least like Christmas, it might be most like Christmas. When nothing seems comfortable, or normal, or familiar, we may be nearer the true Christmas spirit than we could ever imagine. It was because of our despair, hopelessness and helplessness that Jesus came into our world. This Spirit of Christmas speaks to our true condition as those who so need a savior.
Dr. Thomas Tewell of 5th Avenue Presbyterian Church in New York tells a true story of a Christmas Eve service there. Among the worshipers that night was Jim, six months sober. It was his first Christmas since his drinking had destroyed his family and he had lost them. A family of four sat directly in front of him. Knowing what he lost, and overwhelmed with sadness, he decided he just couldn’t handle these feelings without a drink.
Moving from the sanctuary to the foyer, he met Dr. Tewell. “Where are you going, Jim?”
“Oh, I’m going out for a scotch.”
“You can’t do that,” Dr. Tewell protested. “Isn’t your sponsor available?”
“My sponsor is in Minnesota. I just came here for a word of hope. If I had kept my life together, I would be here with my family.”
Dr. Tewell left Jim with two other pastors and returned to the sanctuary. He prayed a silent prayer: “Lord, could you give me a word of hope for Jim?”
After welcoming the worshipers to the service, he added, “I have one final announcement. If anyone here tonight is a friend of Bill Wilson—and if you are, you’ll know it—could you step out for a moment and meet me in the foyer?” Bill “W.” is recognized as the founder of Alcoholics Anonymous.
From all over the sanctuary, women, men, and college students stood and made their way to the foyer. And while Dr. Tewell was preaching in the sanctuary about the Incarnation, the Word was becoming flesh in the vestry! Someone was experiencing hope. And others were finding, and sharing, the true, sustaining, healing power of Christmas.
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