Dr. William A. Ritter
First United Methodist Church, Birmingham, Michigan
Scriptures: Isaiah 9:1-7, Matthew 2:7-11
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.
