“Excuse me, sir? Could you help us?’
I looked up from a chicken biscuit, Coca-Cola, my Bible, and journal to meet the gaze of a determined man. He was bundled up for a blizzard. His boots, pants, jacket, and sock hat were all worse for wear—like they’d seen more mud than snow. In Decatur, Georgia, the skies rarely snow. And if flakes do appear, they are often accompanied by the unwelcome guests of sleet and ice.
“I can try,” I said, intrigued, but a little perturbed that he had interrupted my advent devotional. The first Sunday of December is a time to reflect on the times that God told his people about the coming of Jesus—some centuries before his humble birth.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said, “but my family and I are running out of luck.” He raised a tired arm in the direction of a woman and two children bundled up just like him. “I moved us here from West Virginia this fall to try and find some construction work.”
His defeated voice reminded me of tired football linemen from losing teams mercilessly interviewed about miniscule missed plays. This man was weary.
“The job was good for a couple months,” he continued, “but I got laid off. Gradually we’ve had to sell everything off to keep ourselves fed.”
I stole a glance at the table and saw steaming Styrofoam cups, but no trays. Maybe they’ve finished breakfast, I thought.
“Uh, sure, I understand,” I said trying to be compassionate. I was 17, drove a sports car, and argued with my parents about college. I didn’t — couldn’t — understand his plight. I reached for my wallet.
“Oh, no. No. I don’t want your money.” His tone was urgent. Defiant. “We’re working our way to North Carolina. I hear there’re jobs there. We’ve sold off everything but our camping gear. We’ve got some food and some money.” He looked at the floor and grew quiet. “My wife and I are picking up odd jobs—leaf raking, gutter cleaning, that type of thing. Between walking and hitching, we want to be there by New Year’s.”
I must have looked confused. If he didn’t want my money, how could I help him? I was about to ask the question when he looked up from the floor with the same determination he started our conversation with.
“We need some candles. We don’t want to use our money for them.”
The message wasn’t getting any clearer.
“You’d be surprised the type of heat that a single candle can generate while your camping. Just light one in your tent and it’s like having a kerosene heater.”
I understood the concept. I had been winter camping in Minnesota a few years beforehand. One simple taper candle lit and warmed our snow hut for the night. Just don’t put your sleeping bag near the middle. The condensation from the ceiling will drip on you. I’d never tried it in a tent, but I assumed the same concept worked.
But, I still couldn’t figure him out. Why was he talking to me? I glanced at the parking lot to see if there was a truck painted “Candle City” in the parking lot. Did he have the wrong guy?
“I see you’re reading your Bible. You must go to church. A lot of churches have candles this time of year.”
The light bulbs finally popped on. “Yeah. I do go to church. Not to far from here. And, uh, yeah… we’ve got tons of candles.”
He looked at me. His fiery eyes flickered with hope. I could tell he was trying to suppress it.
I gave him directions to my church and told him to ask for one of the deacons. “They replace the pew candles every Sunday morning with new ones. The used ones are stacked in the men’s bathroom above the coat rack. I’m sure they’ll give you some. Tell them I sent you.” I told him my name with extra emphasis on my last name. Surely, the fact that this weary traveler knew my family and me would grease the skids with the deaconate.
He stuck out his hand and pumped mine in a firm shake, then turned and strode to his family. He must have told them what I had said. He was out the door faster than Santa up a chimney.
I shrugged my shoulders and went back to my devotion and my Bible reading.
The Spirit of the Lord GOD is upon Me,
Because the LORD has anointed Me
To preach good tidings to the poor;
He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted,
It was part of the prophesies of the coming king. His mission statement, if you will.
My reading and thoughts were interrupted again by the man’s wife and children. The kids didn’t say anything, and the wife was soft-spoken. “Thank you, sir. You’ve helped us so much.”
“You’re welcome,’ I managed to say. ‘Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas!” I thought I even saw the kids mouths move.
They headed out the door. She held a child’s hand with each of hers. I watched them walk down a grassy hill behind the MARTA rail yard. I returned to my reading.
To comfort all who mourn,
To console those who mourn in Zion,
To give them beauty for ashes,
The oil of joy for mourning,
The garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness;
That they may be called trees of righteousness,
The planting of the LORD, that He may be glorified.
I scribbled some in my journal. Dumb thoughts about why God spent so much time talking about the poor and oppressed. Written like a Western teenager who had never missed a meal. I gave up on my attempt at profundity and headed to church. As I drove, I saw the family’s campground so out of place among the landscape of historic homes, modern rail system, and storefronts along Ponce de Leon Avenue. They were packing up to leave.
I parked and hustled across the street racing against the cold breeze trying to infiltrate my jacket. I strained against the solid oak doors of our church that were always hard to open. A furnace blast of dry air assaulted my face as I walked in. I saw, Mr. Burke, a deacon and the head usher. He was known as a tight wad who wore the same suit every Sunday. Everyone considered this suit a supernatural gift. Sears’ suits don’t normally last for 12 years and polyester doesn’t normally keep its shape so well. As a little kid, I could’ve sworn his hair was actually plastic and not two gallons of hairspray I now saw at 17.
“Good morning, Mr. Burke! Did anyone come in looking for some candles?”
“Yessir, they did,” he said with evil glee, waving a stack of Christmas bulletins through the air. “Swep’ in ‘ere and had the audacity to ask for our candles.”
“Did he mention that I sent him?”
“You? No, he didn’t. Why did you send him? Oh, doesn’t matter. We don’t help people like that.”
I was speechless. As I tried to form some words to tell their story, he changed the subject.
“So, you still drivin’ that T-Bird? Betcha waxed it this weekend didn’t you? It’s a waste of time, I tell ya. You know they only put paint on cars so the metal wouldn’t rust. Then, people started asking for the paint to be protected of all things. Now, you kids think you need to wax your cars. Waste of time, I tell ya. I haven’t even washed my car since I bought it in ‘79. It looks great…”
He had given me this lecture before. I usually tuned out when I heard the word “wax.” I headed for the bathroom door without a word. Somewhere in the middle of his speech, he had turned his attention to straightening the bulletins. As I reached the door, I heard his attention turn to complaining about how much electricity was required to run the lights on our church’s Chrismon tree.
I went into the bathroom and grabbed a handful of candles, marched out to my freshly waxed car, and headed back toward the makeshift campground. But I was too late. They were gone. I drove around on main thoroughfares and side streets looking for the family. I had the candles, but I couldn’t give the gift.
My church had erred on the side of caution instead of compassion. There was “no room for them in the inn.” At Christmas no less. I thought to myself, Maybe we should sing, “A mighty fortress is our church/its doors and hearts are locked tight.”
Then, I felt the Lord pointing the spotlight at me. I sat and read my Bible instead of getting out of my seat to help. I asked a man who was at the end of his rope to face shame and tell his story one more time. And Mr. Burke—of all people—answered his query.
Jesus came to do all of those things listed in Isaiah 61. And He did. But, He also expects me to do them as well.
“When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.
“Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’
“The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’
“Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’
“They also will answer, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?’
“He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’
“Then they will go away not to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.”
Jesus had come to visit me at Christmas in the form of a father who needed candles.
And I gave him directions.
I love what John 1:8 really means. The verse reads, “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” The phrase “dwelt among us” comes from words that really mean “pitched his tent.” Jesus pitched his tent in the shadow of MARTA. And I sent him to a brusque, bull of a man.
While I still love candles at Christmas, I can’t light one without bitter-sweet thoughts of the man in the orange parka.
This Christmas, don’t just put a little money in a Salvation Army bucket or pull an angel from a tree, go yourself. Look into the eyes of someone who needs Christmas. Warm someone with your touch. Give a gift that brings a tear to your eye. Because when you do, you will look into the eyes of, touch, and give a gift to Jesus Himself.