Where Would Jesus Come For Christmas?

It’s been a while since I’ve been in the US for Christmas. I don’t remember much about what it’s like, other than that it’s extremely commercial. Here it’s totally and completely full of contradictions. It’s meant to be a beautiful, amazing time when you think of all of the wonderful parts of life. But in Africa, okay, in third world countries, you really remember why Christ needed to come.

I stayed home from school today, so I was here, watching Elf and sitting next to the Christmas tree, when a man showed up at our door. His name is Joseph, and he looks about forty five, but he was frail and shaking. He was recently a high school student and living at an orphanage, so he can’t be beyond 25 or thirty. My Mom went out to talk to him. He has AIDS and is on treatment, but has come down with Tuberculosis. He ran out of money. He and his wife were kicked out of their house. He was not even allowed to get into his house to retrieve his medication. He was turned away by the parish and left with absolutely nothing. He came just looking for some help. We don’t always help everyone we come across, sometimes people lie about their situations, but in this case it was clear what we needed to do. We gave him some money to get back to the village where he will at least have a place to sleep in his grandmother’s house, and my mom prayed with him. This man needs Christ’s love and salvation so much this year. I just pray he continues to get it.

I’m also reminded of the orphans I visited in Lira. This year they will at least have their own toys, and I just pray that they are reminded of how much Christ loves them.

A few years ago, we went to Rwanda around Christmas time. A few days before Christmas we drove down to Murambe, a place near the border with Burundi. During the Rwandan genocide, the government invited thousands of Tutsis to come and stay at a church for protection. Instead of being protected, they were starved for two weeks so that they could not fight back, and 50,000 people were murdered. Four survived. One of the survivors returned after things had settled and showed the new government where the mass graves were. The bodies were retrieved, and those that were not too far decayed were preserved with lime, treated with dignity, and are now part of a museum to remind everyone of what happened.

I will never be able to forget the image of the baby with the smashed skull. He was still wearing a little shirt, but his head was entirely caved in. His face though… it’s enough to give you chills.

Jesus was born in a manger. Yes, I know we all know that. But he was born in Israel, an oppressed country where people suffered of Leprosy. He was not born in Rome. I cannot help but think that if He were to come today He would choose to be born in Africa, where He would reach out to people suffering from AIDS, where he would demonstrate unconditional love to orphans whose parents were killed in front of them. He would speak hope to the darkest places. And He would die to take away the pain.

How can we say that Christmas is about setting up a tree? That’s great, but I think the real way to commemorate the birth of Christ is to think about where he would be, and what he would do, at this time of year.

We do not know when Christ will return. But in the mean time our job is to love those that He would have loved. I mean, for goodness’ sake, he loved a prostitute. Our job is to love those who suffer from AIDS, those who are alone. Celebration is necessary, though, because we all have the hope of Christ. Joseph can have hope that he will meet his Savior, despite everything he has gone through. The baby at Murambe I believe is with Jesus. And so we must celebrate through all of the suffering the fact that in Jesus, we have hope.

To me, that is what Christmas means. As I look at our tree with the African ornaments, and think of my collection of ornaments from all around the world, I know that all of this is to celebrate the beauty of hope in the darkest places.

Merry Christmas.