Learning from Nick--December 6, 2021
Today's dare is a big one: let's help other people believe again (or maybe for the first time) that grace is real. And let's do it, appropriately enough, by taking a page out of the original Santa's playbook.
Let's get right to it. For this day, our way of embodying hope is to give a gift without anybody else knowing you've done it and without anybody knowing to give you credit. It could be big or little, to an individual or a ministry you want to support, or some other agency doing important work, near or far. You could pay for the person coming up behind you in the drive-through, or at the lunch counter without letting them know you are doing it. You could pay for the groceries of the next customer in line at the store. You could put a gift in an envelope or box and mail it or drop it off on someone's front door just because you know they could use it. You could give an anonymous gift to your local homeless ministry, or buy a present for a child through your local Salvation Army or school district.
The details are up to you--what you can afford and what you know would do some good. But the strategy is the same for all of them: to give anonymously, so that the credit doesn't come back to you, and so that it's clear there are no strings attached. In other words, today's way of embodying hope for people is to act with unconditional love. It is about giving by grace. In a world that only operates in terms of deals, return on investments, and getting paid back (or at least getting credit), go and be wonderfully countercultural by practicing intentional generosity for folks who can't do a thing in return for you--because they won't even know it was you.
That's where Santa's playbook comes in--at least the original inspiration for the cartoon caricature we have settled for in our time. Most folks have some awareness that behind the "jolly old elf" with the reindeer-pulled sleigh is the historical figure of Nicholas of Myra (in modern-day Turkey), who lived in the third and fourth century and was a bishop in the early church. But what we often forget is how very different the strategies of our modern version of Santa are from our older brother in the faith, Nicholas. Nicholas, at least the way the stories go, had a reputation for anonymous giving, not based on who was "worthy" or "unworthy," who had been "good" versus "bad," but simply on the basis of who was in need. His giving was secret, unexpected, and intended not to be discovered. And people didn't present a list of demands to him for him to fulfill like an online shopping vendor, but rather he gave as he saw the needs without anybody expecting him to do a thing. And Nicholas famously gave that way--by grace--because he knew something about the character of God. Nicholas knew--as Jesus both taught and embodied--that God is generous even to stinkers and loves unconditionally, with a particular concern for those who are stepped on in life, up against the wall, and overlooked. So he gave to others in ways that reflected that same kind of unconditional generosity--helping people in dire straits, combatting human trafficking, and giving to people who couldn't pay him back. He shared by reason of grace, not based on calculating who had earned it or who could return the favor for him one day.
Sometimes it startles me just how much our culture's concept of Santa Claus has distorted the pattern of Nicholas' life. We teach kids that this all-knowing magical person sees and keeps track of who has been "naughty" and who has been "nice," rewarding the good and threatening to disappoint the bad. And in our culture, at least, everybody knows who's doing all this leaving of presents. When toys appear under the tree, there's no secrecy or hidden generosity in our culture's storytelling--as the song goes, "It must be Santa!" How different from the anonymous, unconditional grace of an ordinary man who knew that part of his calling as a leader in the church was to embody the generosity of God and to practice grace for others, simply on the basis of their need rather than any question of "earning" it.
So what if we dared today to be different--like the actual Nicholas? What if today our secret mission was to give something without being noticed, without regard for reciprocity or reward, because like our old brother in faith Nick, we have come to know that same kind of grace as God's calling card, too? It seems our culture cannot stand very much grace--we are so quick to label people as "undeserving" or tell ourselves we have pulled ourselves up by our own bootstraps that it's no wonder we turned Nicholas into a rewarder of the "deserving" whom everybody knows about. And it's no wonder, either that we have changed the simple, direct actions of one ordinary person giving to others into a mythology of magic with elves and reindeer and flying sleighs, as though we can't possibly imagine any actual person giving to others generously without having the power of magic to power the whole enterprise. But that's just it: it's not about magic. It is simply about daring to embody the love we have come to know in God-with-us, Jesus, who gives generously and unconditionally, the same love we have seen in smaller scale (but still just as real) in the real-life actual actions of people like Nicholas, or the neighbor next door, or the face in the mirror. It's not about tapping into something magical that only can happen in December. It's about being a part of a divine conspiracy of grace in a world obsessed with making deals and disqualifying those deemed undeserving. And that can happen on any day.
But, given that today is the day the church remembers the life and witness of our older brother Nick, who died on this day long long ago, today is an especially good day to try our hand at practicing reckless generosity. Today, you and I can help someone else around to believe again, not in some ambiguous silliness called "Christmas magic," but in the very real, and very amazing, existence of grace.
Lord God, help us in this day to live trusting that your grace is real... and let it shape the direction of all of our actions and words, as well.
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