“Sit down,” he said, “and tell me more about this business of a tiny candle and a little girl’s prayer.”
Bob listened with great interest as the two told him about what that night had held for them. Bob was noticeably moved by their story. When they concluded, he asked how he could be of assistance. Gus said they needed transportation back to the little girl’s apartment.
“The mission still has that old station wagon, doesn’t it?” Gus asked. Bob sat quietly staring at the floor.
Puzzled, Gus asked again, “The car, you still have it?”
“Oh, that’s no problem,” replied Bob quietly. He sighed and shook his head. Looking up with an apologetic smile, he explained, “Some of these poor souls have been in and out of this mission hundreds of times. To many, this is their home. Most eventually die in some alley or in the general hospital. It’s difficult to give all you have in pursuit of your belief that you can make a difference in the lives of others yet nothing... nothing can be seen. No results. Each night I question why I am still here? At first, my faith kept me here... now, where else could I go?
One of the few... the very few I was able to lead to recovery is my assistant, Philip, who has now been working faithfully with me these past twenty years. But that is one person... one soul in all these years that I am sure I have helped. It just seems hopeless... now, all I am trying to do is make their hopelessness more bearable until... until it... well... until their lives end.”
Gus noted with sorrow that Bob’s life-long work had caused within him feelings of emptiness and despair, much like Jenny’s parents must feel. But now, a little girl’s prayer had reawakened within Bob his feelings from so long ago. How he had prayed for others. How he had been sure he could help make a change. Now, he did not pray any more, but suddenly, he had a chance to make a difference... to help answer a little girl’s prayer.
“I want to do more than drive you there with your bag of toys, Gus. I want to give a gift!” he said. “Stay here, I’ll be right back!”
Bob slipped out of the room and up the stairs to the second floor. He walked over to a desk, old and marred. He opened the top drawer and pulled loose a key taped to the top of the drawer. He came back down the stairs clutching the key in his hand. “I’ve got it,” he declared to his two puzzled guests.
Reaching high up onto a shelf in the closet, he pulled down a bag, dusty and ragged. Sitting down, he placed it on his lap. He reached inside and pulled out a metal box. He held it up for all to see.
“Many years ago, one of the men who stayed at the mission gave this to me. He was so thankful for the mission and the care and love it gave to him. Before he died, he gave this box and its key to me with the simple instructions that it was only to be opened and the contents used when it would help God answer someone’s prayer. I’d... I’d forgotten it was here until now.” His eyes filled with tears and he stopped speaking.
Just before, Bob had spoken of the hopelessness of it all. Now, confronted with the box and the instructions for its use, he was also confronted with the fact that it had never been opened. Why? Because he had never needed it!
Everything he had asked for, God had given him. All those men who had passed through his doors, cold, hungry, desperate... men who had died in alleys, their lives never changed, or so he thought. Bob had asked God to be able to care for these men and for thirty years the doors had stayed open, the light and heat bills had been paid and a pot of nourishing vegetable soup had been continuously bubbling on the stove. That had been Bob’s prayer, and the prayer of the men who came to him, and it had been answered.
But what of the hopelessness of these men’s unchanged lives? And yet, who was to say their lives were unchanged? With whose eyes did one truly see the changes in men? It is God who sees the true changes, the changes that matter. Bob was there to care for their physical needs and God, using Bob’s example of loving care, sought to change their lives.
Bob wiped his eyes and said, “The contents of this box will be my gift.”
Bob took the key and opened the box. Its contents: five gold coins and a piece of paper. Bob unfolded the paper and read aloud these words:
“As this box and its contents were given to me, I now give them to another. I was to use the coins in the event God did not answer my prayers. To my life’s end, when upon hard times, a friend took me in and gave me shelter and food. God answers prayers.”
“This man never spoke much about his faith or beliefs,” Bob said slowly. “I just assumed that a man who passed through these doors suffered not only physical deprivation but also spiritual. Think of it! To feel that a cot and a bowl of vegetable soup were the answer to his prayer. We tend to measure a person’s standing with God by his importance in life, but this man had a deeper faith than most who live in comfort.”
Gus reached into the box and took out the gold coins. He looked at them closely. “These coins are old and they appear to be gold. They would seem to be of great value,” Gus said, handing them to Bob. “You could do many things for the mission with these coins. Do you truly want to give them away?”
“Yes,” he said, nodding his head and putting the coins back in the box. “These coins will be my gift to the little girl and to her family!”
Bob turned the note over and wrote something on it. He placed the note and the coins back in the box. He closed the lid, locked it once again and left the key in the lock.
“This will be my gift!” he said determinedly. “I have no need of it - God has always answered my prayers and I’m confident he will continue to do so.”
***
Then, the three men bundled up and went on their journey to find the little girl and help God answer her prayer.
The snow which had begun to fall the morning of Christmas Eve had now turned into a blinding blizzard. The men quickly agreed that it was not a good idea to try driving the old station wagon in such a storm and decided to walk. The three, carrying their gifts, tried desperately to make their way in the snow. The street signs were covered with ice and even familiar landmarks had disappeared, buried in the deep drifts.
The only thing that was visible to give them some indication as to where they should go was an occasional neon sign… “Ted’s Diner - Good Food”... “Betty’s Dry Cleaning.” Finally, there came a clear light shining through the snow, high over the buildings that shadowed the streets they were traveling. They wondered what it was.
“I know, let’s follow it. It has to be the light in the steeple of Old First,” said Gus. “The steeple is the highest point in that section of the city.”
“Yes, it is Old First,” exclaimed Mr. Ellis. “Follow the light, Bob.”
With a surge of renewed strength, they pushed on, hoping to complete their journey before daybreak. At last they stood before Old First and the entrance to the alley. Cold and covered with snow, they looked up at the steeple and gasped in amazement.
“The steeple doesn’t have a light,” said Gus.
“That’s right,” replied Bob. “I just remembered. It hasn’t worked in twenty years!” They turned their heads looking for the source of their guiding light and there, twinkling through the cracked window, was the tiny candle.
Quickly they crossed to Jenny’s apartment. Brushing the snow from their clothing, they knocked quietly on the door.
A light came on and soon there was a voice from the other side, a man’s voice inquiring, “Who is it?” They stood speechless. How could they answer such a question?
Finally, Mr. Ellis spoke up. “We’ve come in the snow and have something for Jenny and the baby.”
The door opened a crack and two eyes looked over the three men standing in the hallway. The voice again asked, “Who are you?”
“Can we come in? We have some Christmas presents for the children,” said Mr. Ellis.
“Are you from the church?” asked the father.
The three looked at one another, smiled and Mr. Ellis said, “I gues
s you could say that.” Jenny’s father slowly opened the door.
They walked in and could see the children sleeping peacefully in the next room, which was lit only by the little candle. They took off their hats and loosened their coats.
Reverently, they walked to the door of the bedroom. The children were curled up tightly under their blankets. The three men looked at the flickering candle. Bowing their heads, they reflected silently upon the meaning this night had for each of them.
Gus and Bob took their gifts and quietly placed them at the bottom of the children’s beds… the bag of toys, the box of gold coins. Without a word, Mr. Ellis reached into his vest pocket and pulled from it a beautiful diamond ring, the ring he would have given Pauline on their wedding day. A ring she would never wear. He stared at it for a long moment, tears glimmering unshed in his eyes.
He reached out and handed the ring to Jenny’s mom. “For the children,” he whispered. He smiled. He thought how happy she would be that even in death, she was still helping the people she cared so much about in life. Now, Jenny’s little brother could get the medical treatment he needed.
Jenny’s parents stood amazed, taking in the scene unfolding before their eyes. The men turned around quietly and left the apartment as quickly as they had come. They walked out of the building and stood in front of Old First. The snow had stopped and the sun was peeking between the clouds. Christmas day would be cold but sunny.
The three men looked at one another. It would be a night they would never forget. They said goodbye and each went his separate way.
Still flickering in the window was the candle. The little candle that had miraculously lasted throughout the night yielded to the light of day. Its light quietly went out as it dissolved into the dish of wax. It had completed its task. It had guided the three to the Babe.
“On coming to the house, they saw the child with His mother Mary, and they bowed down and worshiped Him. Then they opened their treasures and presented Him with gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.” Matthew 2:11
An Empty Manger
The old shopkeeper looked down at the three children from behind his counter. Shaking his head, he said, “I am sorry. I sold the last one just this morning. Perhaps another shop down…”
“No,” interrupted the father. “We have tried everywhere. You were our last hope!”
“I am truly sorry,” said the shopkeeper as he patted little Timmy on the head. “Maybe next year I’ll have more. Next Christmas.”
Walking from the shop into the cold December air, Clare snapped at little Timmy as the bell hanging on the shop’s door rang out in sympathy with their disappointment. “Next Christmas! It’s all your fault. If you hadn’t been playing with it, it wouldn’t have gotten broken.”
Timmy rubbed his eyes and began crying. “I didn’t mean to break it!”
Father knelt down and put his arms around Timmy. “Don’t cry. We know you didn’t mean for it to break.”
“I’m sorry, Timmy,” added Clare as she laid her head on Father’s shoulder near his. “I know you didn’t mean for it to break.”
“What are we going to do, Dad?” asked Aaron. “It won’t be Christmas without it.”
“Well,” replied Father as he hoisted little Timmy onto his shoulders, “let’s go home and talk it over with Mom. Come on. Let’s see who can run the fastest!”
Away they ran towards home, forgetting for a brief moment their problem, which if left unsolved could, as Clare would say, “Simply ruin Christmas!”
After the evening meal, they all gathered around the Christmas tree for a family discussion about this crisis threatening Christmas.
“What are we going to do?” questioned Aaron again, shaking his head.
“I think we should just put it all away. What good is it now?” reasoned Clare.
“No, we can’t do that, can we, Mom? It wouldn’t be Christmas without it. It has always been under our tree,” Aaron replied as he picked up the figure of Joseph.
“Yes,” said Clare, “but we’ve never had an empty manger before. Look, they all look silly, standing around and staring at… at… an empty manger.”
Once again, Timmy began to cry. Several days before, he had taken the figure of the Christ child and tossed it into the air. A missed catch had deposited it on the floor in many pieces.
Aaron exclaimed in an attempt to cheer Timmy up, “Hey, I know! I’ve got an idea. This is Christmas Eve, right? Well, Jesus wasn’t born until Christmas Day, right? That’s tomorrow. So the manger should be empty, right?”
“Great idea,” replied Clare, unimpressed. “And what about tomorrow? Will He be there tomorrow?”
“Oh, I didn’t think of that,” Aaron said slowly.
“Okay, enough of our family discussion,” announced Mother. “It’s getting late. So, off to bed. We’ll talk about this tomorrow. Tomorrow is Christmas, you know.”
***
Christmas morning came with a shout from little Timmy, “Look everyone, it’s snowing! It’s snowing!”
“Gee, how can you tell?” questioned Clare as she emerged from her bedroom, rubbing her eyes. “It’s still dark outside.”
“Get up, Dad. Come on, Mom. It’s Christmas. It’s Christmas!” Aaron yelled as he ran down the hallway.
Aaron was in charge of passing out the presents. He began calling out names as the family gathered around the Christmas tree. “This one’s for Timmy… and this one’s for Clare… and this one… Hey!” Aaron stopped passing out the presents. “Look at that!” Reaching down, he picked up the manger and held it up for everyone to see. Then he handed it to Father, hoping for some explanation.
Father took the manger and emptied the contents into his hands. First he held up an old tarnished wedding ring. He had given it to his wife when they were first married. It was all he could afford at the time. Long since replaced with a fine diamond ring, she still treasured it as one of her most precious possessions.
Next, he showed them a tiny sea shell. Grandpa had found it for Clare one summer while walking along the seashore. “If you put it to your ear and listen with your heart,” he’d say, “you can hear the angels singing.” Clare kept it next to her bed. As she listened to the angels, she would remember all the wonderful times she’d had with her best friend, her grandpa.
Then, Father held up an old, weather-beaten, scratched-up buckle that had belonged to Coco, Aaron’s dog. He had taken it from Coco’s collar when Coco died last spring. Aaron carried that old buckle around with him in his pocket wherever he went.
Next, there was a key that belonged to their old house, a small, never quite adequate house, but still Father carried that key with him. It belonged to the house that was their first home as a family and in which his children were born.
One last object remained, a marble. It was Timmy’s prize “shooter,” a gift from Father. It was the envy of all the other kids in the neighborhood. Timmy and his special “shooter” were unbeatable.
Each family member had come in the dark of the night and placed in the empty manger something of theirs which was of great importance to them... things that could not be replaced. They filled the empty manger with the things of this world that reminded them of the great and irreplaceable gift God gave the world that first Christmas.
Quietly they sat and stared at the things resting in the palms of Father’s cupped hands. Carefully, he placed them back in the empty manger and handed it to Aaron saying, “Put this back beneath our tree, Aaron ... our manger is empty no longer.”
Sister Frances
It was a time of unbridled optimism. It was called the decade of the New Era. President Herbert Hoover announced to the American people that poverty would soon be no more. It was Christmas Eve, 1929.
The decade of bobbed hair, installment loans and pole sitting was coming to an end. Soon, the year that brought the Roaring Twenties to a screeching halt would be over. Two months before, almost to the day, panic swept
Wall Street as the Boom Decade went Bust. The stock market crash on Black Monday was heard around the world.
That Christmas, everyone hoped this was only a temporary setback and that the Decade of the Thirties would usher in a New Era of prosperity, but few believed it. The country was slipping fast into the deepest depression in its history and nothing or nobody could stop it.
Pastors from their pulpits thundered denunciation of the sins of the Twenties and prophesied that the nation would reap a bitter harvest for years to come. Newspapers carried story after story of the nation’s economic demise and the plight of its citizens. They echoed the soundings of the nation’s pulpits, even using some of their theological language. America would have to pay and pay dearly for its sins of materialistic indulgence: easy credit, foolhardy spending, and reckless living.
***
John just shook his head as he scanned the evening newspaper. While the newspaper reported in great detail the sensational stories of multi-million dollar losses and massive corporation bankruptcies, John was only concerned about keeping the doors of the church building open and caring for the people devastated by the times.
“Hi, dear, when did you get home?” Frances asked as she kissed John on the forehead. “You feel a little warm. Are you all right?”
“Yes, I feel fine,” said John, still occupied with the newspaper. “Really, I’m okay,” he repeated, shrugging off Frances’ concern.
“Do you have to go out again tonight?” she asked. “It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Yes, tonight,” he replied. “Christmas Eve...huh! I guess it is. Doesn’t seem like Christmas Eve. We’ve called a special meeting of the Relief Committee. We are expecting 500 people for dinner tomorrow. I hope we have enough food.”
“Oh, you will,” Frances said, turning off the stove. John sat down and tossed the newspaper on the table. “I don’t know, Fanny. It’s tough enough keeping the church doors open… and now there are so many who need our help…”
“That’s what the church is supposed to do,” replied Frances. “Keep its doors open for people in need. And as long as we keep our doors open to the needy, God will never allow them to be closed.” She paused, smiling. “I think I heard that in a sermon recently.”