Proselytizing by the Best Sellers

The girls hung out at Gymnastics for yet another Parents' Night Out (this time of the year, aka "Dump Your Kids and Shop Night").

I had already gone to a couple of large stores and was at my third for the night, Borders, when my dazed consumer stupor was interrupted by a tall well-groomed man, perfectly disguised as a Christmas shopper, who suddenly started to shout to everyone in the store, "Well, he knows if you've been bad or good! Yes, he does! But who is it who knows? It's not Santa Claus! It's our one and only Lord and Savior, who came to redeem and save the world. What are you doing here? You're buying more and more things for people who already have all that they need. We live in a country that has more storage buildings than it does housing for the poor, and there are people who are cold and hungry, and people who are dying of AIDS, and hookers, but you'd rather forget about them and be good consumers instead!"

There was a more, but by then, store security was already escorting him out.

For someone calling out a sermon in a bookstore, he was pretty lucid. And I stood there, just after he had gone quiet, holding a basket in one hand and a calendar in another, and I thought about his message.

I deliver food to poor families. I donate clothing to Hospice and money to a half-dozen other organizations, including The Heifer Project. I try to treat everyone who begs from me on the street with the respect that one human deserves from another. I give them food when I can, water when I can, money when I can be fairly sure that it won't go to drugs or alcohol. But if I took what I spend on Christmas each year and instead donated it directly to people who could use it, wouldn't that be better than contributing to the excess of the fortunate?

Those who are more cynical might think that the bald truth is that I'm too tired or lazy to finish my Christmas shopping, and I'm getting creative with my excuses for getting out of it.

But really, it's something to think on, isn't it? I mean, you never hear about Jesus dashing around the marketplace trying to find the right sandals for Thomas Didymus, or the perfect belt for Bartholomew for Hanukkah. That just isn't what it's all about.

But being mindful of what it is all about - that's the challenge.
It shouldn't take a man with a message in Borders to remind one of priorities, but if it does, it does. And here and now, still thinking about that man, I remember where the word for "angel" comes from: it's from the Greek word "angelos," which means "messenger."