When I was a pastor in a rural area, some folks participated in a low-key mission project called “Dental Transportation,” for lack of a more exciting term. Every once in a while, volunteers would get a call notifying them that a family needed to visit the only dentist in the area who accepted Medicaid and provided pediatric services. His office was at least 30 minutes from our town, which meant that many of these families had been putting off the dental care for a long time. (Thank goodness it was only half an hour! I know many people have a much longer drive.)
I went along on one of these trips, to attempt to translate for a Spanish-speaking family. (Languages get rusty if you don’t practice!) On that trip I learned more than I ever wanted to know about childhood tooth decay.
Until today, that is.
This morning, my family was the family bringing in the baby with a mouth full of decaying teeth. We are still not sure how this happened — we have tried lots of things, and the only thing we have left to try is “brush more.”
But I’m not writing this to tell you a sob story. I’m writing because the episode has taught me about Christmas.
You see, I felt absolutely ashamed bringing my daughter in there. There is a stereotype of children with poor oral health: that their parents don’t take good care of them, that they can’t afford a toothbrush, et cetera. Many parents, myself included, also carry around a wishful-thinking stereotype of a well-educated suburban family with gleaming teeth. I thought I wasn’t a person who bought into to stereotypes. I’m above all that, I thought. Yet the stereotypes hit me with full force this morning, and I was ashamed. Afraid too.
After she got her fillings, and after we had received another reminder about brushing, we collected our precious doll and went home. As we left, I started thinking about Mary and Joseph.
What were they thinking as they traveled to Bethlehem? Did they wonder, “How did this happen to me?” Were they hoping that they wouldn’t run into anyone they knew? Did they give evasive answers to people as they asked around for lodging? (“Yes, she is my … uh … wife.”) Were they ashamed? Were they afraid?
I hope they felt full of confidence as they traveled that road. After all, how many couples do you meet that have received two visitations from angels, and who are about to be the caretakers of the Son of God? But it would be OK with me if I found out that the journey was emotionally trying for them. Nothing good is ever easy.
If Christmas means anything to us, it ought to mean that we sympathize with Mary and Joseph. They were tired, poor, outcast, and potentially in big trouble. And yet they brought forth a gift for all of us.
So, if we sympathize with Mary and Joseph, what is holding us back from having mercy on people in similar circumstances? Judgment? Fear of becoming like them? Shame?
If you can only give one gift this year, make it a gift to someone who is vulnerable and worried. A little comfort and joy go a long way on an uneasy journey.
a student surveying the journey ahead, New Mexico 2010
Pastor2K 