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O come all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant …

It was a chilly December evening in downtown Chicago, and about a dozen of us from a suburban Christian college were Christmas caroling. My best friend, Uriel, stood next to me, his steady, strong voice carrying the group. A few people stopped to listen.

… O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem, Come and behold him …

A black man edged closer as we sang. He seemed to eye me, the only African American in our group. His head nodded in rhythm with the melody.

… O come let us adore him, Christ the Lord!

"Say, brother," he said, approaching me as the song ended, "would you please help my family? We ain't got no money and my baby needs formula."

He was probably in his 20s, but his tired and ragged appearance made him look much older. "Please, man. I need to get us some food."

I glanced at the others in my group. We knew the safest response was to politely refuse. Yet we were Christians. Weren't we supposed to help needy people?

"Would you please help me?" the plea came again. "Just a few dollars."

I looked at Uriel.

"We can't give you money," Uriel finally said, "but we can buy you what you need." If the guy was telling us the truth, it was something we had to do.

"My name is Jerome," he told us as we hiked toward a nearby convenience store. He lived in a city housing project with his wife and three kids. As we entered the store, I noticed that his eyes seemed to brighten. Maybe we'd brought a little hope into his life.

Soon we'd bought him baby formula, eggs and milk. This seemed a fitting conclusion to our evening of caroling.

As we handed Jerome the groceries and bus fare, I noticed his eyes had darkened into an angry stare. "You think you better than me, don't you?" he said. "You all think you somethin' 'cause you come out from the suburbs, buyin' food for the po' folks, but you ain't no better than me."

"No … " I struggled to find more words, but nothing came. I realized there was nothing I could say that would change his mind.

After a moment of awkward silence, Jerome grabbed his bag of groceries and walked away. Then he suddenly turned and said sharply, "Merry Christmas." It was not a warm wish, but a bitter statement filled with broken pride.

The December air blew colder. No one said a word.

There wasn't anything to say. Our holiday spirit had suddenly evaporated, and there was no way to bring it back.

We might have resented Jerome and felt justified. But was he wrong? We gave him a gift. He accepted it. Should there have been anything more?

That's sort of how it was at the first Christmas. Jesus wasn't born a helpless baby for applause. He didn't hang on the cross for the praise—those he died for made fun of him. Still, he gave selflessly and unconditionally. Why had we expected gratitude and appreciation for our gift to Jerome?

Strangely enough, Jerome gave us something far better than gratitude. He made us look hard at our selfish motives and gave us a sobering lesson on the real reason for giving.

We were expecting a pat on the back. Instead, Jerome gave us a glimpse into the true meaning of Christmas.

Read more from 'Witness & Missions'

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