already and not yet

“That’ll be $28.62.”

The Aldi cashier looked expectantly at the woman in line ahead of me. He had efficiently rung up and tossed her 20 or so items into the waiting basket—coffee cake, chips, ice cream, caramel apples.

The young woman, sporting a tight glittery t-shirt over her swelling belly, handed her debit card to the cashier.

He swiped it.

“Denied,” he said, holding out the card.

The woman pursed her lips.

“Try it again.”

“Sorry,” he said swiping it a second time.

The woman pulled six dollars out of her wallet, then stuffed the bills back in.

“Okay,” she sighed. “I’ll put the things back.”

During the 90 seconds of this exchange, I felt my heart speed up as I contemplated what I could do. I considered the $30 cash I had in my wallet. For a second or two I thought of handing it to her. Or just telling her not to worry, I had it covered.

But I wondered how strange that would look or how I would respond if she refused my offer. I considered the fact that we don’t really have extra money to be throwing around these days. And, truth be told, I didn’t like what she was buying.

Even though I knew the awful embarrassment of having a card rejected at the point of purchase, I did nothing more than attempt to smile at the woman as she steered her cart back into the store.

Now, two months later, I can’t get this encounter out of my mind.

::

A couple years before I met my husband, he had moved to Scotland from a small town in Italy, with barely a penny in his pocket. His first day in Edinburgh, Andrew found a job washing dishes at a pub. After a week, Alice, the pub manager called him into her office and asked him how it was going and where he was living. He told her (proudly, I imagine, and without any sense that it should have been otherwise) that he had a tent and was camping at a nearby campground. Alice looked surprised and then shook her head "no," reached into her purse and pulled out her checkbook. Before Andrew could protest, she wrote out a check for 800 pounds and told him to go find an apartment and he could pay her back later.

Although Alice knew Andrew for another two years and saw not only her loan paid back but also his promotion to cook and assistant bar manager and his courtship and engagement to this nice-enough American girl, I don't think she could ever know the tremendous impact her split-second decision had on my husband. Andrew was a stranger and yet she risked losing a large sum of money, not to mention trust in another person's ability and desire to do the right thing, by helping him.

What Alice did was risky and extravagant. As a result, my husband views her as one of the few people in his life who has ever truly loved him.

This story humbles me. In general, I think I’m pretty great at showering people with love. But I’m no Alice. My split-second decisions are usually peppered with worry and judgment.

This Christmas season, I have been thinking about what Alice did for my husband, and what I failed to do for the woman in Aldi. And I am being reminded that the One we wait for at Advent, the Christ child, was also a risky and extravagant gift given to strangers.

If I could go back to my Aldi encounter, I’d pay for the pregnant woman’s groceries. And I’d give her a hug, if she’d let me. And talk with her. About her impending birth experience, where she was living and what kind of support she had for a growing family. If I was really being risky I’d ask her if her hunger was being satisfied. I’d engage her on a level that an awkward smile wouldn’t allow for but a generous gift might.

More than 2000 years ago, God gave us the most generous of gifts when He brought His kingdom to earth. And every time we love each other—family, friend and, yes, stranger—with his risky, extravagant love, we bring it back again.

But it’s not easy. Although Jesus has already come—we’re reminded of it every Christmas—we still need him to show up again. It’s a crazy, messed up world. Full of hurts and worries. Distrust and dishonesty. Rejection and loneliness. And that’s why I love remembering Alice.

Alice shined God's love in a dark corner where it had not yet been. And for one person, that made all the difference.

May we all be like Alice, brave and bold, filled by the awesome, gracious presence of the God who is already here and the joyful anticipation of the God we wait for, and take a few generous risks for those who have not yet seen Him.

::

I had the privilege of sharing this reflection at the Women's Advent Service at our church yesterday. A couple days after I wrote it, I ran across a story on NPR about a man who was mugged in New York City and responded in a risky and extravagant way. I am sure that I would never have the presence of mind to respond as he did but the story is inspiring and is evidence (in my mind) that even in a messed up, crazy world desperately in need of the peace and reconciliation we sing about this Advent, God continues to work through us to bring his kingdom to earth.