Where Heaven Makes Home

Matt met a blind man on the day we brought Henry home from the hospital.

My husband had gone to the pharmacy to pick up some prescriptions. The blind man had gone to the pharmacy in search of a first aid kit.

While Matt waited in line, he overheard the man, Jack,* approach a CVS employee for help. He explained that he’d fallen on the road outside where the pavement was cracked and uneven. 

Jack was bleeding and incapable of treating himself, but the CVS employee turned him away.

I was nestled in bed, nursing our newborn and a cup of tea, when Matt came through the door later, medicine in hand, and said, “I’m so angry at humanity.” 

There were tears in his eyes as he told me the story of people with perfectly good vision choosing not to see.

Jack had continued walking through the pharmacy and encountered Matt who purchased bandages and tended to the cuts without hesitation.

Recently, Jack has been on my mind again. I think about him when I see nativity scenes decorating window sills and mantels.

Centuries ago, an innkeeper in Bethlehem acknowledged the need of strangers. He is not the hero of the narrative, but his decision to cross the threshold of comfort and convenience was powerful.

I’d like to know if this innkeeper was tempted to ignore the pregnant woman and anxious man standing on his front step.

Was he almost too busy, too tired, too skeptical? 

Did he nearly miss his moment in the miracle because he figured someone else could lend a hand? Where would the Christmas story have finished if the virgin mother and the carpenter were met with no answer, no stable?

I suppose what moves me most is that blind Jack and baby Jesus needed the same thing - to be seen. Joseph and Mary knocked on the door, but ultimately it was Jesus asking, "Will you make room for me?"

To answer yes is to live with an awareness of love incarnate. It is to honour the reflection of God in all that breathes.

To answer yes is to witness marvels in the mundane - like bandages and antibacterial cream applied in aisle twelve next to the USB chargers and the flashlights. 

This Christmas, let us not overlook the value of the peripheral; it is where heaven makes home.

Amy Chapman

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Amy is a freelance writer, engaged
at Mission Community Church