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 A CHRISTMAS LESSON |
Seeing the spirit of giving
from the other side
By JOYCE KIEFER
of TheColumnists.com
The big display windows of Macy’s San Francisco store featured Garfield the Cat in all his selfish glory. Surrounded by the debris of Christmas morning after Santa’s visit, his dialog box said, “Gimme more.”
A few blocks away and many years ago on Market Street there was
a huge San Francisco-grown department store called The Emporium.
Right at the store’s entrance, standing next to an incredibly
imaginative window display, stood a Salvation Army bell ringer.
Dressed in a scrawny Santa outfit, he rang his bell for people
to toss something into his black kettle. “He’s collecting
money for poor people who have nothing at Christmastime,”
my mom explained. “He’s not really Santa Claus but
one of his helpers.”
That begged a question akin to the one adults ask: “If God
is good, why does he allow . . .?” I wondered but didn’t
ask why Santa needed money to bring poor people presents.
The bell-ringing Santa had a sadness about him. He wore gloves
to keep his hands from freezing in the bone-chilling cold that
permeates the streets of San Francisco once our summer-in-fall
has faded off. His nose was red as Rudolph’s from the cold
and runny, too. His bell had a forlorn but steady ring that echoed
the determination of his last stand to save the bodies and souls
of the down and out.
The fragile sound was a counterpoise to the honk of horns, rattle
of street cars, the chug of constant traffic.
The bell ringer and those he was determined to save lived in
a different world than I did in my comfortable Peninsula suburb.
Once my mom and I took the escalator to Toyland and the rooftop
carnival, I was back in the comfort zone of Christmas.
In college I read George Bernard Shaw’s “Major Barbara”
and enjoyed Shaw’s sardonic approval of attempting to save
souls through a highly organized military approach.
But just a few years later I seemed like a possible recipient
of what the bell ringers of Christmas would collect in their
pots on the streets of Salt Lake City. I was living in Utah--newly
married, isolated from family and friends, and also the first-time
mother of an infant daughter. The Deseret News, a newspaper run
by the Mormon Church, requested contributions to a Letters to
Santa column that would run during the Christmas season. A bit
bored, I wrote them a letter in our daughter’s name and
asked for a toilet seat because (I can’t believe I did this),
“Mommy and Daddy say it will be such fun when I get one,
although I don’t know what it’s for.”
The paper ran not only my daughter’s name but our address.
I got a call from the Salvation Army. They wanted to know if
this was a case of need.
Although there was no financial need, they had indeed contacted
a bewildered. somewhat lonely person–a lot like some of
their clients. My opinion of the Salvation Army and its bell
ringers changed to one of appreciative affection. I looked for
reruns of “Guys and Dolls” on TV.
But it took a Christmas party in the comfortable Silicon Valley
home of a friend for me to realize what the bell ringers accomplish
for all of us, especially the well-off.
Cup of tea in hand, I sat down on the couch next to Sally, whom
I am just getting to know. She is much like me–middle class,
middle age, grown kids, well provided-for by a husband who is
a professional. Seven years ago she and her family returned from
a two-year posting to the south of France for her husband’s
work. That Christmas someone from her church in an affluent Silicon
Valley suburb asked if she would like to be a bell ringer for
the Salvation Army.
Sally’s daughter thought it would be a great idea to do
this together. She was home for the holidays from her first year
away at college. Sally told her it would be fun if they could
sing as well as ring the bell. “I wanted to provide a testimony
to remind people that Christmas carols are about Jesus who, after
all, is the reason for the season.” An enthusiastic Christian,
Sally says that the conversations she enjoys most are about the
Lord.
And so Sally and her daughter sang: “Away in the Manger,”
“Hark the Herald,” “O Come all Ye Faithful,”
even “Feliz Navidad” for the shoppers who hear Spanish
best. They were posted outside a Target store in a town where
Caucasians are a definite minority. No songs about Santa, Rudolph,
or city sidewalks. Some shoppers stopped to sing along before
plunging into the store to search through aisles and end caps
for their “must-have” items.
Sally doesn’t know how much they collected that night or
during the nights over the next six years that she and her daughter
have rung their bell in front of Target. Times have gone from
fat to lean in the Valley. The needy are now professionals who
have been unemployed for several years. This year a younger daughter
replaced the one who started out with her. Like her sister, she
and her mom sing as they ring.
They march to the same basic tune as the Salvation Army major
who is their boss for the night: Christmas is about Christ and
about the way He showed us how to give and to regard others.
Now when I hear that softly insistent bell as I dash about trying
to fill out my list (will I have the nerve to ask for a CD by
“Death Cab for Cutie” for my son-in-law?), I’m
conditioned to remember what it was that caused the angels to
sing.
©2003 by Joyce Kiefer. The illustration is modified from one in IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895 Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA.
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