No One Cares

Did you ever go through a season of life, or even a day, or even an hour when you were sure that no one cared? That’s the nature of poverty. Poverty isn’t so much the lack of funds. It’s the lack of relationships. When there are people around you who recognize your need, who can hear your heartbreak, who wonder how you’re doing, who are willing to share what they have so that you can get through, you are far from impoverished. It’s an echo we find in the movie It’s a Wonderful Life, where George Bailey’s younger brother Harry lifts a cup of wine and makes the toast, “To my big brother, George, the richest man in town.”

For people of Advent—people who celebrate the “Arriving” (the literal meaning of Advent) of Jesus, whether looking back 2000 years or anticipating his coming at any time—this is a core sentiment. We have this ingrained in our spirits through the work of the Holy Spirit. The Spirit teaches us to care, but just as importantly, it teaches us to accept care. That balance matters. Too often Christians imagine their purpose in Christ is only to give. Yet Jesus himself lived in community: his needs were supplied by women who followed him, he accepted the hospitality of Mary and Martha in Bethany. Just as we are called to give, it is also holy to receive.

This is worth remembering when the season of Advent gets blended into the season of Christmas shopping. The rush of giving can sometimes make us reluctant to receive. But Advent invites us to delight in mutual support—giving and receiving as acts of faith. That rhythm of care is part of our lives together.

We see this reflected in the wider world too. Just last week was “Giving Tuesday,” a good reminder that generosity can cut the strings of finances that tie so deeply into our hearts. Yet we don’t need a special day to give. Giving is simply who we are. I remember when a large rock festival was held in a city near where I was living. The funds raised equaled about half a million dollars. A number of kids in my youth group were celebrating that, reveling in how much was brought in. I agreed it was a great thing, but I also pointed out that the church they were part of was giving away that same amount every year—not just once, but faithfully, year after year. That’s the quiet strength of a community that cares.

And that is what Advent reminds us. When so many in the world are wondering or saying to themselves, “No one cares,” we are part of the community that bears witness otherwise. We follow the one who came saying, not just “someone cares,” but with all the resources of heaven at his disposal, “I care.”