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This Christmas was a bit different this year. There weren’t many blinking strands of colorful lights and there wasn’t a single cup of steaming spiced cider. There was hardly a chill in the air here in Central Africa. Familiar carols were scarce and very few gifts were exchanged.

We did read the story of Christ’s humble birth and it rang truer than ever. In America we set up little nativity sets and we think about Christ’s being born in a barn as though it’s storybook perfection sitting right there on the fireplace mantle or the end table. In reality, what a rough situation this was: Mary and Joseph forced to travel by a government tax census in the 11th hour of her mysterious pregnancy. They didn’t board the Eurostar train or Southwest Airlines or even a Greyhound Bus. All Joseph could afford was a donkey. Just as they arrived Mary went into contractions and the best place they could find for her to give birth with some privacy was in the company of beasts of the field. Corrals are not known for cleanliness; rather they are known to hold a good quantity of excrement. Thankfully that’s not usually included in our coffee table nativity displays!

Christ was born into a working-poor family without noble title or privilege. The God of the universe chose to do it this way. This must be enormously significant since God cannot err. A recent census in the USA showed that the vast majority of recent college graduates’ first priority in life is to amass significant personal wealth. That first Christmas, the Creator obviously had something else to say.

I’m in Rwanda with my dear friends Pastor Simon-Pierre, his wife Caritas and their troop of rambunctious and wonderful kids. Yesterday was a very full Christmas Day walking alongside Pastor Simon. It started at church where we sang, danced, I preached, three people were accepted into church membership, one was baptized and we took communion. After church there was a food distribution for families headed by children who’ve lost their folks to AIDS. They said, “We didn’t think we’d have something to eat on Christmas like everyone else.” Caritas served a hearty meal to a group of street kids that she ran into walking down the street. We shared our meal with a close family friend who has HIV and was linked to the family through a church program Simon started called “Cacahuètes” which means roasted peanuts. The idea is that the people sponsored are not a burden but that they should become friends and their presence should taste good like salty roasted peanuts. That’s clearly the case here because there was a lot of good food and laughter. In the evening we went to visit with a refugee family from Congo. There are at least six young kids living with their mother in a tiny apartment. We met their father who’d just arrived after a long journey in the Congo. We talked about how great their home region is but for the war that has torn lives apart and forced people off of their land. We prayed for peace, went home to a cup of warm milk and drifted off to sleep.