Last night, my parents and I attended both of their church's Christmas Eve services, because my mom is the organist and my dad was reading Scripture. As I usually do when I visit my hometown, I brought my high school friend, Chris, to church with me. Chris has Cerebral Palsy, and the house where he lives does not have a ramp. He has to be carried down about eight steps every time he goes out, which is not very often at all. In fact, he tells me that sometimes the only time he goes out is when my dad picks him up for church.

After the second service, my dad and I planned to drive Chris home and then head home for a late dinner with my mom, who would be waiting for us, oyster stew ready to go. (Since we were bringing Chris and she had to be there early to rehearse with the musicians, we had driven separately to church). But something came up that was not part of our plan: a flat tire, just when we were nearing Chris's house. So, Dad pulled in to a well-lit shopping center in this rough section of town, and we both rolled up our sleeves and got busy changing the tire.

We pulled Chris's wheel chair out of the trunk in order to get to the spare, setting it behind the car. As we began to jack up the car, I noticed a steady stream of cars processing by us from the shopping center. At first, I was mystified at why there would be all these cars there on Christmas Eve night; the center was clearly closed for business. Then it dawned on me. "Dad, is there a church that meets back there?" "Yup," he replied, turning the jack.

I watched car after car drive right by us, having just been to their Christmas Eve service. From where they sat as they drove by, they would have seen a man, a woman and a wheelchair - and perhaps the other man sitting in the front seat. Yet not one person stopped or even slowed down for us. I guess, like us, they had some place to be. I guess that even though they had just heard the message of Christ's birth and sung about the desolation of there being no room at the inn, there was no urge to stop and offer a helping hand to these folks they saw in twenty-something degree weather.

Not that we needed the help. I'm sure if anyone had stopped, my dad would have thanked them and told them we had it under control, they could go on, "but God bless you and Merry Christmas." But the thing is, no one stopped, and as I watched these cars pass us by, not even acknowledging that we were there changing a tire late at night on Christmas Eve, my heart broke, not because we needed help, but because no one even offered.

Less than an hour before our Christmas Eve flat tire, I heard these words sung:

Truly He taught us to love one another,
His law is love and His gospel is peace.

Surely he taught us to love one another. And how did he teach us to love? Well, one way was through the parable of the Good Samaritan. I was embarrassed for these Christmas Eve churchgoers, because they were more like the religious hypocrites in this parable, which Jesus told to teach his people what matters most to God. As each car approached where we were, I hoped that my faith in Christian charity would be restored. I hoped that someone would stop and reach out to us. Not because we needed it, but because Jesus would have stopped. 

But no one did. No wonder so many people are pretty much unimpressed by Christians. Last night, I was unimpressed too.

We got the tire changed relatively quickly, with both of us there to alternate turning the jack and unscrewing the tire screws. My dad also pointed out, rightly so, that it was pretty quick because he had all of the necessary tools easily accessible in the trunk. But as we rolled the flat to the trunk and hoisted it into the tire well, as we replaced the wheel chair in the trunk and started the car and turned the heater back on, I was grieved. And I was imagining myself happening upon people changing a flat on Christmas Eve. Would I have stopped to offer help?

I think I would. I really do.

Christians are supposed to be the light of the world, and this is one way we do that: by caring for strangers, showing mercy, serving others even when it is not convenient. Last night I saw a good example of what it looks like when Christians - or, at least church-goers - get it wrong.

But I also got to see what it looks like when someone gets it right.

My dad drove to the other side of town with me to pick up my friend. He helped carry him down steps, lifted him from his chair into the car, lifted his chair into the trunk, brought us to church, lifted him out of the car into his chair (cutting his hand pretty badly in the process), participated in two worship services, then repeated the transportation process, stopping to buy dinner for Chris. And he did all of this - and changed a flat tire - without even a whiff of complaint. 

This minor incident certainly did not ruin my Christmas. In fact, this has been one of my favorite Christmases ever. This morning, my parents and I read the Christmas story from Luke and read other passages of scripture. We talked and laughed and counted our many blessings.

But it did get me thinking - and praying - for my fellow Christians. How will people know of Christ's love if his followers do not go out of our way to show his love through acts of inconvenient service to perfect strangers?

If we aren't the light of the world, who will be?