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.