There’s an old, old story about a village shoemaker. His shop was on the village street: just the one room where he worked and slept and ate. He had a cast-iron stove to cook his food and warm the room in winter, a chair, a bed with a patchwork quilt and a little oil lamp for light.
It was Christmas Eve, and the old shoemaker was sad as he remembered his wife who had died many years ago, and his children who were all grown up and lived far away. He took down a book from the shelf, settled in his chair and began to read slowly and carefully. He read of the little boy, Jesus, who was born not in a good warm room but in a cowshed because there was nowhere else to stay.
“If they had come here” he mused, “he could have slept on my bed, and I would have covered him with my quilt.” He read of the wise men who travelled far to bring gifts.
“What could I give him, if Jesus came here?” He took down a dusty little box, and in it was a tiny pair of shoes: the best he had ever made. “I would have given him these,” he murmured.
The old shoemaker grew drowsy and fell asleep. Suddenly he heard a voice. “You wished that you had seen me in your little shop and that you could give me gift. Look out for me tomorrow and I will come, but I will not say who I am.”
The shoemaker woke up. Was it a dream, or had Jesus really said he would come? All the next day the shoemaker sat by his window, watching the street. In the distance he saw a figure coming: was this Jesus? No: it was only the road sweeper – a dirty, smelly man that people were rude to and made fun of. The road sweeper stopped opposite the shop, rubbing his hands together and stamping his feet in the bitter cold. The shoemaker felt sorry and invited him in for a hot drink. He told the road sweeper that he was watching for Jesus coming. The road sweeper just shrugged, thanked him for the coffee and made for the door.
All day the shoemaker watched the street and as it grew dusk, he saw someone else coming. This time it was a shabby young woman carrying a baby, creeping along by the wall.
The shoemaker opened the door and invited them in to share his bread and soup. He learned that she was making her way to a cousin in the next village, hoping he would take her in as she had no money to pay rent. The shoemaker saw the child’s cold feet and offered the tiny shoes: they fitted perfectly. The young woman heard his story, smiled gently, thanked him and went on her way.
As night fell, and no-one else came down the street, the shoemaker began to lose heart.
Jesus had not come: it had only been a dream. The shoemaker drifted off to sleep in his chair by the stove.
The voice came again: “I came: did you see me? I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was cold and you took me in, I needed shoes and you gave them to me.”
The shoemaker smiled wonderingly. “He came, just as he said.”
“What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd I would bring a lamb.;
If I were a wise man I would do my part,
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.”
This Christmas, as we reach out with the love of Jesus, let us see Him:
In the embarrassed mother creeping to the food bank,
In the bewildered young woman who has been trafficked,
In the lonely, elderly widow,
In the struggling farmer in Zimbabwe,
In the refugee children in our towns and cities,
In the Big Issue seller,
In the young man sleeping in the shop doorway,
In all those whom God puts before us and brings to our notice.
May you experience the joy of receiving the gift that the Christ Child brings to us,
and in being the practical expression of His love.
May God bless you with love and fill you with peace.
Maggie Rich, BUW President