As we celebrate the arrival of Christ in the world some two thousand years ago, it is interesting to consider how different the world is now from then. Some of the differences are obvious: there would be no birth in a manger today; public health authorities would prosecute anyone who allowed a child to be born in a stable. Instead of "Away in a Manger," it would be "Away in a maternal suite at Brackenridge..." And, the media would not allow the image of Christ to remain that of a simple carpenter and healer; once his power to perform miracles was discovered, in this age of celebrity, he would be called Jesus Christ Superstar.

A more significant difference between now and then is that we are able, through private and governmental institutions, to provide care for many of the members of our society about whom Jesus cared the most. These institutions do admirable and important work and one of the things Cindy and I admire about this Church is its determination, even though it has little money, to support the work of organizations across the world who share the vision of Christ's love.

But there is something even more important in this church than its support of institutions: The ministers and members of this church refuse to allow a commitment to institutions to separate us from the people the institutions were created to serve.

There are more hungry people in the world today than there were two thousand years ago, but because there are so many institutions concerned with hunger, it would be possible for us to write a check to the Salvation Army or the Baptist soup kitchen and never actually feed anyone. There are more children today without warm clothes than there were then but it would be possible for us to write a check to Coats for Kids and never actually clothe a single child. There are more homeless people, more unsaved people, and more damaged relationships than there were then, but we, as individuals or as a church, could write a check to Habitat for Humanity, another to the Alliance of Baptists and a third to the Battered Women's Shelter and never drive a nail or actually share the suffering of a person who is adrift.

These organizations do important and necessary work. Because of their work, it would be understandable, even acceptable, for us to say that it does not really matter if you or I ever get personally involved. But to the members of this church, it does really matter. This Church is not satisfied merely by checkbook Christianity. The Church and the institutions need that, but for this Church, there must be much more. There is, after all, a difference between institutional compassion and personal involvement.

Several years ago, I was with a politician who was the personification of government programs to help those in need. If something is wrong in society, the government must fix it. I have drifted in and out of that philosophy myself. I had invited the politician to visit a badly managed health facility in Houston, funded by government money, that provided care to people suffering from AIDS. We arrived at the facility just after midnight.

I thought it was important for the politician to experience, first hand, what such a badly run place is like. As expected, the lighting was dim; the floors were strewn with litter and spots of dried human waste; the smell of urine filled the air so much that our eyes burned; the only sounds were of labored breathing, hacking coughs and a muted television somewhere in the distance. It was the ambience of institutional death. I knew what we would find. I had been in places like this many times before. I expected to capitalize on this experience. I knew that after just one night of this, the politician would support an expansion of the government's power to stop inexcusable neglect.

But then, as we stood in a hallway on the second floor, the government suddenly became less relevant. A young woman, who was a resident of the institution, came around the corner and bent down low as if to see better. She recognized the politician, called out her name and said, "is that you?" The politician replied, "yes it is. What's your name?" The woman walked slowly and unsteadily toward us, and for the next five or six minutes, the politician and the woman stood, holding hands and talking about the woman's family. They then talked about the good things that had been in the woman's life, and the hope that someday, good things would happen again. When the woman seemed to be growing tired, the politician leaned forward and whispered, "may I hug you?" It was not so much a question as it was an offer: here, take some of my strength to help you make it through the night. The woman responded with a smile that showed she already had accepted the offer. I knew that when she got into her bed in those early morning hours, the young woman's depression, her pain and even her fear of death would be a little less. I suspected that she might even smile again.

Thankfully, our checkbooks provided the medical care that the young woman needed; and properly run, the medical care available was far better than anything you or I as individuals could have done. And surely, there was a need for the government to compel that particular institution to do its job better. But the young woman needed more than a compassionate government or a well run institution. Neither the exercise of governmental power nor a clean bed dries tears; nor does it give hope to a life so seemingly hopeless.

If I had not been with a politician who understood how to be a Christian witness, I wonder if I would have held that young woman's hands. The truth is, there have been times in my life when I have been so focused on charging the windmill that I failed to notice a peasant being trampled by my horse. After watching and listening to you for these few months, I have no doubt that if you were forced to choose between giving money or giving yourselves, each of you would be holding the hands of that young woman in the early morning hours in that darkened hallway in Houston. And I pray that enough of you has rubbed off on me that today, I would do the same.

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