In "A Christmas Carol," by Charles Dickens, we learn some of the most profound lessons in human empathy, humility, charity, and want. Yes, it's still July, but I have been struck by some of these concepts recently and it has really made me evaluate my life and how I should live it. My favorite version of this tale is by far the Muppet Christmas Carol, but if you want the full effect, you need to read the book. If you recall the ghost of Christmas present (the large, absent-minded spirit), he is always so gleeful, spreading Christmas joy and cheer from the parties of the richest socialites to the dirty and dank parts of town, to the most remote lighthouse. When Scrooge inquires why they would visit such shabbiness on a seemingly bright occasion, the spirit replies, "It's Christmas here, too, you know!" Does it ever seem to be a foreign concept to us that people, no matter what their experience or current situation, are deserving of even the least bit of happiness?
There has been a recent fad on social media which has drawn my ire (as many tend to do). It primarily consists of obnoxious and unnecessary comparisons which are typically material in nature. For example, "My boyfriend is better than yours...my day is better than yours...my sack lunch is better than yours," are some sentiments that might be expressed. Dangit, people, of course you are better off than others! But what is there to brag about in that? The problem is that you just don't know how good you have it. The people you should be comparing yourselves to are not your friends on Facebook. In fact, they are people you will probably never meet - the homeless 30 year-old I saw yesterday, begging with a sign that said, "I WON'T BUY CRACK," The single mother of three, four, or even more children who takes too long in the checkout lane in front of you because she has to decide which groceries she can actually afford, or maybe you should just take a selfie with the group of homeless people, dressed in tattered clothes and every last item they own stuffed in plastic bags or bearing down on their backs in a large backpack, waiting for the Salvation Army truck to come by with food to provide temporary relief to their misery. Would that make you feel better?
This utter selfishness has got to stop. A few months ago, I was humbled by the opportunity to do some good. I was toward the end of my route at work, walking along the sidewalk to my next pickup destination, when I stumbled upon what I thought was a large sum of cash just laying there, waiting to be snatched up. My honest to goodness thought was, "I didn't earn this money, so I can't keep it. Let me try to figure out who it belongs to, and at the very least, I'll give it to a few people who need it." I tried to call the security group who was in charge of the area, but they had not received and news about missing money. Consequently, it was time for the next step in my plan. The next few days at work, I picked out a few opportunities. One was in the form of one of those street beggars, holding up a cardboard sign and braving the elements for a glimmer of hope that someone might take pity on him. Well, I did. I beckoned to him with money in hand, cautiously shifting my attention from this man to the traffic in front of me, in case the light should change. He sincerely thanked me and said that my gift would help a lot. I felt great, but I can't help but wonder how much it really did help. And frankly, I couldn't care less if he did buy drugs or booze with the money. It was my gift to him, and his to do with whatever he desired. My real gift was compassion, and that's what made me feel the way I did. Another opportunity presented itself at work. It was later in the day, and my work was just about done. I passed a homeless man going down the street. He was just sitting there, huddled up. I knew I would be headed back that way, so I hoped and prayed I would find him there again. He was there, and I quickly turned on my hazards, reached for my wallet, and hopped down out of the truck. I thought for a minute about what to say, but I believe the words just came to me.
"Hey," I said. He remained undisturbed in his huddled trance.
"Do you have anything to eat tonight, man?" I continued. After this sentence, he slowly raised his head to reveal a big, bushy beard, a forlorn face, and very sad eyes.
Raising his hand and pointing a finger at what seemed like a great effort to him, he mumbled, "Maybe we could get some pizza," obviously referring to the Papa John's right across the street.
At this point, I recognized from the stutter and hardness with which he pronounced the words that he suffered from some kind of developmental disability or brain injury, or something of the sort. This made me even softer in my approach toward him.
"Look," I replied, "I need to get going, but I have this money. You can get some pizza, whatever you want." He mumbled something else, but nothing I could recognize. I added, "I wish I could do more." Neither of us said anything after that, and I walked away slowly.
Now, I definitely do not say this to say that I am a saint. If anything, I am just telling you what needs to be done. I'm trying to make you think. My generation has cultivated such a sense of feeding their wants, exercising and encouraging consumerism to the utmost, that it has become deeply ingrained in our culture, its lifeblood, almost. It's addictive, it's done often out of a sense of duty, and it's a sickness, plain and simple. I often struggle with the tug-of-war between want and want in my own life. What can I do to achieve the things I want in life, and what can I do without? I don't know how accurate the following statement is, but I once heard someone say that If you own a fridge, a car, and a bed, you are more rich than 90% of the world's population. Once again, don't quote me on that. But what if it were true? And what if we realized that we'd be much happier thinking about what we have to give than when we think about how we feel when we have nice things?
Now back to Dickens. The ghost of Christmas present is waning, and Scrooge is beginning to realize what joy he might have had, or perhaps what joy he will find going forward, as he applies what he has learned about the meaning of Christmas. Then, the most somber moment in the entire book occurs. The spirit starts scolding Scrooge...hard! He makes Scrooge see the awfulness of his mistakes and unloving nature. He says that in the eyes of God, there may be millions more fit to live than Scrooge himself. And Scrooge realizes that his hardness has caused him to overlook the "poor in spirit," those that are in fact richer than he could ever dream. He then introduces two wretched beings, Scrooge's "children" - ignorance and want. The trait that we almost immediately think of when it comes to Ebenezer Scrooge is greed. The only natural offspring of greed is ignorance and want. Ignorance, the selfish, domineering beast that is spawned when all we do is take and take, and want, the cold, empty feeling that comes from only looking inward, are both products of the other want. It's like a runner's high, where you feel like all of your efforts have culminated in this joyful feeling, that you have somehow broken through to this existential plane of achieving happiness and success. Only you soon find out that it fades, and you are left exhausted, gasping, still reaching for something that is fleeting or that doesn't even exist.
Do good. Be kind. Remember those who are less fortunate. If you have love in your heart, you have enough.
Remember, it's not what you have, but what you have to give that counts.
image source: http://static.guim.co.uk/sys-images/Observer/Pix/pictures/2009/11/6/1257502413421/disney-christmas-carol-001.jpg
