The Gift of Receiving

It’s been a long week. I wasn’t heartbroken when I woke up to enough snow on the ground to justify a personal snow day. A hot cup of tea, my rocking chair, and the book I had been trying to finish for the last month sounded wonderful.

The scrape of a snow shovel on the front porch did not. Sound wonderful, I mean. It sounded like my awesome neighbor down the street doing me a good turn and shoveling my walks. I am grateful, don’t get me wrong, kind of, sort of, if by grateful you mean I feel guilty for sitting on my rocking chair while someone else does the work that I shoulda, coulda, woulda done myself.

The Apostle Paul quotes Jesus as saying: It is more blessed to give than to receive. No doubt Paul and Jesus know what they’re talking about. But—it’s also a whole lot easier to give than to receive and often more personally satisfying. Giving feels good. It feels worthy, and important, and necessary. It feels right. It feels righteous. Giving is almost brag-worthy.

Receiving? Receiving is hard. It doesn’t come naturally. There’s not a whole lot of glory in it.

We have to practice receiving, like when we receive the peace of Christ from our neighbor in the pew. Or when we feel the prayers of our friends. Our kids practice as they listen patiently to each other and acknowledge one another’s high and lows, hopes and dreams, challenges and opportunities. It may not be all that obvious, but we practice receiving when we make a visit or tutor a student or wipe a toddler’s runny nose and wind up getting more than we could ever give. Sometimes we practice when we’re sick and we accept the gift of chicken soup and Stouffer's lasagna whether we want it or not, or when we come to the table with hands held out, not to take bread and juice and blessing, but to receive them as a gift  from the hands of another.

Years ago, when I was a brand new pastoral intern shaking hands at the back door after worship, an elderly woman slipped me $20 and whispered, Merry Christmas, as she scooted out the door. 

It was July. 

I started after her to give the money back. I didn’t need it. I had enough and more of my own. How could I take this poor woman’s money? The deacon on the door gently grabbed my arm and stopped me. Sometimes, he said, you simply have to receive the gift.

I’m still working on that.