Christmas in a Non-Christian Land
By Kent Crookston
At 5:30 p.m. on December 24, 1984 I was in Rabat, the imperial capital of Morocco. I had left my office to go to the market in the old city for a couple of last-minute gifts for Gayle. Daylight was fading as I departed a little shop and began to wend my way up acrowded cobblestone street, past colorful hanging rugs and works of brass. I was feeling just a little melancholy. It was Christmas Eve; ever since I could remember, Christmas Eve had been the most special night of the year. But on this particular evening I was confronted with the reality that among the hundreds of people walking that crowded street with me, virtually no-one would even be aware of the significance of the date. I was alone among a foreign, non-Christian people.
Just then the call to prayer floated down from the tower of the mosque. It was a peaceful sound that spread a spirit of reverence over the thoroughfare. It was not the Christmas Eve enchantmentthat I was yearning for, but a definite sense of goodwill fell over me.
When I reached my car, there was a parking attendant beside it. There were hundreds of such attendants around Rabat. They watched over cars while their drivers were away, and then helped guide them out into the traffic when they returned. I usually gave these guardians one dirham (10 cents) for their services. The attendant waiting for me that evening was a dwarf. He had guarded our car many times, and we had developed a nod-of-the-head acquaintance. I decided that since it was Christmas Eve, I would give him ten dirhams, instead of just one.
“Good evening my friend, a gift for Christmas,” I said as I handed him the money. A look of delight spread over his face. He wrapped his stubby arms around my leg and thanked me profusely. As I drove away, he waved to me and kissed the hand that held the money.
At home, I was greeted with squeals and hugs from the little kids.After our Christmas Eve dinner, we sat around the tree and read about the birth of Jesus as recorded in the Bible, the Book of Mormon, and the Koran. We were familiar with the first two. The Koran contained the following:
And then the angel said: O Mary! Lo! God hath chosen thee and made thee pure, and hath preferred thee above all women of creation.
Oh Mary! Be obedient to thy Lord, prostrate thyself and bow with those who bow in worship…
Lo! God giveth thee tidings of a word from Him, whose name is the Messiah, Jesus, son of Mary, illustrious in the world and the Hereafter.
He will speak unto mankind in his cradle and in his manhood, and he is of the righteous.
Then Mary said; My Lord! How can I have a child when no mortal man hath touched me?
He said: So it will be. God createth what he will. If he decreeth a thing, He saith unto it only Be! and it is.
And she conceived and withdrew to a far place.
And the pangs of childbirth drove her beneath a palm tree. She said: Oh, would that I had died ere this had come to me.
Then one cried unto her saying: Grieve not Mary! Thy Lord hath placed a rivulet of water before thee. And if thou shake the trunk of the palm-tree toward thee, thou shalt cause ripe dates to fall. So eat and drink and be consoled…
Then she brought her son to her own folk, carrying him. And they said: O Mary, thou sister of Aaron! Thou hast come with an amazing thing.
Then Jesus spoke to them from the cradle: Lo! God hath appointed me a Prophet, and hath given me scripture, and hath made me blessed wheresoever I may be, and hath enjoined upon me prayer and alms giving so long as I may live.
Peace on me the day I was born, and the day I die, and on the day I shall be raised alive again!
Such was Jesus, son of Mary: This is a statement of truth.
We talked about our family’s understanding of Jesus andcompared it to that of our Muslim friends. Then after all six stockings were hung, and we were preparing for bed, I told the kids about the little dwarf and how he had reacted to my tip of ten dirhams.
“Oh, how neat.”
“Wouldn’t it be fun to go around and give ten dirhams to all the beggars?”
“Hey, let’s do it; after all, tomorrow is Christmas.”
Next morning found Rebecca, Casey, Polly, Danny and me in the marketplace. Our pockets were filled with ten-dirham notes, and we were hunting for beggars. What a look in the eyes of those unfortunate people as we handed them about 20 times the normal alms. First it was surprise, which quickly changed to deep appreciation as they said “barrakalaufik” which called down blessings from God upon our heads.
Most memorable of all was a young mother we found at the end of a narrow street, all wrapped in black, sitting on the stones against a wall. She had a sleeping baby in her lap and was huddled over it. Her knees were pulled up in front of her. One arm was extended out beyond her knees and the palm was turned upward. I approached her, but she didn’t look up. I placed the equivalent of a five-dollar bill in her hand, and she still didn’t look up. I tapped her gently on the wrist. She raised her head enough to see the money, and her fist closed, but she did not look at us.
Everyone was quiet as we drove back home. “I will never again wish that I could get more for Christmas,” Rebecca said. Polly’s said, “I only wish we had given them more.”
That night, after the house had gone quiet, I came to a striking realization of something that I had never appreciated before. Jesus was born in a non-Christian country. Except for a few members of his family, there was nothing special about the first Christmas Eve. It was strange, but there in Morocco, with just our family and a few friends to share our beliefs, we were probably as close to the first Christmas setting, as we would ever get. And, we had discovered, that, just as Jesus had taught and demonstrated, it really was more blessed to give, than to receive.
Comments