“From that time Jesus began to preach, saying, ‘Repent, for the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand.’” (Matthew 4:17)
I’ll never forget that night.
It was nearing midnight after a grueling 14-hour day in law school. Exhausted, I stepped into the biting December cold, longing for nothing more than to collapse into bed. As I approached the subway stairs, I noticed a man sitting by the station’s entrance.
To my shame, my first thought was annoyance. “I’m too tired for this,” I muttered to myself, wishing I had crossed the street earlier to avoid him. But our eyes met, and he quietly asked if I had any spare change.
I lied and said I didn’t, but guilt nudged me toward the bodega across the street. “I don’t have cash, but I can buy you some food,” I apologetically offered. Moments later, I returned with a sandwich and chips, my breath forming clouds in the frosty air as I anticipated what I thought would be a quick handoff. I just wanted to go home and get to bed.
As I extended the food to him, something unexpected happened.
The man reached for my hand—not to harm me, as my anxious mind briefly feared—but to press it to his lips with an intensity and reverence that startled me.
In that moment, it felt as though I was standing on holy ground.
I’ve kissed hands in moments of sacredness: the hands that bless, that offer a foretaste of God’s Kingdom. And here, in this unassuming exchange on a cold New York street, the man—whose name I soon learned was Ray—kissed my hand with the same holy fervor.
I lingered, drawn into conversation as he unwrapped his meal. Ray shared pieces of his life, a life filled with hardship and isolation. For countless passersby, he was invisible—just another object in the urban landscape.
But for a moment, Ray was seen. Heard. Human. And in seeing him, I became more human, too.
His prison was poverty, his cell solitude, his chains the weight of want. Yet in the exchange of a sandwich and a name, a promise of something greater broke through:
A promise of the World to Come, where the hungry are filled, the lonely welcomed, and every tear wiped away.
That night, I thought I was giving Ray a small gift. But he gave me a far greater one: he pulled back the veil and revealed the Kingdom of Heaven, right there on a frozen city street.
As we prepare for Christmas, we often rush to find the perfect gifts for those we love. But the greatest gifts are not things we buy. They are the promises we make—the moments we share—the love of the Crucified and Risen Lord made manifest in the world.
This Nativity, may we remember that the Kingdom of Heaven is at hand: in every act of kindness, in every gift of presence, in every moment of connection.
Here’s wishing you a joyous and blessed Nativity!
