But after breakfast, the day took a different turn. We tuned up our singing voices and headed to join our “team” at a nearby care facility. All over town, members of Michael’s church were doing the same thing. On Christmas morning, pastors and lay-people visit every nursing and long-term care home in the city as part of their mission to share Christ’s love.

About thirty residents were waiting. We sang “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” “Joy to the World” and all five verses of “We Three Kings.” Someone read the Christmas story. We gave candy and gifts—lovingly chosen and paid for by church members—to every resident. Then it was time for tea, cookies and sharing.

One man had rows of military ribbons and medals pinned to his bathrobe. “I’ll be rejoining my unit in England tomorrow,” he told me. “The war’s not won, you know.” A woman in her seventies was worried about her ninety-plus-year-old mother: “I don’t think she can cope if I go first.” A young man receiving wound care was effusive in thanks for his gift of socks. Later, I learned it was the only package he would open and our group would be his only visitors.

As I closed my eyes for the prayer before we left, I pictured one particular ornament from the Christmas tree at my church: the Cross of Christ on top of the world. I opened my eyes and looked at the residents, and I knew that on this Christmas, we were where we were supposed to be, doing what the Lord of all called us to do.

Lord and lover of the world, let this day be the beginning of my own loving outreach.