Day 13 – Ingathering

I grew up in a large city where my local church participated in what we used to call, “Harvest Ingathering.” This was a period of door-to-door solicitation of funds for our international disaster aid program, now known as ADRA (Adventist Development and Relief Agency).

It ran from Thanksgiving to Christmas Eve, approximately, and involved as many people from the church who could, or were willing to, get out nearly every evening of the week to go knock on the doors of our neighbors around the city.

The city was divided into districts and neighborhoods, and maps were laid out for the drivers, who attached loudspeakers to their cars and ferried solicitors from the church to their assigned areas. Christmas carols would play from those speakers as some brave, and some, like me – not so brave – souls went door to door, knocking and ringing doorbells, to ask perfect strangers for money to support an organization many of them had never heard of before.

As a shy child, the experience of trying to approach any of those doors was simply terrifying. The only part of the process I found tolerable was the prospect of hot chocolate waiting for us in the social hall back at the church at the end of the evening.

Once I was old enough to be considered part of the church choir, I got to go along as a singer, rather than a solicitor! Then it became more of a joy for me. It was so much more fun to sing the Christmas carols than to knock on doors.

I know. How spiritually lazy, avoiding that direct contact where I might have made a difference in the life of the person who opened the door.

Hmm… I wonder…

While all that door-knocking I did as a kid probably helped me to grow and overcome some of my shyness, it felt like torture. I had no concept at the time that I might be able to make anything like a positive impact on anyone unfortunate enough to open their door to me. When they found a skinny, pale, 10-year-old boy holding a small can for money and a bunch of pamphlets, who could barely squeak out a few words, I’m sure now that they felt sorry for me.

I wonder, did any of those experiences, that I found so challenging, lead anyone with whom I came in contact to know or appreciate God?

I know. Rewarding us with hot chocolate at the end of the evening is what kept me going. Well, that, and my mother’s insistence. When I was ten years old, there wasn’t much arguing about whether or not I was going wherever my mother said we were going. Ingathering was an obligation that deserved the reward of a little hot chocolate, in my opinion.

I wonder. Was it worth it?

The world has changed a bit in the past 60 years, and we no longer do anything like that church-wide participatory exercise in collectively exposing our communities to both our church and the global work of love that we do. Despite my misery at the time, my recollections of Christmas seasons past are dominated by those evenings.

I wonder.

Did God use my frail efforts, as forced as they may have been? Did God impress anyone but me of God’s love during those experiences?

I know. It’s not really my place to worry about that. It’s God’s work and God’s doing. And that leads me to a sense of wonder about how God uses our experiences to cement us into God’s love.

It’s wonderful.

And yet… I still wonder.

I wonder as I wander out under the sky,

How Jesus, the savior, did come for to die

For poor lowly sinners like you, and like I?

I wonder as I wander out under the sky…

May the wonder of it all continue to amaze us.