The gifts of healing which he conferred upon many different kinds of sufferers were, in every case, evidences that Jesus was willing to give something of himself, his thought, his sympathy, his vital power, to the men and women among whom he lived.  Once, when a paralytic was brought to Jesus on a bed, he surprised everybody, and offended many, by giving the poor wretch the pardon of his sins, before he gave new life to his body.  That was just because Jesus thought before he gave; because he desired to satisfy the deepest need; because in fact he gave something of himself in every gift.  All true Christmas-giving ought to be after this pattern.

Not that it must all be solemn and serious.  For the most part it deals with little wants, little joys, little tokens of friendly feeling.  But the feeling must be more than the token; else the gift does not really belong to Christmas.

It takes time and effort and unselfish expenditure of strength to make gifts in this way.  But it is the only way that fits the season.

The finest Christmas gift is not the one that costs the most money, but the one that carries the most love.

II

But how seldom Christmas comes—­only once a year; and how soon it is over—­a night and a day!  If that is the whole of it, it seems not much more durable than the little toys that one buys of a fakir on the street-corner.  They run for an hour, and then the spring breaks, and the legs come off, and nothing remains but a contribution to the dust heap.

But surely that need not and ought not to be the whole of Christmas—­only a single day of generosity, ransomed from the dull servitude of a selfish year,—­only a single night of merry-making, celebrated in the slave-quarters of a selfish race!  If every gift is the token of a personal thought, a friendly feeling, an unselfish interest in the joy of others, then the thought, the feeling, the interest, may remain after the gift is made.

The little present, or the rare and long-wished-for gift (it matters not whether the vessel be of gold, or silver, or iron, or wood, or clay, or just a small bit of birch bark folded into a cup), may carry a message something like this: 

“I am thinking of you to-day, because it is Christmas, and I wish you happiness.  And to-morrow, because it will be the day after Christmas, I shall still wish you happiness; and so on, clear through the year.  I may not be able to tell you about it every day, because I may be far away; or because both of us may be very busy; or perhaps because I cannot even afford to pay the postage on so many letters, or find the time to write them.  But that makes no difference.  The thought and the wish will be here just the same.  In my work and in the business of life, I mean to try not to be unfair to you or injure you in any way.  In my pleasure, if we can be together, I would like to share the fun with you.  Whatever joy or success comes to you will make me glad.  Without pretense, and in plain words, good-will to you is what I mean, in the Spirit of Christmas.”