Illegal Christmas's

I was with my mother at our family Christmas dinner. The rest of the family was upstairs and Mom was showing me what she had done to Dad’s room. The former downstairs garage had been taken over by Dad when they moved into this house many years ago. He had cable run, put up a television, opened the garage door and turned it into his man space. He loved the outdoors, the smell of the marsh, the sun on the water … and sports. Any kind of sports but college football most of all! This is where Dad would sit for hours on end enjoying all of the things that he loved at once. There was a phone beside his chair and I would call him or he would call me and we would talk about almost everything, but mostly sports.

Dad died last summer and Mom had lovingly taken Dad’s space and incorporated it into their home. She was showing me old photographs of him that she had framed and placed throughout his space. He was happy in each of them and she was celebrating his life by putting them out.

My blackberry started buzzing on my hip and I glanced at the screen which flashed “Jim Withers.” Jim is the famous Dr. James Withers, founder of Operation Safety Net in Pittsburgh, founder of the International Street Medicine Institute, star of an award winning documentary on his work, winner of the Robert Wood Johnson’s Community Health Leadership Award among others, world evangelist for street medicine, techno-geek, and friend.

Mom rolled her eyes when she saw that I was going to take the call. “I’ll be upstairs,” she laughed and left me in Dad’s space alone with Jim.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“What are you doing?” he replied.

I told him and he immediately apologized before rushing on to why he called.

“Listen,” he said, “in the state of Georgia it is evidently against the law to provide health care to illegal immigrants.”

I told him that I knew this. I also told him that I knew some of the people who sponsored the legislation to make this law.

“Well, on Monday they are going to stop treating 30 of them who are on dialysis in Atlanta. Micheal, they are going to die!”

I could hear the desperation in his voice. I told him that I understood.

“Well, I’m calling because I gave them your name and told them the story of how you sent all of the homeless people to the emergency room complaining of heart attacks so that they could obtain proper treatment.”

Somehow, I felt that Jim was getting me in trouble. “You told who?” I asked.

“The people that are trying to help these 30 people not die,” he responded as if I were stupid.

“I told them that they should call you so that you could guide them on sending the 30 illegal immigrants to the emergency room. I wanted you to know who they are when they call.”

“Oh great!” I told myself. He is going to get me in trouble.

“Sure Jim,” I told him. “I’ll talk to them.”

How could I not? Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan flashed through my mind. We’re supposed to take care of those who cannot take care of themselves. Right? Even if they are illegal immigrants or Republicans or Democrats or Muslims or Jews or Christians or blacks or whites or green people from Mars. Right?

I mean I understand that their own country should bear the cost and that they are here illegally or that they should have made enough money in the United States building houses or cleaning toilets to pay for their care themselves. I understand all of those things.

But some things are more important than money. Right?

“Merry Christmas, Micheal!” Jim concluded.

“Merry Christmas Jim,” I sighed, climbing the steps to return to my family’s Christmas.