“It is better to give than receive,” said the supposed Jesus Christ in Acts 20:35 of the bible. His actual words were, according to the Apostle Paul, “It is more blessed to give than to receive” but, hey, you get the general idea. But is it true? My feeling is this: it depends.
When I was a little boy, sitting in the living room of our freezing cold house in Bristol, Christmas morning meant my mum and me supping on hot chocolate and her watching me open a succession of presents. I received lots of things, like railway ‘annuals’, a selection of socks and underpants and, if I was really lucky, a new LP, such as A Hard Days Night by The Beatles or The Monkees, my main treat for the Christmas of 1966. I have no recollection of giving presents to my mum or my paternal grandparents who usually arrived in the afternoon in order for my grandad to get appalled by the “long-haired louts” on Top of the Pops’ before we tucked into a dinner consisting of undefined meat, boiled potatoes and tinned peas. My years were well into double figures before I found out that peas were not the only form of vegetables.
My mum took care of presents for the grandparents, putting my name on the labels and wrapping them in such a way a young boy, or in fact me today, could never manage. The pleasure in giving happened much later. And I came to love it.
Having a soul mate for life and then children changed everything. The world I once knew of Christmas stockings and the excitement of finding what was under the tree had evolved into the world of my children. I still liked my own presents, but it definitely felt better to give, especially when I saw my boys’ faces. My happiness was surely the same as my mum’s, back in the day.
Now that my children have grown up, at least in terms of actual years, that excitement has not changed, although their presence in the house means as much, if not more, than it used to. I’d like to think that having grown up with little, I am more sympathetic to those who have nothing. Yesterday, Tuesday 23rd December, and last Thursday 18th December I was part of our little food bank – let’s say it was based in the footballing heartland of Melchester – where we fed in excess of 120 people. Setting aside my disgust that such a wealthy country even needs food banks in the first place, I am very proud of the work that we do.
Having largely just taken in my early life, mainly out of necessity, the last three-and-a-half years at the food bank have, it feels as if I am giving back a little. I qualify that by saying that I know I am nothing special and millions of people commit voluntarily to good causes as much, and sometimes much more, than I do. However, I can report that there is a certain satisfaction in helping people to survive, not just at Christmas, but all year round. Because once the Christmas lights finally go out in a week or so, the grim darkness that hangs over so many people will still be there. Giving, I can confirm, has become infinitely more pleasing than receiving.
Christmas, we know, is about children of all ages. That’s what makes it all so magical, whether you have religious ‘faith’ or not. And this year, thanks to some very kind and generous people, we have been able to hand out goody bags and even some small children’s presents, as well as supermarket gift cards. Like all the other Christmas appeals, it’s just a short term fix, but until someone, somewhere comes up with a long term solution – like eliminating poverty: that would be a start – we do what we can.
Thanks to the efforts of my lone parent mum, I never felt poor. I thought everyone lived like we did, essentially hand to mouth, relying on scraps and the foods that butchers and bakers would otherwise put in the dustbin. And here we are now, handing out, among other things, tins of peas, as if it was 1966.
It is better to give than receive, particularly that these days we can live comfortably, if not exactly in the lifestyles of the rich and famous. Whether he actually existed or not, the words of the supposed Jesus of Nazareth ring true. Unfortunately, food poverty isn’t just for Christmas, it’s there all year round and everyone is a cancer diagnosis, a car crash, a heart attack, a redundancy away from having to use a food bank.
Eat, drink and be merry and, as Gary Barlow put it, never forget where we’ve come here from. Jesus didn’t keep all the good lines for himself, did he?
