When I was younger, once or twice a week my parents and I would take time out of our hectic and stressful D.C. lives and watch tv together. They were the rare moments when all the things that didn’t go right with life melted away. A famous escape of ours was the show "Seinfeld," — one of the most acclaimed sitcoms of all time. Its finale was watched by 76.3 million people — the fourth highest in television history. In it, the characters witness someone getting car-jacked at gunpoint and rather than help they are recorded making fun of it. They’re then subsequently arrested for violated the “Good Samaritan law” of the small town they happen to be visiting. The ensuing court case brings in nine-seasons of characters, all testifying to the narcissistic and selfish nature of these four friends, ultimately landing them in jail. Its satiric humor was oddly sobering. Just five years earlier, the National Holocaust Memorial opened. I remember going for the first time and reading the inscription on its stone monument at the museum’s entrance. It was a 1946 post-war confession by a German Lutheran Pastor, Martin Niemoller. “First they came for the Communists and I did not speak out because I was not a Communist. Then they came for the Socialists and I did not speak out because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists and I did not speak out because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews and I did not speak out because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me and there was no one left to speak out for me.” As a child I didn’t know what communists, trade unionists, and socialists were. But I understood Niemoller’s confession. It wasn’t my problem, until it was. It wasn’t too late, until it was. My Detroit born-and-raised Jewish father, the son of a grocery-store employee, made sure to teach me that it was Jewish lawyers who stood with their Black brothers and sisters in the Civil Rights movement. In college, I remember participating in the national holocaust memorial day activity of reading names of the deceased. For 20 hours students, alumni, staff and faculty read the names of those killed by the Nazis. And during seminary in Church History, I was taught that it was the members of the Early Church that rescued babies abandoned on the Roman walls. From spiritual wisdom to scripted television, we know what the universe begs of us. It wants us to see each other as more than just strangers. Whether you call it sin or selfishness, from international tragedies to violent domestic antisemitism, we are all witnesses to ‘Good Samaritan’ failures. We cannot pretend we don’t see ridicule, harassment, and hate. As a child I wondered if I had the strength to stand up like Dietrich Bonhoffer and Martin Niemoller. As an Episcopal priest I wonder if I would be willing to die for my faith like Saints Peter and Paul. What I know, is that when I visit the hospital, I see nurses caring for the sick. When I perform funerals, I see families and friends mourn the loss of a loved one. I don’t know any of their backgrounds, beliefs or voting preferences. I just see good people standing with other good people who are hurting. I see God’s teaching living out in one another. Even if Good Samaritan laws aren’t real, their lesson about human survival is. If we aren’t there for the survival of each other, then there won’t be anyone to be there for us. 

I freely admit that I am a difficult person to buy presents for. I wish it weren’t true, but I’ve even returned gifts given to me by the closest of family members. The small consolation that I feel is that I am not alone in this sad truth. According to the National Retail Federation, 17% of all goods sold during the winter holidays will be returned—that’s roughly $900 billion worth. But why? Are we a fickle people or is there something more profound at play? There is an undeniable intersection when a gift has both relational value and a unique poignancy to us. I cherish the bible given to me by the bishop who ordained me a priest. My husband fiercely protects the porcelain Christmas tree that belonged to his great grandmother. My fraternity brother’s daughter still goes to bed every night with the same Vermont Teddy Bear we got her a few Christmases ago. The right gift has the ability to convey something more meaningful than its monetized retail value. It can connect how we are seen by others with how we hope to see ourselves. Admittedly, most gifts can’t do that—which is why if they aren’t immediately useful they get returned. We know we shouldn’t equate gifts with love but it’s also impossible to deny the pure joy seen on a person’s face when you surprise them with a gift. The biggest mistake however is to assume that all gifts are material or fungible. I would argue that the most important part of a gift is its intangible value and that cannot be transferred. The bible I own isn’t a particularly unique translation and the book itself is not a first edition. It is however an artfully and intellectually well translated bible given by the bishop who consecrated me a priest on the day of that consecration, sacramentality intersecting with personal accomplishment. For Brendan, we actually own two porcelain Christmas Trees, but he can easily tell the difference between the two. In addition to their subtle differences based on decades of difference in age, the older one carries with it an heirloom sentimental value. And for Silvy, every young child yearns to feel safe at night, assured by being able to grasp onto something dependable when sleeping alone. As we journey into this next year around the sun, I wonder if we are also present to all the intangible yet equally important gifts we give each other all the time. For as much as we give physical objects, we also gift to one another every time we interact with another human being. Whether or not you believe that the very image of God is present in every life, every time we interact with another person we gift; we communicate our understanding of them and it directly engages with their own self-perceptions. All the ways we engage with one another are our behavioral gifts demonstrating how important we see another person’s life to be. As you ponder how you want to live your life in 2025, I invite you to remember that unlike a material good, your interactions cannot be taken back.