The day had been long and exhausting. It was the day of the arrival of the light of Bethlehem. In the evening, I looked into the light and still felt the silent impulse to take the light to a family I had spoken to in the morning after Mass. The mother had told me that she had a friend in the neighbouring town who had grown up in a refugee camp and then lived in the Gaza Strip for a few years. She wanted to pass the light on to her. So I took it to the family in the middle of the night with a storm lantern. The next morning I heard in a voice mail. "Thank you from the bottom of my heart for the light of Bethlehem. I took it with me this morning in the storm lantern and walked from the railway station through the city to my friend. She was already at her office. When I arrived, we both looked at the light for a few moments. We were in tears. Then we hugged each other warmly. My friend is Muslim. She was so touched by this fragile sign of peace. After work, she will send the light in a small video via WhatsApp to her family in the Gaza Strip. They have lost their house there and their refugee accommodation has also been destroyed. They are now living in a tent. That's where the light will arrive." When I heard that, tears came to my eyes. I looked at the Christmas card we had designed this year. It said: "God longs for us. He comes as a person who needs our help!"
