Issac J. Bailey | Spirit of season found in tragedy

By the time you read this, I’ve probably dashed to the store to make a few last-minute purchases for Christmas. I never make any first-minute purchases.

In part I do it to use the holiday as an opportunity to spread a bit of cheer, which isn’t in great supply these days, no matter the season.

In part, I do it, like many others, out of a sense of obligation, even though we know that doesn’t line up with the spirit of the season, which is built upon a foundation cemented by an incredible sacrifice even if it began with gift-gifting. The beginning of the story would not be significant if not for how it ended. The birth of the child was significant, but it was the purpose of his life and death that made him great.

I was reminded of that recently, not at annual tree lighting or perusing aisles in Walmart.

I was reminded at a memorial service for 23-year-old Travis John Eiler, which was held at Socastee High School this past weekend. (I didn’t know him but have known his mother Danielle for several years, ever since we tried to put together programs designed to develop leadership skills in area teenagers.)

Hundreds showed up to celebrate Travis Eiler’s life. He was killed early this month while on a Campus Crusade for Christ mission trip in central Asia.

He had gone there to serve others, those less fortunate, strangers, out of an obligation to do what he felt was right which, in his mind, was to spread the message about Jesus through action as much as words.

I’m sure he was a cute little boy wrapped in a hospital blanket a little more than two decades ago, but people came out in droves to celebrate not his birth, but his life and sacrifice.

They celebrated him because he felt obligated, not to get a friend the latest version of Xbox for Christmas, but because he felt obligated to befriend the lonely, to feed the hungry, to speak for the voiceless.

He was worthy of the celebration because he walked when many others only talk.

I haven’t been able to shake the sense of obligation his life represented, an obligation not borne of a government edict or out of financial concern.

It was an obligation forged in love, the kind too many of us pretend to understand but are too afraid to put into action.

There’s nothing wrong with gathering around the Christmas tree Sunday morning and laughing with friends and family and drinking egg nog that afternoon.

There’s nothing wrong with an Xbox or surprising a loved one with an upgraded iPad.

Soft, sweet moments and mementos have their place.

But there’s something wrong with allowing them to define our lives, to become the center of our attention, to make us forget the real reason we have air left in our lungs and blood flowing through the ventricles of our hearts.

Imagine, for second, if everyone took up the challenge Eiler’s father, Eric, gave to the gathered crowd, to fill his son’s shoes by being so serious about love and clear about true obligation that they walk out those principles over the coming year.

Imagine the stories they’d have to tell around the Christmas tree next year, about a man they helped save, about a child whose life they made better, about a woman they supported when no one else would … just because they felt obligated to do the right thing even when no one was watching, even when no one was keeping score.

Imagine how much more in line with the spirit of the season next Christmas would be if they did.