The story of the Christmas Feast, 2025

For the first time in the history of Spring Church, we ate a Christmas feast that came from our own hands.

It started quietly, the way most important things do. Through a simple conversation, LeRoy and a friend realized there were extra funds left on his friend’s Medicaid card. Money that had to be spent before the end of the year. Money that could only be used for groceries and household items. Money they didn’t want to give back to the government, and wanted to see put to good use. We suggested stocking up on dry goods and nonperishables for himself. He could have, but instead he wanted to give it to the church. He has an abundance mindset, even while living under the poverty line.

Once the decision was made, it felt obvious. A feast. The kind where there’s so much food you send people home with leftovers.

On Christmas Eve, LeRoy dressed as Santa (not difficult for a guy who looks like Santa 365 days of the year) and Jessie went with him to the grocery store. Then another grocery store. Nearly four hours of pushing carts and crossing off lists and navigating packed aisles. Hams. Potatoes. Green beans. Bread. Cheese. Crackers. Enough charcuteries parts to count pushing the cart as an actual workout.

At one point, standing under fluorescent lights with carts full of food, LeRoy stopped. “I’m not used to shopping like this,” he said. “Where I’m not counting every penny. This feels so strange.”

Jessie smiled and said, “This is abundance. This is a gift. We get to receive it.”

Santa looked rather jolly at this moment.

After that, Jessie delivered bags of ingredients to doorsteps. People cooked what they could in their own kitchens.

We gathered at Andrea’s house around a long table that seemed to stretch on forever. The food kept coming. Plate after plate. The abundance was on full display.

Andrea didn’t hold back. No disposable plates. No plastic cups. She shared her great grandmother’s fine china and Crystal glasses. The kind of things you worry about breaking or chipping, especially with a large crowd, she shared with great delight! People walked in and slowed down. Some of them just stood there for a moment, taking it in.

We ate family-style as uncommon friends, shoulder to shoulder. Plates passed. Voices rose in familiar and not-so-familiar Christmas songs. People shared stories of hope and shared grief of missing loved ones, and prayed for one another. Knowing through all of this, God is with us.

By the end, hearts were full. Stomachs too.

No one hurried away. It felt like the kind of night you don’t want to end. The kind that leaves you knowing you’ve been part of something you couldn’t have predicted, but needed all the same.