Day 1:
Whatever I do for the "least of these" is an offering to God
"Give, and it will be given to you. A good measure, pressed down, shaken together and running over, will be poured into your lap. For with the measure you use, it will be measured to you” (Luke 6:38).
My instinctive reply to the request was “I can’t possibly!”
I was already on the brink of a schedule disaster, multiple deadlines doing a demented dance before my tired eyes. To provide the help my relative requested would require a disruption I couldn’t afford—with over two hours of “lost” time. But the reality of the situation eventually penetrated my racing thoughts. I realized that the need was pressing, and although I wasn’t the only option, I was uniquely positioned just then to give the most useful help.
Turns out that my help was even more necessary and more valuable than any of us anticipated, and in the end, we were all glad and relieved I had the background needed to handle the unexpected developments. I ended up losing four hours that day, not the two I had budgeted, but the tradeoff in blessing and goodwill more than compensated for the “sacrifice”.
I was struck once again, that day, by the importance of sometimes “moving beyond my borders.” To even occasionally challenge my borders. Too often, it is easy to focus exclusively on my needs, my schedule, my convenience. I want to be “generous” on my terms.
In giving and in living, I may easily overlook the difference I can make, here, and now, because I look at my limitations rather than my possibilities, my lack rather than my abundance, my fear rather than my faith. But I long to see well past my own horizons.
I am inspired by a story related by a dear relative who once had occasion to “look up” a family in England that had shown kindness to her family in a time of hardship and struggle. To her great surprise, she found a family living in simple surroundings with very modest means.
The father worked long hours in the field of trade, and the mother worked at home taking care of their several small children, including a child with mobility restrictions and several other disabilities. The enormity of their generosity hit home and my relative realized the sacrificial nature of their assistance. She was both staggered and touched.
The account of that family’s “reach” has remained a challenge and an encouragement to me in all the ups and downs of life. I am inspired by the daring empathy and generosity of spirit that enables such courageous giving and selflessness. The family's approach to giving reflects one of my mother’s “wisdoms.” As people would dream out loud about their plans to give to individuals or charity out of the million dollars they hoped to win in the lottery, her sage advice would be “Don’t wait for the million dollars; give out of the dollar you have now.”
The same hold true for all types of giving. We tend to automatically think of money or material goods when we think of giving, and yes, it is important to help in practical ways as we are able. But true giving, of money, of time, of self, comes from a place where there is no reckoning, no balancing, no totaling.
Like giving our ears to listening when tiredness wants to shut out sound, giving our voice to encouraging when irritability wants to drown out love. And yes, giving our “worldly goods” to meet need when anxiety wants to drown out sacrifice.
Like the family in England not too hemmed in by its own needs to look to the needs of others.
Like the widow, in 1 Kings who gave away her last meal to the prophet Elijah even as she told him, “As surely as the Lord your God lives, “I don’t have any bread—only a handful of flour in a jar and a little olive oil in a jug. I am gathering a few sticks to take home and make a meal for myself and my son, that we may eat it—and die” (1 Kings 17:12).
Like Mary, the sister of Martha, who “took about a pint of pure nard, an expensive perfume; [and] poured it on Jesus’ feet and wiped His feet with her hair” (John 12:3).
Don’t misunderstand—I’m all for realism and wisdom—the scriptures provide ample instructions for setting appropriate boundaries, and for guarding against abuses. It teaches careful decision-making and balance. But I want to live in that taut space between pragmatic prudence and unconstrained sacrifice. I want to break the jars of fearful “reason” and follow the promptings of the Holy Spirit. I want to tip over my plans with abandon, so they overflow into worship, and surrender and blessing.
And fill all my spaces with the “fragrance of the perfume” (John 12:3).
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