He had stolen my allowance. I knew he had. He
refused to give it back, and so I did what any self-respecting older sister
would do: I chased the little brat down and sunk my fingernails into his back
until he gave me my allowance back. The irony wasn’t that my dad made me give
Curtis the entire contents of my piggy bank; that was pretty fitting. The irony
was that, at this point in my life, I was giving the entirety of my allowance
to church. In the name of piety, I gave my brother four parallel scars on his
back. In the name of loving Jesus, I had forgotten to love my little brother.
It was a lot easier to love the kids halfway around the world who I thought my
allowance was helping than my little brother, who I was convinced had stolen my money. I’m sure that I was convinced
that the world was completely unjust as I emptied my piggy bank and watched my
brother smile in satisfaction that he had won the day.
The community in 1 John had taken a hit. People
from within the congregation had started to leave; they had started to forget
to love each other; they had started to behave as though Jesus’ command didn’t
matter. They had it all, and they refused to share. Maybe they were convinced
that this was their just dessert from all of their hard work. Maybe they were
planning to give it to a different charity. Maybe they were convinced that if
they shared what they had, they wouldn’t have enough for themselves. Maybe they
were just stingy. Maybe they were just human. Maybe they were a little more
like my 9-year-old self, whose piety stood in the way of love.
Because, really, for as much as Christians talk
about loving one another, we’re not that good at actually doing it. Sure, we’ll
say, “If you need anything, just let me know,” but – more often than not, the
person we seek to comfort will never call and, the truth is, we frequently
forget about what it is to love in truth and action. Love in truth and action
is showing up and saying, “You sit down; I’ll make dinner,” it’s paying
attention and placing ourselves – even if just for a moment – on the back
burner long enough to recognize the image of Christ in our neighbor. But
eventually people quit showing up, quit loving, and started acting like they
could keep Jesus but forget their neighbors.
It is really tempting to keep Jesus and to
forget our neighbors. Life is less inconvenient when we’re only worried about
ourselves and our own wellbeing. That’s the hard part about following Jesus.
It’s not just about us and Jesus; its about us and all of those whom Jesus loves.
It’s about all of us and all of the other sheep. And when the other sheep
become too inconvenient, become too quarrelsome, become too difficult to bear,
we leave the fold, going off to wander to find a greener pasture, a better
place where we and Jesus can be by ourselves. Yet we keep being returned to the
fold, with all of these inconvenient awkward sheep, with these inconvenient
awkward humans who are difficult to love and even harder to care for, insisting
that they are “fine,” even though we know that they are not, refusing our
efforts to help even though we know they need help.
“We know
love by this, that he laid down his life for us—and we ought to lay down our
lives for one another. How does God’s love abide in anyone who has the world’s
goods and sees a brother or sister in need and yet refuses help?”
But it’s easier to drive by. It’s easier to not
ask the question, “Are you all right?” especially if we know that our asking
will lead to a conversation that lasts for hours when our to-do list is already
longer than what we can accomplish and we’re already behind besides and barely
surviving ourselves. So maybe we say a quick prayer and go on our way, hoping
that Jesus will care for them when we have refused to do so. But this is where
we find a wrench in our scheme. Belief and loving our neighbor are two sides of
the same coin: Jesus’ love isn’t just a love that saves us. It is a love that
binds us together. It is a love that makes it impossible for us to look at a
brother or sister and say “Meh. That’s her issue.” Because you dwell in Christ
and Christ in you, you are bound not only to Christ but to the world Christ
loves.
All of this being bound to our neighbor and
loving our neighbor, for many, brings up the question: What’s in it for me? But
let me return with a question: What is in it for you in a world that is
ambivalent toward those who suffer? What is in it for you in a world that
refuses to share with the last and the least? What is in it for you in a world
in which people are so easily forgotten, so easily written off, so easily
refused love? A world that is ambivalent toward those who suffer, that refuses
to share with the last and least, in a world where people are forgotten,
written off and denied love is a world that does not know Christ, nor God’s
love made manifest in Christ. It is a world that has forgotten the joy of a God
who loves us despite ourselves, who places us in community with one another
because we need one another.
In a world that can feel dark and lonely, in
which we think we need to “do it ourselves,” Christ has brought us into a
community that tells us our vulnerability is our strength, that shows us love
we do not deserve, because it is all gift. Our selves, our possessions, our
time, all that we have is a gift, and it multiplies as it is spent. That’s the
funny thing about love: it comes in abundance, anointing us, and filling our
cups to overflowing. It is the joy that begs to be shared.
An empty piggy bank is nothing compared to
Jesus’ self-giving love, the scars of wrongs past healing over time, as we who
had left the fold in search of greener pastures come home. And, cringing in
anticipation of the “I told you so,” we find the open arms of Christ saying,
“Welcome home. It’s about time.”
No comments:
Post a Comment