It seems as though just about once a week someone will phone from one of the charity agencies -- the Purple Heart, the Good Will, the Disabled Veterans -- and I always know when they are calling, because they will ask for Mrs. Smith. Nobody asks for Mrs. Smith when they could ask for Margaret except the charities. I guess they think that women are more compassionate than men, and so when they hear my voice, they appeal to the Supreme Court right away! At any rate, just about once a week, one of the charity agencies will call and will ask if we have anything they might pick up, and when we do, which is frequent, since nothing expands as rapidly around our place as does junk – when we do, I am more than happy to round it up and set it out on the front step and wait for my nice little tax deduction receipt. I like giving to these charities.
But let someone approach me on the street corner while I am waiting to cross and ask me for a little change, and I get flustered. Let someone stop me on the sidewalk and tell me he hasn't eaten, and I get embarrassed and look for a quick and easy way out. Let someone call me on the telephone and ask not for old clothes and battered furniture but for a donation for this cause or that, and I get all mealy-mouthed trying to think of a decent way to get rid of the call. Do you know what I am talking about, do you feel that too?
What's the difference? One kind of charity claim makes us happy to respond, ready to give; the other kind embarrasses us, ties our tongues, and, more than likely, seals up our wallets. What's the difference?
One difference, I believe, is that one kind of giving costs us something we don't want anyway, and the other lays claim to something we do want for ourselves. When the folks from Purple Heart stop at my front door, what they get is a motley collection of ill-fitting clothes with the wrong size lapels and with odd colors that we wouldn't wear on Halloween. But when the fellow on the street corner stops me, he is asking for something that does fit, it fits in my wallet; for something that is the right color, cash green; for something I would take with me any place, any time. The difference is that some gifts cost nothing you'd really want to keep anyway; and others take from you that which you do value, that which at heart you'd really prefer to keep for yourself.
Would you agree with me that a gift is not really a gift until it costs you something? Would you affirm with me that if I give you only that which I didn't want anyway I have in truth given you nothing? If I give you a coat and I say, here, take this, I was only going to throw it away anyhow, then it would be· better if my thanks came not from you but from the garbage man for keeping his load a little lighter. A gift that does not represent something I value, something I care about, is no gift at all.
I think there is another reason why I can give to charities so readily and am yet so embarrassed and so torn up inside by the man on the street corner. And that is that with the one, there is no personal dimension, there is no face-to-face encounter. But with the other I have to deal with flesh and blood, with a real human life. When I give – or, let's not say give – when I allow the DAV to be my garbage collectors, I deal with a nameless voice over the phone and leave boxes out to be picked up by somebody whom I never even see. Clean, quick, impersonal. But when that face, with sunken eyes and unshaved cheeks, encounters me, I cannot avoid knowing that now I'm dealing with a person, I'm dealing with a child of God; however much he may have denied it, however much he may have tarnished the image of God in him, still I am dealing with a child of God. And that gets personal, doesn't it? That gets down to where some contact is made with the inner me, where my soul begins to be disturbed. That's different.
The little letter of John in the New Testament uses some very strong language to help us assess exactly what we feel arid what we are to do in times like that. John's words are surely the most biting, the most straightforward in the New Testament. “We know that we have passed out of death into life, if we love the brethren; He who does not love remains in death.” And more than that; more pointed still, “Anyone who hates his brother is a murderer.”
How more pointed can you get than that? To love is important, to love is vital; if we do not love we cannot be counted as those who are alive or who are even worthy to live. But it gets even more astounding, more vigorous. John says, "By this we know what love is, that Christ laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren. If any one has the world's goods and sees his brother in need, yet closes his heart against him, how does God's love abide in him? Little children, let us not love in word or speech but in deed and in truth."
In other words, if you want to know what love is, look at one who laid down that which was most costly, that which he valued above all else, his life. Look at Christ. Love that costs something.
And if you want to know how to act out this love in the world, then look at your brother, your sister, open your heart. Do not see them as mere faceless creatures, do not see them as impersonal claims on your energies, unwelcome and unpleasant, No, see those who have needs as brothers and sisters, see them as persons. No heart bypasses allowed. When you deal with the needs of' the world, no heart bypasses allowed. You cannot see Christ and understand Christ and still treat his children as though they were only a nuisance. If' anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother in need and yet bypasses the heart, just does charity in some uncaring, unfeeling, impersonal way … if we do that, how does God's love abide in us?
I am aware this morning that there is a divided mind in this church about the matter of compassion. I am aware that some of us believe we can and must do more for the needy, the physically and financially needy around us. Others, however, believe we need to do a better job of taking care of our own house, of setting our own house in order first. We have a divided mind on this.
We have a divided mind on what we ought to be and do in the area of missions. I am aware that some of' us would like to see more and more energy, more and more money going into efforts at winning a lost world to Christ. But others would argue that we need more staff, more facilities, more programming and more of nearly everything, right here at home. Again, a divided mind.
I shall not attempt to resolve all that this morning. That is a part of the ongoing dialogue and debate that I know will mark our life together for as long as we are a church at all. But let me make this clear: never, never should we have a divided mind about whether our God calls us to love and how He calls us to love. I am persuaded that we will not be church, we will never be the church God asks us to be until we are prepared to hurt. That's right, until we are prepared to hurt. We will not be the church God calls us to be until we give the world something we'd really rather keep for ourselves. They will not respond until they know we care enough, as the greeting card maker puts it, to give our very best. And that will cost us.
And again I know that we will never be the church the Father expects us to be until we see the Father's children as our brothers and our sisters, not just as expensive demands on us, but as brothers and sisters. We cannot have it both ways, we cannot be church and stay aloof from those who need us. We cannot be Christian and stiff-arm those for whom Christ died. We cannot bypass the heart, we cannot close the heart and still expect God's love to abide in us. If anyone has the world's goods and sees his brother, his sister in need, yet closes his heart, bypasses his heart, how does God's love abide in him?
If you remain unconvinced; if your head is still outpacing your heart, bypassing your heart, and you are saying, “Yes, but we can't do this; yes, but, there are a lot of fakes out there; yes, but we have to pay the bills here first,” … if your heart is still bypassed, then I would call your attention to the Table set before you. I would ask you what this means?
Does it not mean that He who died for us paid a price beyond all calculation? Does it not mean that he who was rich for our sakes became poor, so that we might experience all the fullness of God? Our Lord Christ, you see, gave in the most costly of way; he gave all that He had, all that He was.
And does it mot mean, also, that He gave for you and for me, not just for some abstraction, not just for some vague principle? Our Christ died for me, for you, for Bob and for Sallie and for Tracy and for Gary – great God, it was for me. Christ loved me and Christ invited me and you to this Table, there to permit us to receive his gifts. What does it mean?
John says it best, “By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us.” And John's conclusion cannot be improved on either, “and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren.” Great God, help us not to deny our own hearts, not to bypass our hearts, but to respond to the needs of brothers and sisters until it hurts.
