Arm in Arm

There’s always someone waiting at the busy intersection, wanting something. An old woman selling onions for pennies, a bored-looking young girl with a hand-printed sign, hand upturned, putting in her time. An old man patiently begs pocket-change, knowing in time he’ll have enough to buy a bottle of something to keep him warm.

On this day as the American made her way to the market, an old woman stood there. She wasn’t selling or begging, just asking for help across the railroad tracks. The strong, young girl locked arms with the unsteady, world-worn woman. As they stepped over the tracks, the younger woman slipped. The old woman tightened her grip, held her ground, and kept them both from falling.

The strangers, arm in arm, laughed at the irony. Then each went her own way, leaving the young missionary thinking about her work there and the lesson she’d just been shown. Stateside, she shared the story with church members who had come to hear from the young college graduate who lives among the poor in Eastern Europe.

I knew after hearing this story that I wanted to write about it, but, like snowflakes that fall lightly, it took time for my thoughts to accumulate, to gather into something worth saying. It seems like much of my writing is like that. I’m slow, I guess.

Her story made me think about the nature of helping - of service, sacrifice, volunteering, giving. Does anyone ever give and not receive? Does the person who forsakes personal comfort or pleasure in order to meet another’s needs ever go away with less? A person may think he’s there to serve, not wanting or expecting any payback, but something else is at work here.

Jesus shamelessly advertised extravagant rewards for serving Him:

And He said to them, “Truly I say to you, there is no one who has left house or wife or brothers or parents or children, for the sake of the kingdom of God, who will not receive many times as much at this time and in the age to come, eternal life” (NASB). Luke 18:29.

And, giving a cup of water to a little child is the same as giving it to Him. Or visiting a prisoner, a sick person, feeding or clothing someone. It’s astounding when it really sinks in. Not that He identifies with the needy, but that He so wants to enlist the troops that He offers the highest reward. “You’ve done it for Me.”

My former pastor, Ronnie Stevens, said, “God didn’t give us the gospel so that we would understand life. He gave us life, so that we could understand the gospel.” Ever since he said that, I’ve looked more intently at things in nature. When you look, you see.

That “something else” at work when we give to others can be seen in the way of the bees and the nectar. Of armies of little fish who clean sharks’ teeth, the yucca moth who alone pollinates the yucca plant, even the bacteria that is needed for digestive health. My daughter’s public school science book promotes the idea of random forces, but then calls the environment an ecosystem. System is right. A beautiful, inter-dependent system that shows us in strokes broad and tiny that Someone with a plan designed things to work together.

Rewards, though seemingly built-in, vary according to motivation. If I do a good thing so people will praise me, they will. That’s the reward. After a time, the clapping dies down, but then I can always pat myself on the back. Not a great reward, but sufficient to keep many people serving.

Sometimes service is part of a contract we make with ourselves – our own formula for living in balance. I’ve done something hard that took a lot out of me. I’m tired. I deserve to dish up a big bowl of ice cream and watch CSI. Don’t ask for more. The service becomes a “Get Out of Jail” pass. Again, it’s reward, but it’s not what Jesus meant.

I’m guilty of both the above in my service. But I don’t think they’re the only motivations. There are better motivations which in my better moments I live by, like Eric Liddell’s, “I feel His pleasure.” For now, the reason I serve is that when I don’t, when my life is all about my family and my stuff, I feel this gnawing discontent. Something is off, unsettled, missing. To use my pastor Cole Huffman’s metaphor again, I’m evaporating on the shore.

But when I enter the torrent, (Cole's metaphor) the gospel life of giving water to thirsty people, I am rewarded. Far, far beyond the effort. Far beyond any expectation or deserving. It makes me glad. It makes me happy. I feel alive.

It seems to be part of the system, part of the design, that people are blessed when they help others. Good on His promise, God rewards those who enter into His work. But sometimes He turns the tables and gives an old woman a moment of usefulness, of strength, the spine-straightening feeling of having helped someone else.