This post contains both a struggle and a hope. It is a meditation without answers.
As Christians we seek in some way to serve Jesus. It looks different for each of us according to our gifts and callings.
But are we doing enough?
We do not have the luxury of a selfish savior. The Jesus of the gospels, of our faith, and of everlasting reality, who walked with his feet in the earth and is the image of the Most High, gave everything. Every last thing, even his own life. And he demands that we follow in his footsteps.
Right now I’m reading a volume of collected writings by Dorothy Day. Day took very seriously when Jesus said,
When the Son of Man [he commonly referred to himself this way] comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on his glorious throne. Before him will be gathered all the nations, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. And he will place the sheep on his right, but the goats on the left. Then the King will say to those on his right, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.” Then the righteous will answer him, saying, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?” And the King will answer them, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers and sisters, you did it to me.”
Then he will say to those on his left, “Depart from me, you cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.” Then they also will answer, saying, “Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?” Then he will answer them, saying, “Truly, I say to you, as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.” And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life. (Matthew 25:31-46)
Day saw Jesus in every person, no matter how poor, dirty, or destitute they might be. She and the other members of her Catholic Worker Movement lived in poverty themselves so that they could give every last thing they had to sustain others during the height of the Great Depression and afterward. How many of us would go into debt to feed others? How many of us would live in such a way that every room in our homes was open to those who have none?
I don’t think I can live like that. That way of living seems utterly incompatible with mine.
As I said earlier, we all have our own gifts and callings (1 Corinthians 12). I’m a depressed introvert, and I would so much rather study and write than interact with others. But that excuse only goes so far. I cannot change the world only from my couch or a coffee shop, I have to step outside my comfort zone to do other work as well. At the very least, as civil rights icon Rep. John Lewis puts it, I ought to go get into some “good trouble”.
I have a son who’s almost a year old now. We’re donating his old bassinet, swing, and clothes to a needy mother. But don’t applaud! Our closets are still full of what we don’t wear, we throw away food we let go bad, we buy what we don’t need, and there are a million more ways we could be contributing to the wellbeing of others but don’t. Maybe really it is enough. After all, maybe we need to look after our own wellbeing too.
Perhaps my guilt is misplaced, but the challenge to do more is holy.
I’ve referenced the following quote from St Basil the Great in this blog a couple of times now:
Is not the person who strips another of clothing called a thief? And those who do not clothe the naked when they have the power to do so, should they not be called the same? The bread you are holding back is for the hungry, the clothes you keep put away are for the naked, the shoes that are rotting away with disuse are for those who have none, the silver you keep buried in the earth is for the needy. You are thus guilty of injustice toward as many as you might have aided, and did not.
While I generally apply this to society as a whole, that together we have enough to take care of one another especially using the government as a tool, and while I think that if we all contribute together the individual sacrifice will be relatively small (welfare-state liberal here), I can’t quote him without at least a small amount of personal hypocrisy. Do I model the thing I want for us all? I vote for and speak out about broad solutions, but what of my personal life? If we all won’t do something, will I?
I am thoroughly attached to my things, to the very idea of “mine”. What is rightfully “mine”? Is “mine” even a morally acceptable category? I don’t mean for people in general, I mean for a follower of Christ. If that’s not you, these demands may not be for you. I don’t know what you should do.
This is certainly no missive on how you should live or description of how I do it. If this is the moral standard to which we are subject, then I am an utter and abject failure.
But there is grace, and the heart of the calling is love. We are not expected to perfectly give everything up at once, but to be continuously led further and deeper into a life of love for God and others. Both the end and the path are joy and growth, not guilt.
After I write this, maybe little will change. Maybe I won’t answer the radical call quite yet, but I hope that I will be slowly but surely transformed into one who loves deeper than the world around him, deeper than he would otherwise be inclined. Dorothy Day had that idea, the idea that changing the world was something that happened little by little, bit by bit, through small everyday acts of kindness. I think maybe I can do that.
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