GC Thanksgiving Day Message - Dismissed

By Robin Caldwell

“Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?’ “The King will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.’ “Then he will say to those on his left, ‘Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.’ …“He will reply, ‘I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.’ “Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life.” (Matthew 25:34-46)

“I’m not going to let you make me feel bad, D,” I said, voice trembling and visibly upset to anyone watching me.

No one was watching me, I was paranoid.

D, my friend had listened patiently to my hypothetical story, which was really about me. It was so embarrassing to tell it and own it, because as a Christian I’d like to believe that most of the time I do the right thing. This was one of those days I didn’t do the right thing and it bugged the heck out of me.

D responded patiently though he didn’t have to, because I was kind of rough on him. “I wasn’t trying to condemn you.”

He hadn’t condemned me, my earlier actions had.

I was sitting in the corner of the sofa in Starbucks. The seating area was crowded on this particular morning, people were everywhere. A writing deadline glued my eyes to my laptop screen and I was in a zone – until I saw a weathered black hand in my face. The hand belonged to a man who looked like he didn’t belong in Starbucks with the caffeinated, perky crowd of stay-at-home moms, business people meeting casually or working and college students with their heads buried in books. In a split second, I shook my head indicating no. And there was only one reason why I said no: I was startled by his presence.

However, as he turned to walk away, I half justified saying no by scouring the room with my eyes. He had to have walked past ten to fifteen people to get to me. Why hadn’t he asked them instead of me? It was a scam, I thought. Examining his filthy clothing, his age (he looked relatively young), and his gait, in a split second, I’d provided myself with myriad justifications for saying no.

My soul filled with conviction and I looked up once again and saw the man with the weathered black hand sitting at a table, in the midst of a very middle class crowd, waiting for his coffee and muffin. Someone believed he needed it and took care of him. And all I could think about until I talked with D was that the someone who took care of him wasn’t me.

Poor D called to discuss the recent Senate probe into several churches’ finances, which led to a discussion on giving, in general.

“Really, who are we to look at someone and decide not to help them?” asked D. He expounded on the point by sharing that Jesus said that when we take care of people, we take care of Him. And that would be about the time I felt so bad for not helping that man.

“Guess I’m going to have to start carrying some extra money on me for the people who ask me for food or cash,” D said. I agreed with him.

Some years ago, I attended a cold, heartless church that demonstrated little in the way of love for people. I asked God should I leave? Not too long after a woman used her keys to the church to sneak her children in at night to feed them, bathe them and put them to bed on the pews. One of my friends advocated on her behalf by asking the pastor for money to put her in an apartment.

“We did that before,” he said. “She’ll just waste the money and end up back on the streets again.”

It was cruel.

Another time, I’d visited a church where the pastors boasted from the pulpit that a member had called in dire need of financial assistance and they looked at the church books to see if he tithed. He didn’t and they, in turn, decided that he was unworthy of being helped.

D became angry when I told that story though he laughed sarcastically. “And we wonder why these guys are being investigated. They are driving around in Bentleys, flying planes and living opulently while people in their congregations are starving and being brow beaten into giving, giving, and giving.”

My eyes watered up, because the very reason why I left my former church was the very reason why I’d rejected helping that man, whose dark, sad eyes and weathered hands haunted me. I saw Jesus before me and I turned him away.

Who did I think I was to justify not meeting a need when I had the means? Who was I to turn him away?

I remembered every occasion that the Lord showed me mercy in the form of human beings who met a need of mine. I remembered people giving to me even when I didn’t know I had a need.

D got me again, he said, “You were probably the only one in the place where he saw light. He saw your light. Remember even the blind people saw the light of Jesus as he passed by. That man knew who you were.”

Who knew but God that I’d learn yet another lesson in giving, a new one that I’d never considered.

This was my pre-holiday test to see if I’d really become more like my Savior, especially in my giving and gratitude. You know gratitude will fuel and fund a multitude of activities; it really does. We give because we are grateful. We give because it’s right. We give because …

God gives and gave, gave and gave…

Truthfully, I’d love to write an inspirational, warm and fuzzy commentary to set off the Thanksgiving holiday, but I cannot. I’m not feeling particularly inspiring or warm and fuzzy. And I am especially not feeling righteous enough to tell you or anyone to give, give and give.

Nope, I’m about to make an appointment with the Lord to reevaluate my own values in Him, and let Him tell me some things about giving. I’m going to let Him talk to me about giving out of gratitude. And I’m going to pray for mercy and grace, because I honestly don’t want someone to look up and see my weathered, black hand reaching out to them and reject me too.

I will go to Jesus with the knowledge that not once has He ever turned me away. He never once dismissed me for any reason.

Thank you, Lord.