The Hole in Our Gospel Part 3

Our third Compassion Challenge with The Hole in Our Gospel involved taking action on what we had learned about the water crisis in week two of our study. 

We were asked to consider our discretionary spending for a week.

We took the money we would have spent and set it aside in a small, heart-shaped box with Matthew 25:35 printed on the lid: "I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink."

The idea was to forgo some of our comforts and luxuries like Starbuck's coffee, pedicures, golf games or meals out. 

The following weekend, everyone who participated brought their boxes to church, donating the money inside to build a water well in the Abaya region of Ethiopia. The donations in all those little boxes totaled $79,202.52. The amount was matched by an anonymous donor, bringing the total to $158,405.04, funding 15 wells to be dug in 15 villages.

For me, it was completely worthwhile to give up a few small creature comforts, knowing the money I was saving would make a radical difference in the lives of people with no access to clean water. The challenge for me is to keep this same frame of mind beyond just one week so that I am not simply living in a temporary "compassion bubble" for the duration of this series.

At our small group, we talked about how hard it can be to see so much need in the world and to feel like no matter what we do, we just won't really make a dent in helping. World Vision's founder, Bob Pierce, speaks to this by saying, "Don't fail to do something just because you can't do everything."

We talked about structuring not just our discretionary funds, but all of our income around the idea that we are just stewards of the blessings God has given us. This includes thinking about things like how much we spend on a house or a car or a vacation. 

Will we spend in such a way that we have excess to give to people in need? This is a challenging concept for a person living in an affluent community like Danville where "bigger" and "better" seems to be the focus of so many people.

Still, judging others who seem to have so much can be a tricky business. We never know how generous they may be or how they are using their material abundance to benefit others. I can also fall into the trap of letting the pendulum swing the other way and being racked with guilt for any dollar I spend that is not 100 percent meaningful. God is not a God of guilt, and when I start feeling this way, I need to remind myself of that.

Our small group also talked about how time can be something that people tend to be stingy with and not share freely. We can fill our lives with our own activities that seem so important and not leave any time to reach out to others in need. 

For me, time is a precious commodity and I seem to pack my days so full that I never have enough time. Trying to look at places where I can budget my time differently so I can serve others is daunting.

Feeling inspired by what we've been learning, I decided to challenge myself in this area and signed up to serve at a local ministry that provides hot meals, safe shelter, showers, clothing, medical and dental services for needy people. It also operates a residential recovery program to help addicts put their lives back together and make a fresh start. 

I'm embarrassed to admit that it felt like quite a sacrifice to go serve in inner city Oakland and give up a rare free day with beautiful weather when I could have been mountain biking with a friend on Mt. Diablo. I prayed  for a positive attitude and reminded myself that going was one way I could respond tangibly to God's love for me and serve those in need.

I spent the morning with a group of seven other women from church who had volunteered. We learned about all of the services the ministry provides, packed bags of groceries to be delivered to needy families in the neighborhood and helped prepare lunch and dinner for the 40 or so residents in the recovery program. The ways we served didn't feel particularly difficult, but those who worked at the center couldn't have been more grateful.

At the end of our time, the director of the ministry came to talk with us. He spoke of the tremendous need for helping troubled families in the area, especially moms and kids. My heart ached and I wished there was some way I could help on a consistent basis. In my current life circumstances, this desire just isn't realistic.  However, this shouldn't stop me from serving where and when I can and looking more carefully at how I structure my time to make this possible.

The sermon that set up the heart-box Compassion Challenge was on Luke 12:13-21, which is the story of a rich man whose ground produces such an abundant harvest that he tears down his barns and builds bigger ones to hold all of his surplus grain. His plan is to store up what he has reaped and to "take life easy, eat, drink, and be merry." Jesus wraps up the parable by explaining "But God said to him, 'You fool! This very night your life will be demanded from you. Then who will get what you have prepared for yourself?'" He finishes the story by saying, "This is how it will be with whoever stores up things for themselves but is not rich toward God."

Our pastor went on to talk about greed. Everyone can see it clearly in someone else, but we all seem to struggle to recognize it in ourselves. He talked about how greed is having more than enough and using it all for ourselves. The antidote to this problem, he said, is generosity.

We don't have to be rich to be generous. He pointed out that if we make over $9,000 per year, we are living better than 90 percent of the world. We were encouraged to pray that God would rescue us from trivial matters and let our hearts be broken for the things that break the heart of God. He closed by asking: "Will we be content with building bigger barns or will we do something different?"

In The Hole in Our Gospel Rich Stearns discusses the vast and ever-growing discrepancy between the wealthiest and the poorest people on earth. Among many other statistics, he points out that "the top 20 percent of the world's population consumes 86 percent of the world's goods."

I experienced my own revelation about this fact while playing a game of "Monopoly Junior" with my 10-year-old son recently. (Ironically, in a past career Rich Stearns worked for Parker Brothers and even served as the CEO for a period of time.) 

As our game progressed, it became clear that I was quickly gaining ground, collecting real estate and reaping the benefit of the "rent" my son had to pay when he would land on one of my spaces.

Meanwhile, he was having a run of bad luck. He is not a particularly gracious loser and I could see that his demeanor was becoming increasingly sour as the game continued. Finally, the straw that broke the camel's back came. My piece landed on the coveted spot: "Mr Monopoly's Loose Change." As I reached to collect quite a pile of money that I had won, my son burst out: "It's not fair! You already have so much money and I'm almost broke!"

I started to explain that this was just the way the game worked. While my winning might not feel good to him, it was still fair.  But before I knew what I was doing, I found myself dividing my winnings and sharing them with him, much to his delight.  In my small act of mercy, I had broken the rules of the game, narrowed the gap between us and relinquished some of my advantage.

Later, I asked both my boys,"What is the main goal in Monopoly?" 

Without hesitating, they both said, "To win as much money and property as you can and to make all the other players lose their money." 

They were exactly right. 

The more I thought about it, the more I started to ponder: Maybe it's time we all start breaking the rules a little and stop feeling entitled to receive what's coming to us. 

I wonder what would happen if everyone took their "Mr. Monopoly's Loose Change" and gave away the excess instead of keeping it for themselves. In fact, maybe instead of breaking the existing rules, it's time we made new ones for ourselves and the way we think about money.

Once again, I find myself chewing on another challenging concept that requires some significant thought and prayer.