Tag: serve

  • Doers of the Word

    06.06.11 | 1 Comment

    by Jim McClurg

    Some of the more challenging parts of scripture point out God’s expectation that we not sit on what we know. James speaks forcefully to the self-deception of faith without action. To paraphrase, “Don’t just listen to the word – do what it says!”

    Turning principle into action isn’t always easy, of course, and this is especially true when it comes to the use of our money. I’m not sure why I feel differently about my financial resources than other gifts from God. Greed? Fear? Maybe because of the quid pro quo of wages. Unlike many of God’s unmerited blessings, I have to work before I get paid, so the money I earn is mine, right?

    How easy to ignore the reality that equally skilled and motivated people didn’t have the chance to work today!

    Sometimes even that realization isn’t enough to awaken me to the true source of wealth, however, and the admonition to share generously falls on deaf ears.

    All of this raises the bar as we approach the final phase of Spilling Hope.  We’ve moved through the first two parts of our three-fold mantra – simplify, learn, give – and I’ve not yet been pulled far from my comfort zone. On the contrary, living more simply soothes my conscience in many ways. And learning, even about troubling subjects, is what college grads have been trained to do.

    No, it’s the “give” part of the Spilling Hope campaign that sheds light on my self-deception – the human temptation to take pride in what we’re doing as a church and, in the end, to celebrate without sacrifice. I think this is what Paul referred to as a clanging cymbal.   

    How reinforcing, therefore, to watch as Bethany attendees have demonstrated increasing generosity each year – not just to Spilling Hope, but to disaster relief worldwide. Ever the pessimist, I had predicted that last year’s giving might not reach 2009 totals. What a shocker as contributions rocketed past that mark to fund almost twice as many wells in our second year.

    Who knows how God will lead people to respond in 2011? But whether totals increase or not, it’s the step of faith represented in contributions of any size that give meaning to our words. 

    That’s why the leadership team at Bethany is praying once again for breadth as much as depth in giving. Because we’re not only investing in water wells and church empowerment, we’re investing in the people of Bethany too, inviting them to experience firsthand the joy of generosity and the blessing of merging word and deed.

  • The Minimalist

    05.06.11 | 2 Comments

    by Claire Carey

    I’m a true Seattlite.

    All my earthly goods fit neatly inside the smallest truck U-Haul rents; after five moves in the last three years, I know this fact for sure.

    My current apartment — a 400-square-foot studio — contains only the bare essentials: two towels, a few dishes, a twin bed, a desk, a small bookcase crammed with my favorite books, a stack of writing paper, a jar with pens, some clothing, a vase for fresh flowers, and a handful of odds and ends.

    By all accounts, I’m a minimalist.

    And, until I met Miss Tammy, I was convinced that meant I had mastered the art of simplicity.

    I was wrong.

    When I first met Miss Tammy in Nashville, she was standing in the newly constructed living room of a flood victim. Her perfectly manicured nails grasped the clipboard outlining the day’s job, and her face had the shine of perfectly tanned skin, even in the dead of winter.

    “I’m the volunteer coordinator for the disaster relief efforts,” she said in that sweet, authoritative lilt of Southern women. “Thanks y’all for coming down here to help.”

    She wore a suede-looking sweat suit; I wore a paint-stained t-shirt. Her meticulous blonde hair was blown high in the front; mine was pulled into a lopsided ponytail. Her lips were coated in a bright pink shimmer; mine wore a quick layer of ChapStick.

    Simplicity was not the word that jumped to mind as I surveyed Miss Tammy.

    But I saw it the morning we pulled up to the storage unit of an elderly woman, who had lost almost everything in the flood. This unit contained what was left, what was “salvageable.”

    I inhaled a few quick breaths of fresh air and quickly pulled on my thick work gloves, thinking about the sewage that had mixed with the river to create a toxic pool of water that literally ate through fabric upholstery and wooden table legs.

    Miss Tammy, however, looked unfazed; she unlocked her luxury SUV and lowered her white leather seats to make room. With no gloves, those delicate fingers stacked brownish crates, dirty towels, and boxes of bloated books in the back of that pristine SUV.

    Would you be this willing to do the same?

    The quiet, gentle question cut through all my good intentions as I pulled the giant tailgate closed with a gloved hand. I thought about my little hatchback back home, and the answer humbled me.

    Standing there in Nashville, a city of performers, big hair and even bigger SUVs, a new thought surfaced: there is no more causation between minimalism and true simplicity than legalism and true righteousness; the former does not produce the latter.

    Genuine simplicity requires Christ; its origins are internal, a posture of the heart and the will, not a decorating motif or lifestyle philosophy. It means giving freely, joyfully, with great abandon because He has shown us how. Simplicity is holding all I have loosely, so that I can give generously—even if that means cramming stinky boxes in the back of my hatchback.