Of Sheep & Goats

“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… I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.”
Matthew 25: 42-43, 45

The earliest encounter with poverty that I remember having goes back to when I was five or six years old. I was at a market with my mother when we came across a beggar at the entrance to the market. I can’t remember whether it was a man or a woman but what I saw shook my little body with angst and sadness.

Not long after, the Ethiopia famine of 1984 was at its worst and the images of starving children made me daydream fervently of one day when I’d design and build mass produced low-cost dwellings in order to house those starving children and their homeless families for free. Never mind that food was probably what they needed most urgently rather than a mud shack but that’s another story. I also never did realise that dream either.

At age eight, I remember feeling embarrassed whilst clambering into our green-coloured Mercedes Benz family car. Embarrassed and awkward because I was by then old enough to be aware that it was an expensive car and there were many other poor children whom I’d seen begging at the marketplace who’d never get to sit on the leather seat where my little bum now occupied.

An encounter with another beggar at the market entrance later with my grandmother brought about an epiphany which seared the way I looked at the poor from then on. I was about to drop a coin into the beggar’s cup when my grandmother said something to the effect of, “When you give, remember to use your eyes and look because there are those that need it more so than others.” By that, she meant that I ought to give to those who were obviously disadvantaged because of their physical impairment, be it a handicap or by being blind rather than those who were perfectly able-bodied but who were after an easy buck. My grandmother had introduced to me a new way of looking at the poor and of poverty in a way that my little mind hadn’t yet thought of.

Fast forward 20-odd years or so, and I find that the tension in me about my response to the poor remains. The epiphany I had about poverty as a boy now finds itself competing with other considerations. Someone said at my tribe meeting today that “When I feed the poor, they call me a Christian. When I ask the poor why they are poor, they call me a Communist.” Poverty, when we ask why it exists, be it on a local or global level, suddenly turns it into a socio-political issue – of why some people are poor and others are not, of the different kinds of poverty in industrialised countries like ours versus the shanty towns of developing nations, of global economic policies that perhaps cripple some nations with spiralling national debt that they could never repay back.

For me, as a Christian, I find that even though Jesus himself said that we will always have the poor among us on earth (John 12:8), throughout the Old and New Testaments, God has nevertheless always called his people not to forget the poor, the widow, the fatherless, the marginalised and to speak out against oppression and injustice. I want to identify with and be alongside the poor and yet still want a reasonably fat wallet for myself at the same time. How do I identify with the poor when I, in proportion to the rest of the world, live such an affluent way of life? Yet, what am I doing? And if I am doing something, am I doing enough? Should I do more? When is it enough? How much is it enough? That’s the source of the tension I have within me about social justice and poverty.

It is easy to placate one’s sense of social justice responsibility by sponsoring a child through the many aid organisations. It is quite another to be alongside a stinky, foul-mouthed, unappreciative old man who hasn’t had a bath in weeks in his small boarding room in Fitzroy and spend time with him and helping to wash him. It is one thing to give generous amounts of money to the Salvation Army or the Australian Red Cross, mainly in consideration of how much tax rebate you’d get for that particular financial year, and quite another to volunteer your time freely to teach a refugee English so that she could at least get a job to put food on the table. I'm not saying one is better than the other, just to what extent do we need to get our hands dirty? I mean, we all have different gifts and talents and amounts of resources. So, how much is enough? How far do I need to go? Or as a Scottish friend of mine puts it, "How much isn't enough?"

Today, we looked at the social justice traditions of Christianity at our tribe meeting – for those of you unfamiliar with my church, what we call a ‘tribe meeting’ is basically like a house church or put simply, a group of people meeting at someone’s house on a Sunday for church.

As we read through the parable about the sheep and the goats amongst other passages, I began to realise that the tension which exists in me over poverty is a good thing insofar as it continues to point me to another world yet to come and in turn reminds me that my home isn’t here and not to depend on my material wealth for security. Easier said than done, I know. For C.S. Lewis, the only safe rule in his mind was to give more than he could spare.

He writes in Mere Christianity (1952: 86), "Charity – giving to the poor – is an essential part of Christian morality: in the frightening parable of the sheep and the goats it seems to be the point on which everything turns. . . I do not believe one can settle how much we ought to give. I am afraid the only safe rule is to give more than we can spare. For many of us the great obstacle to charity lies not in our luxurious living or desire for more money, but in our fear – fear of insecurity." I realised that looking after the poor and the giving away of our resources to help others be it in monetary terms or otherwise links back to not only the first and greatest commandment to love God with all your heart, soul and mind but to also love your neighbour as yourself (Matthew 22:37-39). For John Wesley, looking after the poor also acted as guard against him placing his security in material wealth and storing up treasures on earth. He says, “I gain all I can… I save all I can… and by giving all I can, I am effectually secured from laying up treasures upon earth."

So C.S. Lewis and John Wesley both had their own measures of how much was required of them individually. However, as good as their suggestions may be, this still doesn’t resolve the questions I have for myself as to how much is enough.

At the end of the day, I believe it’s not about a guilt trip (and it shouldn't be) and it’s also not about bagging having material possessions per se. It’s what we do with it, what we place our security in and what we do about those in need around us. Jesus was in the rich man’s house as much as the poor man’s house, and he was willing to give generously to all those that came in contact with him. We are told to look out for the poor and the oppressed, but the weight of responsibility (of how much to give of one’s resources) lies on God himself to put that on our hearts. Our task is to respond to that challenge. James 1:4 tells us that if we lack wisdom in anything, including about what I, ought to do, or how much I ought to give in looking after the poor, I can and should ask God for the answer and He’ll place the burden on my heart appropriately. The last thing we want to do is act out of guilt or out of compulsion because God wants us to give willingly and cheerfully (2 Corinthinans 9:7).

Tim Hein at the tribe meeting summed it up appropriately, reminding those of us present that, ultimately, looking out for the poor and the oppressed is inevitably part of being oriented towards building and extending the kingdom of heaven right here right now. And that like Jesus, it’s not what you earn that matters, it’s who you eat with that says the most about your life.

RECOMMENDED BOOK:
Streets of Hope: Finding God in St Kilda (1998) Tim Costello