A pastor several months ago was preaching on loving one another and he arrived at 1 John 3:16.
"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers."
Love is laying down your life for someone else. That sounds kind of extreme, like being ready to heroically dive in front of the speeding bus, burst in and climb the staircase of the flaming house, or stick out one's chest to take the bullet. But how often do those opportunities come around? But then maybe it's just a willingness to do it? But isn't that sort of the kind of thing where you don't really know your response until it happens? And even then isn't it often more of an instict-reflexive-gut-reaction than a conscious decision? Is that really what love is all about? Is this really what John was getting at? Is this really the way Christ laid down his life for us?
And so the pastor asked his congregation: What do you think it means to lay down your life for a brother?
The woman in the back row eventually spoke up. "It's like Jesus said, sometimes it's as simple as giving someone a glass of water. An ordinary act becomes extraordinary."
I liked that. And she was right.
Jesus did talk about simply giving something to eat to someone who is hungry, something to drink to someone who is thirsty. And this seems more in line with what John was trying to get at, because he follows verse 16 more practically:
If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need...
Here we are trying to take bullets or save the world, when really it's much more simple, much more immediate, much more seemingly ordinary. Sometimes it's just sandwiches and bottles of water. Sometimes it's a pair of shoes, sometimes it's a ride across town, many times just a listening ear. But when those ordinary things are truly needed and freely shared, something extraordinary happens.
Why? Maybe it's just because we as humans are typically so self-focused, so self-centered, just so selfish that we don't take time to even see needs let alone try to help them. The simple act of noticing thirst and quenching it is already so unusual in its selflessness, that it is in fact laying down one's life.
In the movie
Millions, Saint Peter visits Damian's bedroom and recounts a familiar story:
Anyway, this kid comes up to us—about your size. His name was—No, I’ve forgotten, but I still see him from time to time. He comes up with these loaves and fishes—sardines—and Jesus blesses them and passes the plate around. Now the first person he passes it to, passes it on, doesn’t take anything, just passes it on. Do you know why? Because he had a piece of lamb hidden in his pocket. And as he is passing the fish, he sneaks a bit of meat out and pretends to take it off the plate. And the next person does the same. Every single one of them has their own food, and every one of them is keeping it quiet, looking out for number one. But as that plate went round with the sardines on, they all got their own food out and started to share. And then that plate went all the way round and back to Jesus, and it’d still got the fish and the loaves on it. I think Jesus was a bit taken aback. He says, “What happened?” And I just said, “Miracle!” And at first, I thought I’d fooled him! But now, I see it was a miracle, one of his best. That kid—He wasn’t planning on doing a miracle, he wasn’t planning anything except lunch. Something that looks like a miracle turns out to be dead simple.
A tad sacrilegious and heretical? Perhaps. But the idea of a bunch of people hiding their own lunches in their pockets for fear of losing it is hardly unbelievable. And then this idea of inspiring people to simply
share? When sharing is so contrary to our nature, I am drawn to affirm the idea that undoing our selfishness is in fact a greater miracle than bending the laws of science to somehow create more fish and more bread until everyone is fed. Whether that's what actually happened that day, that's for us and filmmakers to debate. But let's agree that the simplicity of sharing--laying down one's life--is the result of a miracle, the result of knowing the one who first laid his life down for us.
A few weeks ago, I was thankful for friends who laid down their lives to load and unload a few boxes. Seemed simple enough, ordinary, and most of them wouldn't question it. But I also recently had the experience to catch a glimpse of a divorced man selling his house and trying to empty it. He was all alone, and the task looked physically, logistically, emotionally beyond him. I realized again just how extraordinary all that help was from our friends.
Saint Peter said something that looked like a miracle turned out to be dead simple. Really it's the other way around. Something that looks dead simple turns out to be a miracle.
