Putting on the Towel

I went to a small seminar where Stephanie the leader began to call names for volunteers. 

"Keith, Elizabeth, and..."

I knew my name was coming and sure enough it came.  The three of us went to the front of the room, and Stephanie began her analogy.

We were a family.  Keith was the father and there was no mother.  Elizabeth and I were Keith's daughters; we both dropped to our knees and walked towards him.  Stephanie narrated that Keith loved us both very much, so he put his arms around our shoulders and held us close.  We smiled.  Stephanie continued by saying that Keith gave Elizabeth all of the food, the clothes, and everything and told her to take care of her sister (that's me).  Then Keith went away but continued to watch on his brand new Nanny Cam.

With Keith no longer between us, there was a gap between Elizabeth and me.  Stephanie said Elizabeth ate a big dinner, and I went hungry.  Since I truly was hungry at the time it was not difficult to act out: I frowned and rubbed my stomach.  While Elizabeth slept in her warm bed, I was left out in the cold without a bed at all.

While aspects of this drama are not Biblically accurate, it does hold some fraction of the truth.

The first chapter of James calls us to care for the widows and orphans.  In the time when this was written, widows held no role in society.  The least of these.

Plain and simple: He calls us to put the towel on and serve.

Just before Passover, Jesus and His disciples gathered for a meal.  The disciples argued over who would wash the feet.  This is a dirty job; a job for the lowest one on the totem pole.  The job of a servant.  Think about it, would you like to wash someone else's feet?  Keep in mind the disciples were wearing sandals not nice sneakers.  Think of the worst Chaco dirt-tan you've ever seen and then multiple it by twelve.  Yucky, right?  No wonder they're arguing.

Jesus stands up, leaves the room, and returns wearing a towel around his waist.  He gets down on one knee and one by one takes the feet of the disciples and washes them clean.  The Lord above all got on His knees and served His friends.  The Creator of the feet (and the dirt) caressed the callouses clean of crud.  Jesus, the Most High, took the role of the lowest of the low.  He served His brothers, and He calls us to do the same.

In today's society, serving is the cool thing to do.  People love to stand up and fight for a cause.  Look at the fund raisers for New Orleans.  For Darfur.  For Haiti.  For AIDs.  For malaria.  How many of those projects are Christ-based?  Sure, some, but many are not.

Brothers and sisters in Christ, non-Christians are doing our job.  They are taking care of one another which is what Christ calls US to do.  We serve for a different reason than they do.  We serve for God's glory, not our own.

Right?

Or do we sit on our couches for Christ's glory and not our own?

Honestly, when is the last time you served someone in Christ's name?  I'm not talking about your Christian roommate or your church.  Sure, those things are important, too, absolutely, but that's not what we're discussing today.

When was the last time you stepped out of your comfort zone, put the towel on, and cared for the least of these?  Hugged the man dying of AIDs?  Watched the single mother's children for free?  Gave food to the homeless man?  Reached out to the woman in the abusive situation?  The least of these.

"Katie, I don't know anyone with AIDs, dying of hunger, and living on the street."

You're right.  Neither do I.  Because I haven't taken the time to find them.  They exist in my city.  I bet they exist in your city, too.  They're in line at the soup kitchen every Wednesday begging for something to eat.  They're in the nursing homes yearning to be visited.  They're in the schools in needing someone to help them with their homework and teach them that they are important.  They are all around you waiting to hear the name of Christ.  Will you tell them?

Look around you.  The world's isn't all hunky dory.  It's a matter of opening our eyes and seeing the needs.  It's only after physical and emotional needs are met that we can be God's mouthpiece to reach the spiritual needs.  Do you truly believe that there are "greater things still to be done in this city"?  Why aren't you out there doing them?

Otherwise it's like Stephanie's sketch where Keith told me he loved me, but I didn't see it because Elizabeth had all of the food and I had none.  I saw that Keith loved Elizabeth, but I could not see how he loved me.  If she would take the time to show me rather than tell me Dad loved me, I might have believed her.

<>< Katie

Note: I am preaching to myself here just as much as I am preaching to anyone else.

Pageant Prayer

Remember from last week the Post-It notes in bathrooms and the idea that the strive for beauty should not consume your every being? I wish I could have printed that blog and have a handwritten Post-It to give to every girl in this hotel.

This past weekend my grandma, two aunts, mother, sister, and I had a Girls' Weekend. As we enjoyed our pasta dinner late on Saturday night, there were two tables occupied in the entire restaurant. Ours, the six of us in comfortable clothes, minimal make-up, and freshly pedicured toes. And theirs, the beauty queens dressed to the hilt competing in a teen pageant and their accompanying flamboyant male friends.

Despite both being tables primarily filled with women, there were striking differences between the two. We discussed frivolous things like butt germs, pit chips, the history of deodorant, and doofus-ness. They discussed important matters, reapplied make-up, and nodded politely to one another. We waiting patiently for the waitress before we ordered our traditional trip diet of pancakes and pasta; they chased her down before having a special request with every order. My grandmother chastised me for my poor posture and flat hair; every detail of these women was scrutinized.

Every time I glanced towards their table I saw the same thing: a plastered smile flanked by over-treated hair. However, in one girl in particular did not seem to follow the trend. Rather, beneath the layers of make-up, her face showed defeat, exhaustion, and sadness.

Excuse me, ma'am, I said to her in my head. Your fake-smile is accompanied by a deep sadness in your eyes. You're trying to hide it under all of those layers of make-up, but you're not successful.

In the conversation in my mind, the sad girl explained she'd just lost the tiara. It seemed plausible. Maybe she'd risked everything to be here once more before she out-grew the age bracket and led the stiff competition before losing the tiara at the last final moment. Except it led me to wonder if others were more successful in hiding behind their facades. Was it possible that all of these girls were screaming for help?

A few summers ago, I worked with several pageant girls. I heard them talk about the rigors of their chosen lifestyle. They eat, sleep, and breathe pageants; most of them love it. The strict diet, the close relationships with their tailor, and the drama all included. It blows my mind. Knowing how self-conscious I became merely sharing a hotel restaurant with these pageant people I cannot imagine the pressure required to sit at that table. Those high heels hurt my feet, and I’m not even wearing them.

That does not mean I look down my nose at them in disgust.

Pageant girls, I admire your dedication. Your willingness to sacrifice everything to fulfill a dream.

I want that.
Except I don’t want my goal to be a diamond-filled tiara. Rather, I want six simple words. “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

<>< Katie

PS: What's a Girls' Weekend without a good quote?
Grandma: These pancakes that look like eyes would be really good for if you have a hangover. You're eating breakfast, and they're staring back at you.
Aunt: Yeah, throw some tabasco sauce on them and it's like looking in a mirror!