Jesus, not me

“For He will deliver the needy when He cries,
The poor also, and him who has no helper.
He will spare the poor and needy,
And will save the souls of the needy.
He will redeem their life from oppression and violence;
And precious shall be their blood in His sight.” (Ps 72:12-14, NKJV)

The above was part of my Bible reading guide this morning and it spoke volumes due to what we had done yesterday. Yesterday, we had put on a BBQ in probably the roughest neighbourhood in our inner city, a free BBQ to feed the homeless, helpless, and the less fortunate. Why did we do this? Because we love God, and we know He loves these people and street people are of value as well (which the above verse definitely indicates!), and they deserve to be shown the same dignity and respect that we are all accustomed to.

This is the third year this event has been put on, and preparation for it began months ago. There were preparations in the natural, of course, soliciting donations for the event, but there were also preparations in the spiritual realm. Twice we had done prayer walks around the field, just praying that God would do what He does best: meet with people, transform people, that His Spirit would be there in a very real way. As organizers, we had prayed together and individually for this thing for weeks beforehand.

Yesterday morning I was up at six in the morning, preparing to be down at the site for eight in the morning to begin setup. That morning I was reading from the book of Acts, and the works of the early church inspired me for the day. What powerful things the early church had done! What beautiful adoration to God, to His Word, to His divine purpose! What a humbling thing to try and recreate by the work we were doing!

The BBQ was an absolute success. Despite little technical setbacks early on that, in the grand scheme of things, really amounted to nothing, we had an opportunity to feed at least 500-700 people. Local media was out, so we got a few seconds of exposure on the local TV stations (keep reading to see the clips) and there should be an article in the local newspaper regarding it as well. It was a hot day, up to 24C and many of us got sun burnt. We gave away so much, a thousand hot dogs and a thousand hamburgers, brand-new clothes that were donated, pillows, donuts, fruit, chips, pop, bottles of water. Thank you to the many companies that supported us and gave freely to the event, and thank you to the many volunteers that helped. God bless you all!

Now that the natural results have been described, I need to describe the spiritual. And this is what made this day so exciting, so powerful, and so exhausting. As I said, we were praying for weeks before the event and even driving down, the music in the car was off, and I was praying for the BBQ, for the volunteers, for the food, for the people that were coming to the event. And God moved in an absolutely powerful way! Thank You God that You listen to the heart-felt prayers of Your people who are striving to be obedient and do Your will! There is so much to describe, so it may be a bit disjointed — please bear with me.

First and foremost, there was such a sense of joy among the volunteers. There were no arguments, no one complained about having to do more than others, or do something they didn’t like. We were united in one purpose. There were smiles everywhere, people were so welcoming to those coming through the line to be fed, there was a genuine servanthood evident. There was such complete _peace_ in that place. You need to understand that these are people who are accustomed to a life of strife and fighting, that literally fight over scraps of food. Yet it was so peaceful in the field. There was no striving for places in line. They were patient, despite the heat, and they were grateful for the food. They were polite, thankful. To put this in perspective, I drove off-site around 2:30 in order to get some coffee. Not even a block away I saw two men yelling at each other and fighting. When we were loading the left over supplies into the church at 6:00 there were young men and women, right before the doors of the church (which is also right in the middle of downtown) fighting and swearing and arguing. But in that place, at that time, there was complete and utter peace. No fighting, no arguing, no dissension.
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Monica had worked in my house in Africa for a few years, but I had never had the opportunity to see her home. At the news of her brother’s and father’s deaths, I went to offer my comfort.

As I entered the 10-by-12 foot room that housed the fifteen family members, I greeted Monica¹s mother. In the dim light, I noticed that the room had little furniture to offer – two chairs and a bench. I was shown to one of the chairs. Monica’s mother was sitting on a grass mat.

The only window was a slit six inches wide and 12 inches tall. As my eyes adjusted, I could see the room had a fresh coat of paint and well-swept floor. There was no ventilation to cool the room. The sweat dripped from my face and arms. How could they stand to live in this place?

I didn¹t know what to say. I told Monica’s mother I was sorry for her loss. Over the next 30 minutes she proceeded to overwhelm me with gratitude. “If it were not for you hiring my daughter, we would not have paint on the walls. Thank you for the paint. If it were not for you, we would still have our leaky roof. But you helped to fix it and we remain dry at night. If it were not for you, we would be fighting mosquitoes throughout the night. But you helped us get a screen door and screen for the window.” The list went on and on. I had no idea! I thought Monica had used her salary for food.

I had gone to minister to this woman, to share of the hope we have in Christ. I went away ministered to and convicted of my own ungratefulness. Have I ever thanked God for the paint on my walls?