Not Complicated

“So Naaman came with his horses and his chariots and stood at the doorway of the house of Elisha. Elisha sent a messenger to him, saying, ‘Go and wash in the Jordan seven times, and your flesh will be restored to you and you will be clean.’ But Naaman was furious and went away and said, ‘Behold, I thought, “He will surely come out to me and stand and call on the name of the LORD his God, and wave his hand over the place and cure the leper.” Are not Abanah and Pharpar, the rivers of Damascus, better than all the waters of Israel? Could I not wash in them and be clean?’ So he turned and went away in a rage. Then his servants came near and spoke to him and said, ‘My father, had the prophet told you to do some great thing, would you not have done it? How much more then, when he says to you, “Wash, and be clean”?’ So he went down and dipped himself seven times in the Jordan, according to the word of the man of God; and his flesh was restored like the flesh of a little child and he was clean.” —2 Kings 5:9-14

We make things too complicated

We are called to serve our neighbors.

I was a member of a relatively large denominational church on the outskirts of a small town. This town was complete with upper middle and high class families. As I became increasingly aware of the plight of the poor in my community, I began speaking with my pastor about ways we – as a church – could address the need. We had several ideas that would be easy to implement and which would have little cost for the church to bear.

Following church protocol, we presented each of these ideas to the church council. Each idea met the same fate. After debate before the council, each proposal spent several months of discussion in different committees. The ideas that were not rejected were eventually assigned a sign-up sheet for all who were interested. But lacking any explanation, these sheets languished with the same two or three names, until they were finally retired – along with the outreach idea.

After over a year of watching our ideas follow this pattern, I sat in his office, frustrated.

I told him, “I love Jesus. And I love the people Jesus loves. But I have grown to hate ‘church.’”

What I meant was this: I didn’t hate the Church. I hated what we had turned it into. It seemed that we were more concerned about carpet color, song selection, and reserved parking spaces than we were about the suffering people in our community.

In that meeting a new idea was hatched. We would buy one hundred hot dogs and buns, condiments, ten cases of water, and just give them away. Just he and I – and anybody else we could find who was interested.

As the day approached, the church’s “outreach” trailer was made available to us. It contained a large grill and popcorn and cotton candy machines.

So, we pulled the trailer to the top of a hill just off main street and started grilling hot dogs.

Word of mouth had attracted about a dozen other church members to show up and help.

We made “Free Hot Dog” signs and waited for the hungry to show up.

It didn’t take long for word to spread, and before long, we were quite busy. We explained repeatedly that there was no catch. We didn’t invite people to our church. We didn’t preach. We didn’t even hand out flyers. We just gave away hot dogs and water.

In the giving, several people asked us to pray for them; which we did – on the spot. Others had questions about faith and the Bible. We talked with them about our experiences.

After a couple hours, the hot dogs and water were gone and the crowd returned to their Saturday routines.

While contemplating all that had just occurred, the thought came to me: we don’t lack resources. We simply over-complicate obedience. Like Naaman, we discount the resources that are staring us in the face. I mean, how difficult is it to offer food to a hungry neighbor?

And not just food. We are surrounded by various needs of every kind: food, clothing, shelter, education … The provision for these needs is hiding right in front of us. We all know people, who know people, who know people. If we would simply begin the conversation, we could address the unseen suffering within all of our communities.

It all boils down to:

I have a hot dog I don’t need. You need a hot dog you don’t have. Let’s get together.

You don’t need permission to love your neighbor.