Unfortunately, I am a pretty big hypocrite . . .

Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness before men, to be seen by them. Matthew 6:1

 

 

So, this verse is the reason I struggled with writing a blog of our experience in the first place.  I definitely want to be careful that we don't seek the praise of men.  I decided to write about our experience for one reason: so that the Gospel would go forth.  So that those who do not know God would see Him work so perfectly that they would want to know Him, and that those who know God would be encouraged to seek Him even more. 

 

It is only natural for us to see the person in an act.  It is natural to be inspired by their story; to place them on a "righteous" pedestal; to feel guilt that we aren't doing the same thing. But, that robs all of us of the growth that comes with the Lord working on our hearts.    Looking at another person who is in a season of fruitfulness can make us want to say, "Man, that is awesome for them; but, I am just not that [fill in the blank]."  Let me very clear: left to our own devices, Philip and I are pretty wicked. We are about as far from magic righteous dust as it comes. 

 

I have wanted to tell this story, to confess this moment, since we returned. I just did not have the words until reading these verses tonight.  On the second day of our visit, Philip and I had been driving around in our taxi.  We had driven through town to the orphanage and were on our way back to the hotel.  We had seen poverty at every corner--poverty so pervasive that it all started to blend together, to become gray even, to not seem that bad.  As we drove on a crowded street--littered with trash and goods and people--we stopped to get some water. Our translator had not let us out of the taxi at any of the other stops; but, at this one, he said, "Come on!" We looked at one another and then at him with a quizzical "Are you sure?"  glance.  Yes, he meant for us to go in the market with him.  

 

We were a bit bewildered.  We had been in the airport, in a taxi, in the hotel, and in the orphanage.  All places that were used to seeing visitors. On the crowded Congolese streets, we had not seen another non-African face.  We did not know the protocol, and we did not know how we would be perceived.  So, we timidly got out of the car and headed straight to the market. 

 

That is where I saw him.  A lame man.  I had never seen a lame man before.  He was pulling himself along on the sidewalk by his arms; his hands were cushioned by a pair of old flip-flops, fingers where the toes should go; and his legs followed limp behind him.  He came up to our mid-calf, and looked up at everyone with beseeching eyes, completely dependent on others for support.    The lame man and I got to the steps that led to the market at the same time.  I stepped back, wanting to allow him to go before me.  He looked up at me, and I motioned him forward.   But, he did not move.  This Southerner gave her little smile of well-mannered courtesy.  The security guard, however, did not smile; he waved me in to the market with a frighteningly serious face.  Because I did not understand the language, and because I was naive to what was really going on, I went in.  I turned around to see the security guard close the door in the man's face.  He was not allowed with us, and my stomach sank. 

 

We quickly went to the aisle, picked out a safe bottle of water, and headed to the counter.  The entire time my head was reeling, but we were being watched, and so I said nothing.  Our translator negotiated the sale, we paid, and quickly walked back onto the street. To my left was the lame man, holding up a cup to a group of ambivalent bystanders.  Again, he looked at them beseechingly--for water, for food--I could not tell.  I knew what I should do, but I kept walking.  I had the ability and means to help him.  I had the power of the Holy Spirit to pray over him and to bring healing to his body or spirit. But, I did not do either.  Out of cowardice and ignorance and naivete, I got back in the car. 

 

Immediately, it hit me, but it was too late.  We were driving away. I was the Priest and Levite who did not stop to render aid.  I was the hypocrite who did not feed or clothe the least of the Lord's.   I was Peter who was given three chances to claim Christ, and I failed every time. I am sure the people in the Bible--those whom Jesus mocked and ridiculed for their self-righteousness--felt they had a good excuse for not helping someone, but just like me, their excuse was rooted in their own wicked heart.
 

For a few days, I wallowed in self-contempt.  But, I know worldly sorrow is of no good.  I must remember that I have a God who loves me despite me.  Just seeing the small glimpse of my own selfishness in this story, I am keenly aware that I have no hope outside of His death on the cross and defeat over my sin and death through His resurrection.  If I rely on my own good deeds, I am doomed; but God who is rich in mercy, paid a way for me to have Christ's righteousness, not my own.  And, I can live with His forgiveness of this sin and countless others. 

 

That doesn't mean the lame man will not haunt me. I know if I see him again, I will care for him.  I have learned the lesson that comes with not taking such opportunities.  Chances are, though, that won't happen.  So, I am left to pray for him.  Tonight, I prayed for him in the words of one of my favorite songs:

 

You were singing in the dark
whispering Your promise
even when he could not hear
May he be held in your arms
carried for a thousand miles to show
Not for a moment did You forsake him
and every step every breath you are there
every tear every cry every prayer
in his hurt at his worst
when his world falls down
not for a moment will You forsake his
even in the dark
even when it's hard
may you never leave him

 

I will continue to pray for him--on my knees and through tears--that the Lord will save him. I pray that I may not be paralyzed by my own wickedness, but that in recognizing my weaknesses, His power would be made perfect in us and our messy story. And I pray that one day, I will meet the lame man in heaven, dancing for His Savior.