Sometimes we hear thunder in the distance.
It may never reach us. The storm can roll along the horizon, close enough that we feel the vibration, close enough that the books on the shelves seem to rattle just a little, and then the clouds move on.
The sky clears.
And we are left wondering what all that noise was trying to tell us.
I do that with God sometimes.
What are You trying to show me?
What am I supposed to do?
What is the meaning in this?
Why me?
Those questions can become exhausting, especially when I start demanding answers on my schedule. I need a great deal of patience there, not necessarily with God, but with myself.
Force the feeling and you may miss it entirely.
Sometimes the answer does not arrive carrying a sign.
Sometimes it is something you are already doing.
Maybe purpose is not always running into the fire. Good grief, I have done that enough times in my life.
Sometimes purpose is taking a brother by the hand and saying,
“I’m here. What do you need?”
There it is.
What do you need?
That question has been bothering me.
We Christians use words like charity, blessing, compassion, and service. We give money. We donate clothes. We prepare meals. We help with projects.
And all of those things can be good.
But somewhere along the way we can begin congratulating ourselves.
Look what I did.
Look what I gave.
Look what a good Christian I am.
Then the curtain drops, and standing behind it may be something uncomfortable.
Selfishness wearing compassion’s coat.
I do not think most of us do that deliberately. We simply slide into it.
We give what we want to give and call the transaction complete.
Here are the clothes I no longer need.
Here is the amount of money I decided I could spare.
Here is the hour of my time that conveniently fits into my schedule.
There is nothing inherently wrong with any of that.
But did we ever ask:
“What do you need?”
That question changes things.
Because now I am no longer deciding what compassion looks like.
The person with the need gets a voice.
And that can become inconvenient.
Maybe he does not need my money.
Maybe he needs Tuesday afternoon.
Maybe she does not need advice.
Maybe she needs someone to sit quietly and listen.
Maybe the brother beside me needs a ride when I had already planned something else.
Maybe someone needs forgiveness that I would much rather continue withholding.
Now love has weight.
That brought me to 1 John 4:16:
“God is love, and the one who abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him.”
We hear “God is love” so often that it can become almost decorative.
It sounds good on a greeting card.
It fits nicely beneath a sunset.
For a moment it can almost become one of those pleasant phrases from decades ago that everybody repeats because everybody agrees with it.
But John is saying something far bigger.
God does not merely possess love.
God is love.
Then another familiar verse suddenly sounded different to me:
“For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son…”
John 3:16
God loved.
So God gave.
And He did not simply give whatever happened to be convenient.
He gave according to the need.
That changes the way I hear the word love.
Love is not merely affection.
Love is not a Hallmark card.
Love is not standing on a street corner telling everyone passing by, “God loves you.”
Now, before somebody gets excited, I am not saying there is anything wrong with telling someone God loves them. Sometimes that may be exactly what a hurting person needs to hear.
But if I tell someone God loves them, perhaps I should also be willing to let some evidence of that love pass through my own hands.
And that evidence may cost me something.
Time.
Convenience.
Attention.
Patience.
Forgiveness.
Presence.
Matthew 25 suddenly becomes difficult to ignore.
The hungry were given food.
The thirsty were given drink.
The stranger was welcomed.
The naked were clothed.
The sick and imprisoned were visited.
Those were not abstract demonstrations of kindness.
They were responses to specific needs.
Maybe that is the part I have missed sometimes.
I can give something and still remain completely in control.
I decide what.
I decide when.
I decide how much.
Then I walk away satisfied because I have done something good.
But asking “What do you need?” requires surrendering some of that control.
I might hear an answer I did not expect.
I might be asked for something I did not intend to give.
And suddenly compassion becomes sacrifice.
That is humbling.
Perhaps we have been asking God one question while He has been placing another question directly in front of us.
We ask:
“What am I supposed to do?”
Maybe sometimes the better question is:
“Who am I supposed to be?”
The person who stays.
The person who listens.
The person who does not walk past.
The person willing to ask another human being:
“What do you need?”
And mean it.
Because if God is love, and God’s love gave what humanity needed, then perhaps our love should occasionally interfere with our schedules too.
Maybe the thunder in the distance was never announcing some enormous revelation.
Maybe it was simply rattling the books enough for one small truth to fall from the shelf.
Love gives.
But real love does not always begin by asking what I want to give.
Sometimes it begins by asking:
What do you need?
If this piece gave you something to think about, I invite you to pick up your Bible and visit a local Church of Christ.
If you are in the Gladewater, Texas, area, come visit us at:
North Loop Church of Christ
1000 North Loop 485
Gladewater, Texas 75647