One afternoon recently I was relaxing during the baby’s nap when I looked up to see my cat staring in at me from the other side of the sliding glass door. Since I was comfortable, I decided she would be fine waiting a few more minutes to come in since she had just been let out anyway. As I buried myself back into my reading, I saw a little boy walk up the path and stop when he saw the cat. Eyes wide, he approached her and tried to beckon her closer, saying things like, “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you,” or “Poor kitty, I just want to help you!” His mom called him away a few seconds later, and my cat simply gave me a death glare asking to be let in NOW.
The whole thing made me chuckle, because I remember a time in my life when I was much the same as that boy. Every animal I saw needed my help, and every creature in the wild needed rescuing. From my childlike perspective, I just knew I could care for that kitten or duckling better than anyone else. And whatever I had to offer was certainly better than what it had.
But here’s the thing: I was missing the bigger picture. In my own self-absorption, I failed to see that not only was my care inferior to God’s, but it wasn’t my job in the first place. He already had a home and provision for those animals, just like my cat already has a happy home to return to at night. Though I may have intended well, my taking of wild animals home would have ended up doing more harm than good. (Isn’t that what my mother always told me?)
Yet I had another experience recently that brought this same thing to mind in a different light. One morning I was taking my daughter to a friend’s house so I could work out when just before my turn, an old woman with a walker flagged me down. I stopped, rolled down my window, and waited for her to speak. She asked if I could give her a ride to her son’s house, which happened to be right on the way to where I was headed. I told her I would be back to get her once I dropped the baby off, then drove away, half hoping she would find someone else to take her. But of course, there she was still, plodding along and hunched over. I watched as three other cars in front of me paused, then kept on driving once she talked to them. Pulling my car out of the road, I helped her get her walker inside and turned up the heat since I could tell she was freezing.
On the short drive, we talked about church, her back pain, her kids and grandkids, and the house she bought way back in 1975. She was perfectly pleasant, but I suspected there was something else going on that she wasn’t telling me since most people who have chronic pain don’t set out alone on 3 mile walks when it’s about to rain. When I finally pulled up to her son’s house and helped her out of the car, a woman came outside and started asking if she’d been to the clinic and telling her she couldn’t be there that day because everyone was leaving. Neither of them paid me any attention, so I got back in my car and drove to my workout class feeling conflicted.
Say what you will about my methods and judgment, but in the moment I couldn’t leave her in the freezing wind, knowing I could have done something to help. Since then, I’m still asking myself whether it was the right thing to do what she asked or if there was something else I could have done. Every time I’m faced with the choice to help someone, the question that lingers in the back of my mind is will my helping actually hurt? Just like taking in a baby bird only creates more problems, sometimes the things we do to help are the same. Throwing money at the homeless person on the corner, building houses for people who can’t afford to maintain them, promising to return on another short term mission trip and never going back–the list goes on and on. These things flow from good intentions, but the result may be less than helpful.
As Christians, we are called to be more like Jesus, and he was the perfect helper to the least, the last, and the lost. But he also knew exactly how to provide for people’s needs in ways that benefitted them long term. He didn’t just give the leper some food–he healed him so he could integrate back into society. He didn’t just heal the paralytic–he forgave his sins. He didn’t give the Samaritan woman the water she asked for–he gave her the living water of salvation.
So how do we discern between helpful and hurtful actions? I wish there was a cut-and-dry answer, but there just isn’t because every situation is different. But I think it begins with a relationship. Jesus didn’t just wave his arms and send people on their way: he took time to hear them and let them know that he cared for them. Much like a teacher will be more attuned to the needs of a student after spending time in individual attention, we can better sense people’s needs after taking time to interact with them. Is it foolproof? No, because humans are flawed and easily deceived. But with the Holy Spirit’s leading, we are more likely to truly help someone when we reach out the hand of friendship. Sure, it might pull us out of our comfort zone, but we never know what doors God will use in someone’s life.
Once we make the connection, prayer can guide us in the next steps. Whether it’s a quick plea for discernment in the immediate action or sustained intervention for that person’s life, God will reveal the way. We just need to have our eyes open for when He answers.
But the one thing I often forget is that above all physical needs, the people I meet are spiritually needy for Jesus. If I provide for their comfort but neglect to tell them about their Savior, what have I really done for them? There is one thing I know for certain: that the gospel shared with someone is never harmful. What deed is more loving than sharing about an eternal hope that never fades?
Yet sometimes we might still be left wondering if our actions did any good at all. In those moments, I have to remind myself that it’s not for me to decide the result. That’s all up to God, and He will work everything according to His purpose. Who am I to question the Maker when I am merely the vessel? As it says in Isaiah 64:8, “But now, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” That’s quite the comfort considering how many times I mess up the opportunities the Lord provides.
We are all created in the image of God. Though I’m sometimes tempted to shy away from people because of their outward appearance, I’m called to reach out to them anyway. There’s no way to know what purpose they serve in the Kingdom, but I know I must live out the calling on my life to “go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit,” (Matthew 28:19).
Maybe my relationships look more like a humane society than a purebred show, but I’m fine with that. I can take one look at Jesus’ disciples and I know I’m in good company. What matters more than status, rank, profession, or any other worldly attribute is a heart for the Teacher. I strive to follow in His footsteps and gather those who are wandering, meeting their true needs by leading them to the One who perfectly provides. If I can do that, then maybe, just maybe, the strays on my doorstep can find their eternal home.