As most of you know, we attend Riverside Church - the church Luke's grandpa started and that his uncle now pastors. Growing up brethren, this church is sometimes a bit of a stretch for me, but I'm glad that we can honour Luke's family by supporting it.
Most churches encourage serving. Because most churches have 10% of the people doing 90% of the work. They need more help within the church, so the pastor adds in a message about rewards in heaven in the hopes that the flock will begin to step up. But this Sunday was not about serving in the church. It wasn't about needing more Sunday School teachers or more greeters or more people in the worship band. No - in true Paul Booko fashion it was about outreach. What I appreciate so much about him is that his heart is for evangelism and he has a vision for outreach that continues to grow.
He put a picture on the screen that will forever be etched on my heart. I scoured the internet for something like it, but I couldn't find anything that did this picture justice, so let me just describe it to you.
It was a picture of a child - it could have been any child, because we didn't get to see their face. Maybe a little girl who danced around the kitchen, twirling and jumping over and over as her sweet soft giggle drifted through the house. Or maybe it was a little boy, running through the street chasing a baseball that had been thrown just a little too high for him to reach. Whatever this child had done - in work or in play - to wear out their shoes, it was clear that they certainly had worn out. In fact, not only were they worn through, they were also grown out of. But because money was tight (or maybe even non-existent), new shoes were a luxury this child did not receive. Rather, the toes of their current shoes were cut off so that, even though they may not fit anymore, the little feet could continue to wear them. And that was the picture that spoke volumes to my soul - a close-up of little feet in too-small worn out shoes, with dusty dirty toes hanging over the edge of them.
We sat.
We listened.
We FELT the need. We ACHED for it.
It crawled right up into my throat and it gripped me.
And my mind raced to the things that Luke and I currently do to serve the least of these and what more can we do? Please - I want to do more. Intentions are always big. Outcomes are often small.
And then we were presented with an opportunity. When I really think about it now, it seems somewhat radical, and yet in the moment, it did not catch me off guard.
We were asked to give away our shoes. To clothe the unclothed. To give to those who can't give back. To be the hands and bare feet of Jesus.
I am ashamed to admit - it was hard for me at first. Not the part about being uncomfortable. Not the part about it being inconvenient. But the part about giving away something that was truly valuable to me - even if it was only a pair of sandals. If someone told me they were collecting shoes to be donated, I would run right home and gather up a whole bag of shoes from the back of my closet and happily give them away. But the shoes that I'm wearing right now? The ones that I wear every day? My favourites? That's tough. THAT is what sacrificial giving is about.
So we walked up and we took off our shoes and we placed them on the alter. On the alter. The same place I brought my ungratefulness, my need for control, and my wrong motivations. A pair of sandals were not the only thing I left on the alter on Sunday.
And we all walked away barefoot. And we all walked away on Holy Ground. I removed my shoes and I removed what was interfering in my relationship with my Maker so that I could come to Him vulnerable and He could heal that which was broken. And I stood for a moment barefoot on the Holy Ground.
And it was good.
"Whoever is kind to the poor lends to the Lord,
and He will reward them for what they have done."
Proverbs 19:17
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