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The Least of These

Short-Term Convictions

So my good deed for the summer was going on a missions trip to Peru with more than 400 teenagers. (That's right — 400 teenagers. Feel free to nominate me for sainthood.) When I decided to go on the trip, I figured taking two weeks to spend time in a Third World country playing with kids and telling them about Jesus would make me feel good about myself.

Umm, it didn't.

Instead of helping me feel all Mother Theresa-ish, it made me realize that I'm pretty superficial and flaky. It woke me up to the fact that I rarely think about others and, instead, spend most of my time worrying about whether to eat Subway or Taco Bell while watching "So You Think You Can Dance."

My trip to Peru was only two weeks long, but during that short amount of time I was reminded that I am privileged beyond belief. Also, that I take my luxuries for granted and think that I need them, when the truth is I could get by on so much less. I had to acknowledge that I have ignored the poor and needy. I worry about myself and complain about my life, while those who have next to nothing are filled with so much more joy.

Stupid convicting conviction.

Bienvenidos a Peru

Our first day of ministry in Peru was a bit of a culture shock for our teenagers. We loaded onto a bus to visit some of the poor people who live on the outskirts of Lima. As our bus began the slow ascent into the highlands, we started to pass homes pieced together with tin and boards. Most were even smaller than your average American garage. Women stood outside these shanties, hand-washing their clothes and hanging them up to dry in the breeze. Chickens and stray dogs roamed the streets. Dust swirled everywhere and coated everything. The children, brown and dark-eyed, waved at us as we passed and began to chase after the bus.

We unloaded at the soccer field (every neighborhood has a soccer field, whether it's made of concrete or just a section of dirt) and pulled out jump ropes and bubbles which immediately attracted the children. The church we were working with had brought barrels of water to the field, so we set up stations and began to wash kids' hair. The poorest areas of Lima don't have running water, which means the residents have to conserve the water they do have very carefully. Hair washing is a treat — at least the moms thought so. Some of the children were a bit resentful, but soon recovered when we gave them barrettes and headbands.

Later, our students performed the 20-minute drama they had spent days learning. In spite of the stray dogs wandering through the stage, the powerful story and our teens' dramatic performance kept everyone entertained. (Even me, which is saying something since I watched it about 7 million times during those two weeks.) After the drama was finished, one of our students shared her personal faith story, and both Peruvian children and adults responded to the message, desiring to know more about God and His Son.

This is what we did almost every day in Peru. We would get off of our bus, make new friends, serve in some way, share our stories and then leave. The children and the mothers would ask when we were going to return, and we would have to answer honestly: We probably wouldn't. Our time with these people was short, but hopefully meaningful.

Wake-Up Call

It was during one of these ministry days that my own selfishness was revealed to me. Up until that point in the trip, I'd been quick to remind my team of teenagers that the way we live in America isn't the standard for the world, that just because we're not used to something doesn't mean that it's bad or wrong — it's just different. Up to this point I'd been sanctimoniously pointing out the speck in the eyes of those around me while ignoring the plank in my own.

On this day, one of our translators asked if we had poor people in the United States. I looked around at the shacks and the dirt and replied that our poor would seem rich compared to the poverty of Peru. Poor in America looks much different than poor in Lima. And many of us who do not see ourselves as rich actually are.

I realized a lot about perspective that day — that our opinions and standards are mainly based on what we're used to. And it made me recognize that I'm certainly not used to thinking of myself as rich. I mean, I work at a ministry for goodness' sake. There's no way I could be considered rich, right … ?

But as I went to sleep that night, I was reminded of what I'd been noticing in my reading of the gospels over the past couple of years. Jesus seems to spend a lot of time talking about the poor and needy. He also comments on the rich and how it's difficult for them to see past their own possessions:

"I tell you the truth, it is hard for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven. Again I tell you, it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God." (Matthew 19:23-24, NIV)

"But woe to you who are rich, for you have already received your comfort." (Luke 6:24)

"Sell your possessions and give to the poor. Provide purses for yourselves that will not wear out, a treasure in heaven that will not be exhausted, where no thief comes near and no moth destroys. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." (Luke 12:33-34)

I usually read those verses and condemn the rich right along with Jesus. Yeah, jerks! I think. You rich people with your Louis Vuitton bags and Bentleys and tiny, spoiled dogs. Give some of that away — like to me. And while you're at it, quit caring so much about yourself!

It was not until that day in Peru that I realized that Jesus is speaking directly to me in those verses. I am that rich person. I am the one who should sell my possessions to give to the poor. I am the one who should clothe the naked and give the thirsty a drink.

This realization could easily cause me to feel guilty simply because I am a blessed American. I don't think this should be the case, though. I thank God that He has blessed me with amazing comforts and joys. What is convicting is the fact that I hoard my blessings. I keep them to myself. Oh sure, I give money to my church and faithfully support my Ecuadorian Compassion child. But those actions should simply be the beginning. I believe that God has blessed me so that I can bless others. (He certainly hasn't blessed me for anything awesome that I've done.) His goodness to me should cause me to want to share with those in need.

So I have begun to ask myself, How can I live more simply? What, exactly, does that look like? In what ways can I better serve and care for the poor and needy around me? What could I learn from them? What if I, as a disciple of Christ, really began to do the things He commanded in the Bible?

What Now?

Some people will argue that short-term missions trips, like my excursion to Peru, are not entirely worthwhile. I understand the sentiment, but I think there are things to be gained from short-term trips. Our teens, most of whom hadn't been out of the United States, were given a taste of another culture and had their eyes opened to the poverty that typifies the living conditions of so many around the world. I was reminded that I have been given much — and that I have much to give back. I shouldn't sit back with my luxuries and simply write articles about how everyone else should be serving. I am to serve. I am to sacrifice. I am to act on the words of Jesus.

C O F F E E  S H O P

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What are some ways we can help the needy?

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Short-term missions can remind us of what we have and show us God's heart for those in need. But our long-term job is to make service and sacrifice part of our lifestyle. And that's the challenge that lies in front of us when we return to the comforts we're used to. I want to never forget to feed the hungry and thirsty, to welcome strangers, to clothe the naked, to visit the prisoner. I need to make sure I'm not ignoring the words of Jesus.

My trip to Peru didn't necessarily make me feel better about myself. But I do know better now — and I want to turn that knowledge into actions that will bless those in need.