I saw a quote the other day attributed to the actor, Morgan Freeman.
He reportedly said, “How do we change the world? One random act of kindness at a time.”
Great quote. I don’t know if he really said it or if it’s one of those things attributed to him by somebody. But my guess is, whether or not Freeman actually said it, he doesn’t mind getting credit.
There are all kinds of sayings about doing random acts of kindness. Who can object to an act of kindness?
Well …
I was reading in the Acts of the Apostles, that great history of the early church written by Dr. Luke, the historian.
In Acts 3, he tells us that Peter and John were going up to the temple in Jerusalem at the time of prayer (three in the afternoon), and they came upon a man who was lame from birth, who had people carry him every day to the temple where he would beg. The man sees Peter and John and asks them for money. Peter and John tell him they don’t have any money, but (in verse 7) “taking him by the right hand, he helped him up, and instantly the man’s feet and ankles became strong. 8 He jumped to his feet and began to walk.”
You might expect everyone to be thrilled.
But in Chapter 4, we see Peter and John have been arrested by the Temple guards because of what they did, and are called to appear before “the rulers, the elders and the teachers of the law … Annas the high priest was there, and so were Caiaphas, John, Alexander and others of the high priest’s family.”
They demand to know in whose name Peter and John healed this man.
Clearly, they’re not happy. But when asked, Peter gives this wonderful reply: “If we are being called to account today for an act of kindness shown to a man who was lame …”
It struck me that, for all the theological implications behind the arrest and interrogation of Peter and John, Peter himself describes what he did as “an act of kindness.”
I love thinking about the other people in these stories. While the Acts story focuses on Peter and John and the conflict with religious leaders, I can’t help but wonder about the man lame from birth.
He might object to being referred to as a secondary character in this story. To him, I’m sure this was all about him. After all, he’s the one who was lame from birth. He’s the one who went to beg every day at the temple. He’s the one who was healed.
It’s a great reminder that while the stories we tell center on us or the person we are focusing on, there are other people with different perspectives, who would remember that same story as being about them, and tell if from their perspective.
My wife was involved in an automobile accident quite a few years ago, from which she is still recovering. From our perspective, she is the central character in that story. Maybe our family or maybe the guy that hit her are key figures. But she, to us, is the focal point.
But there were other people involved. There were the witnesses to the accident. There were the first responders, the police and EMTs. There were the emergency room staff. And so on … each with their own perspective of that day; each perhaps changed in some way by what they witnessed or did or thought as a result. I have heard from a few of them over the years.
Recently, I was stopped by a Mountain Brook police officer for going a little bit over the speed limit. He saw my driver’s license and said, “Was your wife involved in an accident about 10 years ago, right down the road?” Mind you, this was 14 years after the incident.
I said yes, and he said, “I was the first one to arrive at the scene. How is she?” Fortunately, my wife was sitting in the passenger’s seat and we could say, “She’s all right. Thank you for your care.” He told us he’d never forgotten that day.
My point – in this case – is that the policeman had his reaction to that day, and the story he would have told about it would be different than mine, even though it was about the same event. He didn’t know about all that had happened afterward to us. He just knows how it affected him.
God works on a lot of levels, simultaneously.
There is a lot I could unpack just in that.
But I think of the man in Acts, lame from birth. All he wanted was some money. He had friends who brought him to this spot at the temple every day, I guess, where he begged for whatever people going into and out of the temple would give him. Seems like a good place to hit people up for money.
That was, for lack of a better word, his job. Maybe he shared what he got with his friends. Maybe it was all for him.
We learn later in the story that he was over 40 years old. He’d been at this a long time. He didn’t start that day expecting to be healed. When he saw Peter and John, all he was hoping for was some money to get him through another day.
Then he gets healed. He can suddenly walk. He’s no doubt excited. He can’t wait to tell his friends.
Then … this is my imagination, of course, but here is a guy with no apparent skill other than begging. My guess is he’d never had a job. He didn’t have a skill or a trade. He’d been cared for all his life. It might not have been a great life, but it was his. He had his routine.
And now – what do his friends say? They celebrate the miracle, of course. But now, do they expect him to take care of himself? Does he have to find his own place to live? How does he go about earning money to live on? Who teaches him the skills he needs to survive now? People treat him differently – what does that look like?
There are people he will meet, and he’ll tell them the story of the miracle, but they won’t care. They weren’t part of the miracle. They didn’t know him before, when he was lame. Maybe they just ask, “What do you do now?’’ And indeed, what does he do?
Then, take the religious leaders. They don’t seem to care that the man was healed. They are angry that it occurred. They would have preferred the man keep showing up, every day, year after year, begging on the temple steps. Maybe it made them feel good about themselves that they’d give him a few coins every day, that these beggars offered the religious people a chance to show generosity and perhaps do some good. Maybe they were proud that they allowed these beggars a spot on the temple steps every day.
As a side note, I always wondered why someone didn’t say to Jesus or to the Disciples, “Can you heal everyone else that sits out here?” Wouldn’t that be a great thing? Fix these broken, hurting people, and get them off the temple steps? Do away with all this mess? Instead, the leaders of the day always seemed angry over these “acts of kindness.”
There are ramifications to this story that seem almost endless.
But here is where I want to go, to perhaps the simplest lesson that I see here.
When God comes into your life, He doesn’t always give you what you want. The lame man wanted a handful of coins. He’d have no doubt loved it if Peter and John had given him a sack full and gone on about their way. That’s what this man thought would make his life better, solve his problems.
Instead, God (through Peter and John) changed the direction of his life. With it came a whole host of other issues the man had never had to consider before. The lame man was given a new life, in a sense. I assume he had to leave the other beggars that he’d been gathering with for years. He had to figure out a new way to relate to his friends who had taken care of him for his whole life. And of course there is the question, what does he do now?
Was his life better? We’d have to say the potential was there for it to be much better.
But was his life easier?
God doesn’t promise easy. He promises to heal, to restore, to make whole, not to give us what we want but what we need – for His Glory.
Doesn’t loving us mean God wants our lives to be easy and comfortable? Unfortunately, no. The Bible teaches over and over that God “works all things together for good” (Romans 8:28), which must mean that the difficulties are part of that working together for good. They must have a purpose. There are any number of verses that tell us that.
God’s ultimate purpose is for us to become more and more like Jesus. Peter writes about this in the letter we call 1 Peter (1:6-7) when he says, “In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, if necessary, you have been distressed by various trials, that the proof of your faith, being more precious than gold which perishes, even though tested by fire, maybe found to result in praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.”
In other words, one day we’ll look back at our lives - how we lived, the decisions we made. Will we look back and be proud? Or ashamed? (Probably, for most of us, some of both). Did we honor and bring glory to God? Or did we do what was easy, or cut corners, or take a short cut even though we knew it might not be the best way to handle what we were going through.
I don’t know what the rest of the lame man’s life was like. But I know thousands, hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people have read about it, and perhaps been brought closer to God as a result. However difficult the rest of his life may have been (and maybe it wasn’t, we don’t know), truly on this day, he was healed for the Glory of God. And the impact of his story on other people has never stopped.
The irony of life – if it can be called irony – is that the very things we instinctively don’t want are often the things that shape us most deeply; not because suffering is good in itself, but because God refuses to waste it.
It says in Acts, “After further threats they let them (Peter and John) go. They could not decide how to punish them, because all the people were praising God for what had happened.”
Isn’t it amazing, what can result from one act of kindness?