When I was 22, my grandmother gave me a chair, an old, squeaky, upholstered chair with red and blue flowers all over it. And I was so grateful. I mean, it was the only piece of furniture that I owned. I loved that chair. I would read in that chair, I would fall asleep in that chair, I would talk on the phone in that chair. I even called it the “power chair,” because I believed that I got power when I sat in it, which sounds totally ridiculous now because it’s somewhere in the basement and I just don’t sit in it that much anymore.
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And when my wife and I were first married, we barely had any money. We had a tight budget. I distinctly remember, we’d be out with a group of people and someone would say, “Let’s go eat,” and we’d look at each other with this look, like: “Are they paying? Because if they’re not paying, we can’t go. We can’t afford it.” But, if we stuck to our budget, and we had no unexpected expenses, then we could afford to eat out once a month. And I remember going to the restaurant, and getting a table, and ordering something, and we would savor every detail of the experience. I mean, so filled with gratitude for the gift of eating out. Which now, it’s just, you know, it’s just not that big of a deal.
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And so, over the years we’ve accumulated more and nicer furniture and we’ve eaten in some nice restaurants, and yet, it’s also possible to lose something along the way: the overwhelming gratitude of those first experiences, that acute ever-present awareness that this is all a gift.
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I was talking with some people who just returned from a trip overseas, and they could not stop talking about the people that they met. People, you know, that we would describe as “poor.” And yet, they were struck with how filled with joy and peace these people were. They said, you know, at first they felt uncomfortable, you know, because we have “so much,” and they have “so little,” but after a while they started to wonder if they weren’t the ones who were actually poor. And so, they said, “We went to do a good work for them, and yet, we returned realizing that we received more than we ever gave.” Success can be dangerous, can’t it? We get everything that we wanted, only to discover that we’re missing something that we had before.
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In the book of Deuteronomy, the great prophet Moses is teaching the Israelites the way of God. At one point he says to them, “When you’re in your field harvesting your crop, and you overlook a sheaf, don’t go back and get it; but leave it for the widow, the orphan, and the immigrant. So that the Lord, your God, will bless all the work of your hands.”
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So, the instruction is essentially this: let’s say you’re a farmer and you’ve got this field and you’re out harvesting your crop and you miss something on the first pass. Don’t go back and get it, but leave it. Leave that edge, or leave that corner for someone who really needs it.
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And then the instructions continue: “And when you’re beating your olive tree, don’t go back over the branches a second time; but leave the olives that you didn’t get on the first pass for the widow, the orphan, and the immigrant. And when you’re harvesting your grapes, don’t go over the vines a second time, but leave the grapes that remain for the widow, the orphan, and the immigrant.”
Now, wait, wait, wait.
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Imagine that you own the vineyard. Imagine that this is how you make your living, and you spend all this time trimming and pruning, and you make sure that the grapes are healthy, and you make sure that the vines have enough water, and you spend all this time for the harvest. And now you’re told that whatever grapes you can’t get on the first pass, whatever you miss, you have to leave for somebody that hasn’t done all the work that you’ve done?
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That’s not fair.
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Why should someone who hasn’t done all the work that I’ve done come onto my land, and take my grapes, my olives, my grain that I missed on the first pass?
But the teaching isn’t over. It ends with this line: “Remember that you were slaves in Egypt. That is why I command you to do this.”
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You see, these people were slaves in Egypt and they were rescued and they were released from slavery. This is a major moment in the Bible. God has heard the cry of these oppressed slaves in misery in Egypt, and God has liberated them. And it’s to these poor, wandering former slaves in the desert that the instructions are given about what to do with the grapes, the grain, and the olives that they don’t have.
Do you see what Moses is doing here? Moses is essentially saying to these poor, wandering, former slaves in the wilderness: “It’s not always gonna be like this. Someday, you’re gonna arrive in your new land, and you’re gonna build houses and you’re gonna settle down. And you’re gonna have crops and you’re gonna harvest them. Someday, you’re gonna be successful. And the danger is that you’re gonna forget Egypt. You’re gonna forget what it was like to be set free. The danger is that you’re gonna forget what it was like to experience liberation.”
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I mean, it isn’t fair. It’s my vineyard, it’s my olive grove, it’s my field. Why should I let these people come onto my property and take what I worked so hard to produce?
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That’s not fair. Exactly. Because being rescued from slavery in Egypt wasn’t fair. Liberation isn’t fair. Redemption isn’t fair. Grace isn’t fair. God isn’t fair.
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Is this passage in Deuteronomy about grapes, grain, and olives? Is this a series of commands, or are these warnings? Warnings about what happens when you lose your sense of appreciation and gratitude for what you’ve been given.
When we leave a corner, when we empower others, when we extend grace to others in their oppression, whatever that may look like, we find out about the grace that God has extended to us.
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So, when Jesus talks about taking water to those who are thirsty, it isn’t just about the necessity of getting water to those who need it. It’s about us being constantly reminded of the gift of water we’ve had all along.
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Now, there’s a slight chance that this might, possibly, for some people have something to do with either giving money away or spending it differently. But, this is ultimately about the far larger truth that if we each don’t find some suffering, and do something about it, then we may become miserable. Our achievement, our education, our wealth, our time, and our money will turn on us if we don’t spread them around. We leave a corner because in helping save someone else from suffering, we may, in the process, find ourselves being saved. From indifference. From the inertia of inaction. From taking what we have for granted. We leave a corner because our world is either shrinking or it’s expanding. It’s either contracting in on itself or it’s opening up. Our lives are either more and more about us, more stuff, more unsatisfying consumption, or we’re on a different path and this is why Jesus talked so much about serving. It wasn’t so that we’d have these incredibly heavy burdens of: “Oh, I guess I’m supposed to help.” It’s about keeping your own story alive. It’s about never forgetting just what you’ve been given.
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So may you come to see that grace isn’t fair, redemption isn’t fair, liberation isn’t fair. And may you extend this unfairness to others, finding out that your overflow is somebody else’s necessity. May you find someone who needs what you have, only to discover that they had what you needed all along.
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Bell, R. (2009). NOOMA: Corner [Motion Picture]. Flannel: Grand Rapids, MI.