I served as a chaplain in a hospital in Philadelphia a long time ago. The hospital backed up on a not-very-wealthy neighborhood, but it had illustrious departments in eye surgery and in cardiology that pulled patients from all over the area, so there was a diverse population that I served there.
One day, I went onto the cardiac floor, and there was a lady there in her hospital bed. She had a beautiful white eyelet bed jacket, and her hair and nails and makeup were lovely. She had just been admitted, and her surgery was still ahead of her. I introduced myself as the chaplain for her floor, and asked how she was doing. “Fine,” she said flatly. I asked if there was anything I could be praying about, for her. Her eyebrows shot up and she said, “Absolutely not, I am in good standing in my congregation, I have paid my tithe, and I need nothing from you.” She was furious at my offering prayer. I excused myself and left her room.
That same day, I went into the room of a gentleman from the neighborhood behind the hospital, who had had a devastating stroke. His face was twisted. His eyes were empty. His wife of many years was lovingly rubbing lotion into his hands and talking softly with him. It was hard to tell if he heard her, or understood, but she was offering him her love. I introduced myself, and asked if I could pray with them, and I asked what she would like me to be praying for. She shared about his condition, and then she held hands with him and with me and I prayed for them. And then, after I said, “Amen,” she prayed for me! My eyes still well up with tears, thinking of her kindness in praying for me, an inept, awkward chaplain, when she was in such need.
One woman cut off contact with an offer of fellowship and care. One woman not only welcomed it but gave kindness back. One was well-to-do and one was not. The one who had everything was uninterested in any spiritual need; in fact, she thought she had no spiritual need. The one who had little gave what she had: love to her husband and kindness to me. She was rich in her soul. She knew she had needs and that God was listening to her prayers. She had already lived a life full of faith and knew how to pray.
When we think more highly of ourselves than we ought to, we hold ourselves apart from friendship with others, and from connection with God. We push away kindness, compassion, connection, and concern because we think we are above all of that. We take offense where none was intended, and then we are isolated.
But when we are open to one another, when we perceive the brother- and sisterhood of others in Christ, the connections we form build us up, strengthen and comfort us, and our faith grows stronger and more useful to us. All of this is pleasing to the Lord. Jesus blesses all who participate in love like this. And it starts with not thinking of ourselves more highly than we ought to.