Dear One,
Neither silver nor gold have I, but what I have I give to you … Since returning from Uganda, these words of the Apostle Peter have been near in my thought.
You might recall the context of Peter’s words: those exhilarating and yet uncertain days of the early church in Jerusalem. They had experienced Pentecost; great numbers were coming to faith; and theirs was a community exhibiting an inviting, heart-warming, genuinely practical love—or as Luke narrated: “All who believed were together and had everything in common.” Within this larger setting, a lame man begged alms of Peter and John, and thus Peter’s response: "I have no silver or gold, but what I have I give you; in the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, stand up and walk" (Acts 3:6).
Consistently, when we American believers travel to impoverished settings, we are aware of the faith of those we encounter. They have few possessions at best; food is scarce and clothing threadbare; and often they are subject to weather and disease traumas well beyond their control and our imaginations. In our view theirs is a hard and unpredictable life—and it is—and yet, from within this life expressions of generosity and thanksgiving break forth like sunlight after a thunderous, rain-drenched day. We marvel that with genuine praise they enthuse: “God is good and God is good all the time.” We marvel that, when all seems so desperate, they truly believe that God is gracious and loving, and that He will provide—and then they cite recent examples of His timely provisions.
This faith of theirs is not dependent upon money—not that they are ignorant regarding the power of money and what it can provide—but upon the certainty of their Creator’s riches. They have experienced a relational wealth money cannot touch. Oh, I’m not advocating that errant 18th/ 19th century romantic view regarding the “noble native,” who blissfully smiles upon every misfortune and disaster; rather, I wonder: Does our monetary wealth blind us to our relational poverty and their relational treasures? Moreover, in spite of the inscription upon our money, in which “God” do we trust? The God of military/ monetary might?
Please do not misconstrue my thoughts: I am not casting dispersions upon “filthy lucre.” Instead, counter our American wont and immediate impulse, I’d have us pause: not all problems have a merciful, monetary solution; and sometimes our money can rob others of a rich, relational faith only gained through a humble dependency—often the result of dire need.
I wonder,
Stan