A Note About a Good Christian.

While I was out shopping today I bumped into a man who’d been a neighbour in the village where I lived before moving here. Among the general mass of humanity he was a fairly rare individual, being the sort of person who considered it a privilege to help those who needed it. I always had a lot of respect for him.

He started a charity which bought a truck and took vital supplies to Chernobyl in Ukraine after the terrible nuclear accident there. The supplies were necessary, especially in the winter, because Ukraine was part of the USSR at the time and state aid was at best minimal. He always went with it, taking turns to drive the vehicle. He also spent his Saturday nights in the winter setting up a soup kitchen for the homeless in Derby. Mel – with whom I lived at the time – and I were so impressed that we stopped buying one another gifts at Christmas and gave the money to his charities instead.

(And I well remember one small incident when I somehow found myself in Uttoxeter one evening without my car and with no taxis available. He was the only person I could think of to call and ask for a lift. And so I did, and of course he would. When I offered payment for the petrol he declined it. And when I offered profuse thanks for his assistance, he simply thanked me back for giving him the opportunity.)

He was a committed Christian, you see – the right sort. He was a regular churchgoer and played the organ in the village church for many years, but had to give it up when he received a bad hand injury trying to save his dog from another dog which was attacking it.

But he was very different from some of the bigoted, hard-hearted individuals I’ve known who claimed to be ‘committed Christians.’ They’re the sort who talk endlessly about the need to punish those who go astray; the sort who love to preach at you, and revel in the concept of hell fire and damnation. Believe me: I have known such people.

Paul never preached, nor even recommended Christian dogma. He simply lived a life based on compassion, kindness, and service to others because that was what Jesus supposedly taught. He’s that kind of Christian.

But here’s what seems unfair. Over the past fifteen years or so he’s had a run of serious health issues which would knock my little cocktail of such issues into a cocked hat. And yet he never looks despondent. When we briefly mentioned the way the world is going, he said – quite cheerfully – ‘It doesn’t matter much to me now. There isn’t much left of me in here.’ Being a lot older than me, I’m sure he must occasionally muse on the fact that he doesn’t have much longer to go, and if I were the sort to say ‘you’ll get your reward in heaven’, I would. Not that it would matter much to him because I doubt he ever wants or expects reward.

And so I ask myself whether the need to suffer goes with the territory for people like him. Some would say it does. I wouldn’t care to comment.