“Yahaa koi sunwahi nahi ho rahi. Please, tumhe aana hoga” (Nobody is listening here. Please, you’ve got to come)

It was an important decision.

Aliya*, 16, had just undergone a major abdominal surgery, cutting out a section of her bowel. Two days later, she tested positive for Covid-19. Aliya was shifted to the Covid ward but the facility proved to be little more than a jail – locked doors with meals slid in three times a day, and a lack of specialist attention. 24 hours in, Aliya’s surgery wound had not been dressed.

Now Aliya and her mother were pleading with me to join them in the Covid ward. This was August 2020, the early days of the pandemic when the very word ‘Corona’ still struck a fearful note. I was anxious about the prospect of exposing myself to this pathogen. It was one thing to help Aliya with money and time, but to put my own health on the line was a harder decision.

Costly Generosity

Generosity can be costly. Indeed, perhaps it is by its costliness that genuine generosity is known.

The bible has numerous examples of costly generosity. In a great drought, a widow who is anticipating her family’s starvation feeds Elijah her last remaining food (1 Kings 17). A woman gives two coins in the temple offering – the last she has. A boy shares his two loaves and five fishes with Jesus and his disciples, fully expecting that he will miss out on lunch as the meagre rations are shared around (Matthew 14). In these stories, God responds to the costly generosity of the poor with His own miraculous generosity.

But what of the times when prayers are not answered, when miracles are not performed, when the generous poor are left with empty stomachs? Jesus did not promise an easy life to his followers – rather, he told us to expect persecution and hardship.

The costly generosity of the poor is as profound today as it was in biblical times. I was born and brought up in slums by western parents who wanted to relate deeply with the poor. We used to be puzzled by the fact that many beggars and buskers would wander through our slum. Surely they would be better off sharing their sorrowful songs and stories in wealthy neighbourhoods? But when I asked one, he informed me matter-of-factly that he earnt more begging in our community than the posh suburbs.

When foreign guests come to our slum they are often confronted by the generous hospitality. My guests feel guilty that our hosts, who may not even have two square meals themselves, spend lavishly on snacks and chai for us. I ask them to respect our hosts by accepting the snacks, and sit with the discomfort that receiving costly generosity causes us.

False Generosity

Western society largely ignores the challenge of costly generosity. Consider foreign aid budgets. Most Western countries aspire to the UN target of donating 0.7% of GDP; but the world’s largest economy (the US) spends below 0.2% on aid.

My home country, Australia, is just as bad. Australia proclaims its role as a benefactor of the Pacific region – even though we have among the highest per-person carbon emissions in the world, causing climate change with devastating consequences for our island neighbours. This is false generosity: continuing to oppress the poor with one hand while ostentatiously giving them the crumbs from our table with the other.

The false generosity is not limited to governments, but is also reflected in sparse personal giving.  Amidst tremendous material abundance, our conception of what we ‘need’ has become so bloated that there is little space in the budget to give. Idividualised independence is idolised such that the idea of relying on the generosity of anyone else is anathema. A generation ago, people might pop round to their neighbours’ to borrow a lawnmower or power tool. Now everyone has their own. There is little space to practice either giving or receiving generously.

In mission circles, too, the idea of costly, sacrificial generosity is losing ground, in favour of a softer gospel which emphasises ‘self-care’. Of course, it is important to care for ourselves – through this can happen without the use of copious resources, instead spending quality time alone and with family, or in nature. Still, our self-care needs to be tempered with self-sacrifice. We follow a Messiah who told us to ‘pick up your cross’ not ‘pick up a coffee’.

Self-care and Self-sacrifice

Jesus is a remarkable example of both loving himself and loving others. To sustain himself during his ministry, he would regularly leave the crowds and go to a quiet place to pray alone (e.g. Mark 1.35). Yet when his efforts at self-care were interrupted, he responded to the crowds with incredible graciousness and generosity. Jesus was fond of feasts and celebrations – so much so that his enemies called him a glutton. Yet he made the ultimate act of self-sacrifice, by laying down his life.

So, how best to integrate self-care and self-sacrifice in our lives? Here are some processes that are helpful for me:

  • I hold some highlights of my weekly schedule very tightly, not sacrificing them except for medical emergencies – soccer with friends on Saturday afternoon, a call with my brother on Sunday morning.
  • I try to keep my own needs in perspective, by comparing them to the needs of others around me. I may ‘need’ some rest even while someone else ‘needs’ to be taken to hospital. Both needs are valid and deserve attention, but sometimes I will prioritise others’ needs as more urgent than my own.
  • We are called to be cheerfully, rather than resentfully, generous. If I frequently feel resentful and reluctant when giving of myself, it probably means I need some time alone to reflect and recharge.
  • I try to involve others in finding solutions. When a neighbour shares a problem with me, I first ask: ‘is there someone else who could help resolve this?’ rather than jumping straight to trying to solve the problem myself.

Giving and Receiving Generously

The question of generosity runs deeper than a tension between self-care and self-sacrifice. I’m thinking again of the discomfort caused by receiving the poor’s generous hospitality, and of our reluctance to ask anyone for help. Not only are we, the wealthy, unwilling to give generously, we are also reluctant to receive generosity. We want to look and feel independent, and are afraid to be indebted to anyone.

Perhaps if we open ourselves to receive more deeply – from God and people both – then we will be more willing to give more generously to others. Let’s strip away our illusions of independence, instead acknowledging our interdependence with each other. What would happen if we lived by Jesus’ words: ‘freely you’ve received, now freely you shall give’ (Mt 10.8)? 

The Undeserving Poor

Perhaps the hardest category of people to give freely to are those we regard as the ‘undeserving poor’. We may be willing to give to innocent children who bear no responsibility for their plight. But we are loathe to respond graciously to those whom we deem have caused their own problems – drinkers, addicts, loafers. Branding the poor as ‘undeserving’ is often a convenient defence, protecting us from guilt about our own wealth and stinginess. ‘The poor are lazy’ is a comforting theory – as it implies that we, the rich, are hardworking.

Indeed, there are many good development-theory reasons to be careful who we give to, and how we give. The classic ‘Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day, teach him how to fish and you feed him for a lifetime’ is worth pondering. Heartfelt generosity is not a substitute for rational analysis – the two must go hand-in-hand.

But Jesus’ words are deeply challenging: ‘give to those who ask of you’ (Luke 6.30). No ifs, no buts. “Surely he doesn’t mean this literally?” we cry. “How can Jesus be so naïve and simplistic? What about those who don’t deserve it?”

But it is worth remembering that we are also undeserving of God’s generosity and grace to us. So let’s stop sorting the poor into false dichotomies of ‘deserving’ and ‘undeserving’. Everyone bears some responsibility for their own decisions, but there are also many factors outside anyone’s control. Instead, let’s freely receive the gracious, undeserved generosity of God, and in turn to pour ourselves out for others, even when doing so may be costly.

So what happened with Aliya? In the end I said yes and joined her in the Covid ward that night. We went through a lot together over the next week, but she pulled through. I tested positive for Covid too, but suffered no ill-effects. Looking back, I feel grateful for the chance to take generosity one step deeper.

*name changed

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