Charity Made Manifest

We live in an age now when the word “charity” most often refers to a nonprofit organization, founded for a specific cause, kept afloat by the monetary donations of people who may or may not know anything about the cause itself. The proximity of participants to a charity usually varies from the highly involved, devoted volunteer to the distant donor who made a deposit for the sake of a tax write-off. Ideally, everyone involved ought to be familiar and attached to the cause at hand, but reality is quite different.

Often when the word “charity” is used in the Vulgate translation of the Bible, it’s in place of the Greek agape, referring to a self-sacrificing type of love[1]. One definition has charity as “Christian love in its highest manifestation.” Far from thinking of charity as a synonym for giving money, charity was once a hefty word, carrying with it the full meaning of the highest form of love.

Love of this kind demands nothing of the recipient and everything of the giver. The Latin carries the meaning of “dear, beloved.” This is not casual philanthropy from a distance, or money thrown at a “problem.” Instead, it is an up-close interest in another’s welfare; it is a willingness to give until it hurts— to be with the person and relieve their pain. At the very least, it would suggest a close proximity to the recipient. There is no distance here. There is no assumed benefit (like the tax write-off) to the giver.

This kind of love demands presence. There is no substitute for being there, present with the other.

If Covid lockdowns taught us anything, it is that no amount of virtual settings can make up for being physically near one another. The representation of someone’s face, sent through the magical internet signals, can be a nice placeholder for a visit, but it’s not a true substitute for the real thing.

Much is made of the concept of “quality time,” an understanding of time given and received. Quality time is not casual; it is time spent investing in the other person’s well-being. It takes the form of honest, open conversation; it might include thoughtful advice or prayer together. Quality time builds strong bonds in a relationship, whether it be husband to wife, parent to child, or friend to friend.

But quality time cannot be manufactured out of thin air. Before we spend quality time with someone, we must be mindful of the quantity of time we spend with them. “Quantity time” is not as catchy a phrase, but it provides the soil where quality time grows. Before you can invest deeply in someone, you must show a willingness to invest broadly in them: be available to chat, respond when they reach out, and become familiar with them.

To be sure, there are instances where this time is not given, and yet quality conversation or attachment spontaneously arises. But we ought never to assume that this is the norm. The parent or grandparent who drops in and out of a child’s life does not benefit from the same attachment to that child that a more present adult does. The friend who’s scattered and unintentional with time does not form deep relationships as quickly or as easily as the present, intentional one. The quantity of time and effort given is fertile soil for quality to grow.

In his recent book How to Know a Person, commentator David Brooks affirms this idea. “Even when you know someone well, I find that if you don’t talk about the little things on a regular basis, it’s hard to talk about the big things.” 

Surely you have a friendship that demonstrates this reality. This friend is the one who knows about the big work meeting coming up, but they also know about that character in that TV show who drives you crazy. They text you a picture of a funny sign in the grocery store and tell you how it reminded them of you. The little things lay a sweet foundation for the big ones.

In the New Testament, the letters of both John and Paul reveal a sweet pastoral inclination to be with their people. In 3 John, the author says he’s done writing letters to the church: “I would rather not write with pen and ink,” he says. “I hope to see you soon, and we will talk face to face.” (3 John 13-14 ESV) We might understand the modern-day equivalent of this to be a pastor who says, “No! I’m sick of emailing and texting! When can we get together?” John wants to be near them; he wants to read the expression in their eyes while they talk about struggling and growing in the Lord. He wants to observe how they love one another and be part of it himself. 

Sometimes this kind of quality time—this charity nearness made manifest—calls for silence. Rather than needing to fill the space, we are willing to sit with a person in quiet. Too often, incessant talking is a demonstration of a lack of agape, self-sacrificing love. It communicates a need to be affirmed, to be heard, to assert oneself. When we sit quietly, we give breathing room for the other person to be honest, often revealing the places where we can serve the person better going forward.

Silence also gives us a chance to notice. As we listen, we learn what is important to the other. It’s the space of quiet that means we know better next time. We buy the book they said they wanted. We make the meal without the allergen. We remember to send the card on the anniversary of the death. It is every one of these small tasks of loving that add up to knowing and loving a person well.

When we escape the bonds of conceit that keep us focused on ourselves, we can move toward people in this way: investing a quantity of time and attention, lending our presence, and giving the silence that’s called for when it’s needed. In return, we give true charity: self-sacrificing love of the other.

[1] For more discussion of the origins of the word, see https://www.etymonline.com/word/charity

The featured image, “Potted at Potter,” is courtesy of Lancia E. Smith and is used with her glad permission for Cultivating.

Kelly Keller

Kelly Keller writes the weekly Substack On the Common, encouraging Christians to labor for the flourishing of their homes, churches, and communities. She is the Managing Editor of Story Warren, as well as a contributor at The Rabbit Room, The Gospel Coalition, and Risen Motherhood. She has her BS in Elementary Education from Messiah University and has taught various ages, but her favorite was worldview and literature with high school students. The “gap” in her resume is actually a window of eighteen years of homeschooling, which she recommends as an effective, though demanding, way of expanding one’s home library.

When she’s not behind her laptop, Kelly enjoys live music, baseball, reading great books, and traveling with her husband, David. Kelly hails from beautiful snowy New England, but after nearly two decades in North Carolina, she feels right at home.

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