(Here is a reposting from last year. It's still important.) 

I’ve come to an interesting conclusion. If helping your fellow man is like buying a car, you have two basic options: purchasing the sexy late model edition that makes heads turn, or going with the clunky used car that few notice and even fewer covet.

Without judging this trio’s motives, Barack, Brad, and Bono belong to the first category whether they want to or not. So do the high school kids who fatten up their fancy college apps with obligatory volunteerism and the pro athletes who, through “giving back,” score twice as many endorsement deals as the ones who don’t. You could also include entire political campaigns, blood drives that get you out of work early, and your sister-in-law who uses the Thanksgiving meal at the homeless shelter merely as a photo-op for her family scrapbook.

Pragmatists argue that we need all sorts of reasons for helping the weak among us, even the ones with nary a spiritual motive. Fred in the nursing home needs his bedpan changed, and it doesn’t matter whether his caregiver is a devoted grandson or a minimum wage worker who needs a paycheck, right? The desperate aren’t picky—they’ll take any hope they can get. I sort of get that line of reasoning. I mean, if a sixteen year old purchases an ultra-chic sweater that helps to fund micro-loans in Bangladesh—and she happens to look hot in the process—why does that matter? Isn’t the end result what counts?

But lately I’m worried about blurring the line between sounds-right, governmental “social justice” and the kind of work that people do simply because Jesus Christ changed their life. When there is no distinction, when there is little difference between corporate tax credits and the widow’s mite, then we have lost the powerful testimony of our Savior.

The humanists would prefer it this way. They believe that we live here for a while and create our own manmade hope before returning to eternal dust. In their minds, the religious folks are just doing nice stuff for people in order to earn favor from a fabled god. If there were something else besides the eighty-some odd years of a man’s life (or forty-some odd years for an Ethiopian) to make us care for one another, then at least let’s find out the difference.

I John 3: 16-18 exposes the unique cause and effect of divine—not merely human—transformation: We know what real love is because Jesus gave up his life for us. So we also ought to give up our lives for our brothers and sisters. And since he knows that few of us will ever need to give this level of sacrifice, John adds:  If someone has enough money to live well and sees a brother or sister in need but shows no compassion—how can God’s love be in that person? Dear children, let’s not merely say that we love each other; let us show the truth by our actions.

The second, less shiny, category of helping your fellow man includes all sorts of people whose names, if I dared list them, are unrecognizable. Their ministries are often small with great personal cost. The hope they peddle is of the brightest kind, but outsiders might not notice. The impact of Jesus Christ in their lives compels them to fix, teach, bandage, feed, and train, sometimes to groups of five or fewer, often in lonely places.

When Jesus attends to the wounded, he goes for the body and the soul. So when the paralytic finds himself awkwardly lowered from the rafters during one of Jesus’ teaching parties (thanks to his buddies who heard about free universal health care), he discovers that settling only for social justice would’ve been a lousy pick. Instead, Jesus goes right for the soul first and says, “Son, your sins are forgiven” before distributing a new pair of legs.  

I am not saying that my faith prevents me from supporting social programs, nor should followers of Jesus Christ discredit the work of so many decent causes. Melinda Gates’ philanthropic genius is still a wonder to behold, and the good people in the Peace Corps, say, are doing important, humane work. But Jesus’ love is not just another brand to buy in a big aisle of equally nice love-products. It provides a testimony of a changed life.

One homeless man in my town left the Fresno Rescue Mission because, in his words, “there’s too much God in this place.” He will no doubt go on to find another program passing out spare change in the name of social justice. I wish him well in his journey, for his body certainly needs sustenance. But I doubt he’ll find anyone who really loves him. I know social justice has all the sex appeal these days, but if you ask me, the God-changed heart is the real head turner.