A few years ago, an author asked me to endorse a new book that would provide an introduction to Christianity. There was much to commend in the work—the clarity of the gospel, the moral vision of Christianity, and some practical guidance for beginning the life of faith. But one thing initially kept me from lending my name to the project. Something not minor but fundamental was missing: Christian care and compassion for the poor.
The Christian’s commitment to the less fortunate—or better said, the Christian’s own recognition of an inner poverty of spirit that leads to generosity toward those in financial or physical distress—was an essential part of catechesis in the early church. But it was missing here. Thankfully, the book hadn’t gone to print, and the writer acknowledged the oversight and eagerly made a few welcome additions to the text.
Forgotten Command
It’s easy to forget the poor. We can get so focused on our activities of wealth-building, consumption, and self-protection that we lose sight of those in need. Sure, a natural disaster may jolt us awake to brothers and sisters who’ve lost everything, but we often overlook the ongoing struggle of people who live paycheck to paycheck, just hoping to make ends meet, or those who fall behind, whether because of societal injustice or family breakdown or the consequences of personal choices.
When the apostle Paul makes his appeal for justification by faith in his letter to the Galatians, he demonstrates his credentials by recounting the other apostles’ blessing and instruction, and then he says this: “They asked only that we would remember the poor, which I had made every effort to do” (Gal. 2:10).
There’s a world of meaning in that one brief instruction. First, the needy must have been top of mind for the apostles—otherwise, they wouldn’t have come up. Second, the exhortation assumes it might be easy to overlook the poor, to forget the church’s commitment to their well-being. Hence the command: Don’t let the poor drift from your sight or your heart. To forget the poor isn’t merely neglect but disobedience. Third, Paul is quick to point to his record of compassion as a mark of apostolic faithfulness. Church leaders should be known for their ministries of mercy.
All this lines up with something Martin Luther said: “After the preaching of the gospel, the office and charge of a true and faithful pastor is to be mindful of the poor.”
The Church That Forgets the Poor Forgets Her Lord
Reading through the sermons of the church fathers—especially John Chrysostom—you can’t help but notice their persistent and passionate concern for the poor. Warnings against wealth’s deceitfulness, denunciations of greed, rebukes for those unmoved by others’ needs—they appear in nearly every sermon.
At times, I’ve wondered if the fathers went too far with this emphasis. But then, when I return to the New Testament, I’m confronted by similar words from Jesus and the apostles. It’s Jesus who warns that every heart will have a master—God or Mammon—but never both. It’s James who excoriates the rich who oppress the poor and exposes the one who virtue-signals with words of compassion but withholds the deeds of mercy. It’s Paul who warns that the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil.
Perhaps the question we should ask isn’t why the church fathers thundered so frequently about justice and compassion for the poor but why we’re so quiet.
In Luke’s version of the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus says, “Blessed are the poor,” and then, “Woe to you who are rich.” We cannot conveniently spiritualize this saying, as if it were merely about attitude, and nothing to do with one’s circumstances—for Jesus himself teaches that our hearts follow our treasure.
To be poor in spirit means you’ve experienced God’s severe mercy. He has stripped away your illusions of self-sufficiency. You’ve come to the end of yourself. When the living water of Jesus floods the desert of your soul, you become both emptied of self and filled with God. Out of that fullness flows generosity—a love that seeks out the broken, the hungry, the destitute. The gospel that humbles you before God compels you to kneel beside your neighbor.
This is why Christianity has been good news for the poor, the downtrodden, and the marginalized—because kingdom people are poor in spirit. And to the degree our wealth keeps us from poverty in spirit, we distort the gospel we seek to proclaim. Let’s be clear: A church indifferent to the poor doesn’t resemble New Testament Christianity.
Image of the Poor Christ
Charles Spurgeon reminded his congregation that the Christian who is poor bears Jesus’s likeness:
The poor man is like his Master, not only in his character, but in his circumstances too. When you look on a poor saint, you have a better picture of Jesus than you have in a rich saint. . . . Look at his brown hands, hardened by toil; such were his Saviour’s once; look at his weary feet, blistered with his journeyings; such were his Saviour’s many a time. He sits upon a well from weariness, as did his Lord once; he hath nowhere to rest, nor had his Master; foxes had holes, and the birds of the air had nests, but he had not where to lay his head. He is fed by charity, so was his Master; others supplied his wants. See! he sits down at an invited table, so did his Master; he had not one of his own. . . . I look upon every poor saint as being a medal struck from the mint divine, to be a memento of the existence of our Lord Jesus Christ. He is to make me remember my Lord, to bid me meditate upon that wondrous depth of poverty into which he stooped, that he might lift me up to light and glory.
Christians may differ in their views of how best to care for the poor—what role the government should play, what the local church can do, how we balance relief and development—but amid those debates, we must resist two temptations.
The first is to excuse inaction or indifference by appealing to piety or politics, setting aside the clear call to serve. The second is to think of the poor as other—as if they belong to a separate class of humanity. They don’t. They’re image-bearers of God. We all share the same origin and end: We bring nothing into this world, and we take nothing out. What’s more, if the poor are Christians, they’re our brothers and sisters. We are family. As members of God’s family, we enjoy the privilege of fellowship and the responsibility of generosity.
Remember the Poor
The way we treat the poor reveals what we truly believe about Jesus. From the beginning of Scripture to the end, God identifies himself with the lowly and draws near to the weak. For our sake and for our salvation, Christ became poor. To love him, then, is to love those he loves: the hungry, the suffering, the overlooked.
The church’s history of holiness displays this truth. And every renewal of the church begins here: in bending low, in listening to the cry of those in need, and in joining God’s work of mercy that lifts the lowly and fills the hungry with good things. To forget the poor is to forget our Lord.
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