Be That Man

Turns out you can be faithful and bitter at the same time. But the smell will give you away.

There’s this one park near where I live that is my absolute favourite to walk Binx.

It changes with the seasons in ways that bring such joy — there’s always something new to notice, some shift in the light or the trees or the vibrancy of the plants that is simply beautiful. And on the days when it’s properly horrible outside, (let’s not forget I live in England!) rainy and muddy and grey, the paths are still clear, the dog can run wild, and something about it, even then, is still pretty special.

It’s always well looked after. The grass is cut, the flower beds are managed, the little hut cafe has cute cushions on the chairs waiting for its daily guests.

So it kinda took me by surprise when recently, as I was doing my usual laps with Binx, I met an older gentleman with his hands absolutely full of rubbish. Not figuratively. Literally. Both hands, carrier bags, boxes, plastic, paper . . . full. And he told me he comes every single day to walk his pooch as well. Never misses. And every single day, without fail, there is rubbish to pick up.

He couldn’t fathom it. There are bins on every exit of the park. Every exit. And still, somehow, rubbish finds its way onto the paths and into the grass and across the fields. Whether people are deliberately littering or whether it’s just blowing out of bins (trying to believe the best about others here), I guess most people just don’t see it? Or, if they do, they figure it’s not their mess, so they leave it for someone else to deal with.

But this man picks it up. Day in, day out. Unseen, unglamorous, entirely necessary work. And the park is better for it. Everyone who walks their dog there, or runs there, or brings their kids there, or has one of the delish croissants there, benefits from what he does without ever knowing he’s doing it.

My first thought was: be that man.

And in one sense — yes. Absolutely. The faithfulness of one person doing the small, invisible, thankless thing changes the atmosphere and experience for everyone around them. That is worth celebrating. Galatians 6:9 says it plainly:

Let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up.

Don’t give up. Keep going. The unsexy, unnoticed work matters enormously.

But here’s where it got complicated.

Because this man was angry.

Not mildly irritated. Genuinely, deeply angry. Obsessed, almost. With the rubbish, with the people who drop it, with the fact that nobody else picks it up, with the sheer relentlessness of it all. The park he’d spent years caring for had become (in his mind at least) just the sum of everything that was wrong with it. He couldn’t see the beauty anymore. He could only see the rubbish. After we’d said goodbye I watched him, eyes to the ground, scanning, searching, looking for more rubbish, looking for what was wrong.

And I felt sorry for him. Because surely that’s not the goal.

There can be a version of faithfulness that tips over into bitterness. A type of doing good that becomes so focused on what’s wrong that it loses sight of what’s right. Where the serving becomes obligation, the obligation becomes resentment, and the resentment slowly hollows out the very thing that made the work worth doing in the first place.

Paul writes in 2 Corinthians 2:15 about being “the aroma of Christ”

For we are to God the pleasing aroma of Christ among those who are being saved and those who are perishing.

Not the argument of Christ. Not the correct theology of Christ. The pleasing aroma. The fragrance. Something that people breathe in before they’ve even decided what they think about it.

I wonder. What do we smell like?

Because it can’t just be about doing the ‘good, right’ thing. It’s not just about whether we’re picking up the rubbish. It’s about what we leave behind when we do. Whether our presence in the places and spaces and relationships we inhabit makes things better — not just practically, but atmospherically. Whether people feel more hopeful, more seen, more like the world might be okay after encountering us. Whether we smell of Jesus.

A bitter faithful person can improve a park and darken a conversation simultaneously.

The invitation isn’t just to be good news in practice. It’s to be good news. Full stop. To work with all your heart, yes, but to do it from a place of genuine love for the place and the people in it., to do it for Jesus! To notice the beauty as well as the rubbish. To leave things more beautiful than you found them because it honours God and not just because mess offends you.

So be that man — the one who shows up, day after day, doing the quiet necessary thing.

But do it with joy.

I’m so fed up of encountering Christians (no less!) who are grumpy and miserable. We are to be the pleasing aroma of Jesus. Our world doesn’t just need people who tidy things up. It needs people who smell like Jesus as they do.

Where are you doing faithful, unseen work right now and are you doing it with joy, or has it shifted into something that’s slowly draining you?

Let’s pray:

Lord, would you make us the pleasing aroma of Christ: in the park, at the school gate, in the office, at home. Help us to do the quiet, faithful, unsexy work without losing the joy of it. Guard us from the bitterness that comes when serving tips over into obligation. Let what we leave behind in the places we inhabit be something worth breathing in. Not the smell of resentment or duty, but the fragrance of someone who genuinely loves your people and places they’re serving. In Jesus’ name we pray, amen.

Praying you’d catch a whiff of what you’re actually leaving behind this week and that it smells exactly like Jesus!

Cheering you on,

Em 💛

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