The yoke of charity

Last week I was at the checkout of the Delhaize. In front of me was an old man with a handful of groceries on the conveyor belt, as if he had precisely calculated what he needed for today and tomorrow. A loaf of bread, some toppings, a liter of milk, a can of soup. His bank card didn't work. He tried again. And again. Maybe an insufficient balance, maybe something with the card itself, I don't know. The cashier waited politely, the queue behind me started to sigh. I saw his shoulders slump. Before I had properly thought about it, I hadalready held my own card against the device. About ten euros. He looked at me, half shy, half relieved, and thanked me three times too much. I walked out to my car with a smile no one had ordered. Strange, isn't it? Ten euros, and the whole afternoon gets a different color.

That evening, I had to think of a sentence I had read a thousand times, but which suddenly lit up again. King Benjamin, in Mosiah 2:17: ‘when ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the service of your God.’ No footnote, no reservation, no fine print. Ten euros at a cash register counts.

The purest love that exists

What we call charity is not a kind accessory of the gospel. It is the main artery (note: main artery, which is different from a main culprit). Moroni dares to formulate it this way: 'charity is the pure love of Christ' (Moroni 7:47). Read that slowly. Not 'a kind of love'. Not 'an aspect of His love'. The pure love of Christ. The love with which He touched the sick without turning away, put children on His lap while His disciples drove them away, protected an adulterous womanagainst men who wanted to stone her, and ultimately allowed His hands to be pierced for people who mocked Him.

When we practice that love, we are not just practicing a virtue. We are contributing to His work. The work that He Himself describes in Moses 1:39 as ‘my work and my glory—to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of man.’ A glass of water to someone who is thirsty, a conversation with someone who feels invisible, a message to someone you haven't spoken to in weeks – these are all stones in that immense edifice. Small tools for a grand project.

The yoke that is light

And then something beautiful appears. For whoever contributes to that work takes up the yoke of Christ. ‘Take My yoke upon you,’ He says in Matthew 11:29-30, ‘and learn of Me, for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For My yoke is easy, and My burden is light.’

A yoke is not a punishment. A yoke is a wooden construction that you place over the shoulders of two animals so they can plow together. It distributes the burden. When we practice charity and thus serve God, we do not go on our own. We go under the yoke with Christ by our side. He pulls along. He bears along. The burden becomes light because we do not have to carry it alone.

That is the paradox I sometimes find difficult to explain to people who don't know the gospel. How can doing more still feel less heavy somewhere? Answer: because you don't do it alone. Because the Owner of the harvest Himself stands next to you in the yoke.

The circle only the gospel can draw

Thus, a wonderful circle is created. We help our fellow human beings. We thereby serve God. We contribute to the work of Christ. And at that very moment, not later, not sometime, but immediately, we are blessed. King Benjamin states it in black and white in Mosiah 2:24: ‘for which, if ye do it, he doth immediately bless you.’

Immediately. No waiting room. No heavenly collection agency that only pays out the amount in the next eternity. Immediately. Sometimes you feel it as a peace that comes over your heart. Sometimes as an inspiration you needed. Sometimes just as that inexplicable smile after ten euros at a checkout.

The pitfall of the mountain

But then comes the pitfall, and it's a big one. We look around us. We see the world. We see the wars, the loneliness, the people in nursing homes who haven't seen their children in months, the young people drowning in their screens, the neighbor who lost his wife and has no idea how to go on. And we feel paralyzed. The mountain is too high. What good is my small contribution? Bringing a cake, sending a message, half an hour of silence next to someone crying, it seems like nothing compared to what is needed.

Here we may listen to the counsel of President Nelson: work for that one. Not for the masses. Not for the whole world at once. For that one. For the gospel never works in wholesale, it works in retail, person by person, heart by heart. Christ himself worked this way. He did not heal multitudes with a single gesture. He healed people, one by one, with his hands on their shoulders and their names on his lips.

Imagine you are that one

And if today you think that helping one person is too little, then do this exercise. Imagine: tomorrow you might be that one. Tomorrow you are the one who prays for help. Perhaps for something practical, a leaky faucet, a bill that doesn't quite make ends meet, an appointment you dread. Perhaps for something much bigger, a diagnosis, a grief, a marriage that is starting to show cracks. You are sitting on the edge of your bed and you ask God for help.

And tomorrow someone knocks on your door. Or a message pops up on your phone. Or someone unexpectedly stands at the kitchen table with soup and a smile. What a miracle that will be. What a tangible answer to your prayer. You will think: God has heard me. And He has indeed heard you, but He has outsourced the work to someone who listened to His whisper.

Let that be your motivation. Not the mountain, but that one. Not the idea that you have to save the world, but the knowledge that your small deed is the miracle for someone that he prayed for this morning.

Specifically, today

How do you get started? Simple. Pray for eyes that see. Not for grand tasks, but for glasses that allow you to notice the people around you. The colleague who has been quieter lately. The neighbor whose blinds haven't gone up for a few days. Your brother whom you haven't called in months because he 'must be busy'. The child in your family who asked a question you answered too quickly.

And then do one small thing. One. A message. A visit. A small dish at the door. A five-minute phone call. A handwritten card. An hour of your time without a phone. Not tomorrow, today.

And if each of us does that, one small thing a day, then something happens in our environment that no policy plan can organize. A network of charity, finely branched, barely visible to those who don't look, but unmistakable to those who count the blessings. A neighborhood where people feel seen. A community where the yoke weighs lighter because we bear it together.

What happens to you

And believe me, you will notice that something also happens to you. Your life changes when you lift your eyes from yourself and focus them on the one in front of you. Worries don't get smaller, but they take up less space. Your mood brightens. The silence becomes warmer. Your prayers change, no longer lists, but conversations. And occasionally, at the most unexpected moments, you clearly feel that Christ is also in the yoke.

That is celestial thinking. Not waiting until you can do something great, but doing something good for that one person today. That's how you serve your fellow human being. That's how you serve God. That's how you take up the yoke of Christ. And that's how you are, instantly, blessed.

The sun is shining today. Somewhere, someone is at a checkout, or at a door, or with a phone they don't dare to answer. You be that one.