Milk for the Fox
By Bethany Kaldas
‘His lord said to him, ‘Well done, good and faithful servant; you were faithful over a few things, I will make you ruler over many things. Enter into the joy of your lord.’’
Matthew 25:21
A common phrase I hear spoken in the church, especially in regard to service, is to remember that we can offer God nothing. After all, God is perfect, He is the definition of wholeness, completeness—He does not need our service, it is we who need His grace. This is very true, and it is especially important to remember when we are trying to perform acts of service (whether they are formal or informal). You’re not giving God anything He couldn’t accomplish without your efforts.
But I wouldn’t blame anyone for, at times, finding this notion a little disheartening. We may start to feel that, well, if my actions don’t really make a difference to God, then what’s the point? Perhaps we can imagine that the works of the greatest saints and prophets—you know, the ones that parted seas and healed the blind and raised the dead—they made a real difference. Their charity mattered—it had an impact on the world that is still being felt today.
What can we do? Maybe we talk to children in Sunday school, knowing full well that every word spoken has gone into one ear and out the other. Maybe we cook meals for our families, which they’ll enjoy for a minute and forget about the next. Maybe your friends come to you with a problem, utterly distraught, and you listen and nod, trying to ignore that voice in your head that reminds you that nothing you can say or do will fix it for them.
It can all feel a bit futile, can’t it? We try very hard to be useful, we put heart and soul into giving God our best, but it never seems to be enough. Like trying to create a masterpiece with broken hands, sometimes it feels like we never really seem to be able to make anything beautiful happen.
In Anthony Bloom’s book, Beginning to Pray, he tells a story from Hebrew folklore about the prophet Moses and a humble shepherd. You see, this shepherd liked to leave out bowl of the best milk from his sheep for God, and claims that God really does drink the milk, because when he wakes up in the morning, the bowl is empty. He is happy with his offering and will work hard to continue to give it, he knows that God appreciates it and that is enough.
Moses, almost amused by the idea that God could drink anything, considering He doesn’t have a body, basically tells the shepherd he’s being silly and he’s not offering God anything. Testing the theory, the shepherd stays out one night to see what happens to the milk, and much to his disappointment, he sees that it is not God, but a hungry little fox who drinks his offering every night. Turns out he really wasn’t offering God anything useful—his service was meaningless. He never really had anything to give.
When he tells this to Moses, quite downhearted, Moses tells him to buck up—he’s learned more about God now and that’s a good thing. And yet, Moses is still troubled by the shepherd’s despair. He prays about the incident, and this is how God responds:
‘Moses, you were wrong. It is true that I am pure spirit. Nevertheless I always accepted with gratitude the milk which the shepherd offered me, as the expression of his love, but since, being pure spirit, I do not need the milk, I shared it with this little fox, who is very fond of milk.’
Anthony Bloom, Beginning to Pray
It’s definitely true that God needs nothing from us. Anything we offer to Him is tiny, perhaps insignificant in our eyes. And yet, even the smallest things we offer to God with genuine love are treasured by Him. And not only treasured, but used—multiplied beyond what we expect.
That bowl of nice milk was not needed by God, but it was needed by one little, hungry fox who, thanks to that shepherd’s persistent acts of love, had a full belly every night. The small things you do may seem unimportant, but no act of love goes without consequence, even if its results are invisible.
‘Good and evil both increase at compound interest. That is why the little decisions you and I make every day are of such infinite importance. The smallest good act today is the capture of a strategic point from which, a few months later, you may be able to go on to victories you never dreamed of. An apparently trivial indulgence in lust or anger today is the loss of a ridge or railway line or bridgehead from which the enemy may launch an attack otherwise impossible.’
C.S. Lewis, Mere Christianity
Our actions are like stones dropped in still waters, they have impacts we’d never have thought of and many more that we’ll probably never know about, even if they look small and inconspicuous. Too often, we assess the value of a deed by the results that we can see. When we try to be kind, try to help, try to act, try to teach, and it seems that nothing has come of it, we think we’ve wasted our time and effort. It’s not good enough for us, so it’s not good enough for God.
‘It is useless to try to make peace with ourselves by being pleased with everything we have done. In order to settle down in the quiet of our own being we must learn to be detached from the results of our own activity. We must withdraw ourselves, to some extent, from the effects that are beyond our control and be content with the good will and the work that are the quiet expression of our inner life. We must be content to live without watching ourselves live, to work without expecting any immediate reward, to love without an instantaneous satisfaction, and to exist without any special recognition.’
Thomas Merton, No Man Is an Island
God works in ways we do not see, and there was never a seed too small or a heart too frail for Him to use. A chance encounter with a stranger, a sympathetic word to a friend, a message of appreciation or a small act of service done when nobody was watching—these are the work of the hands of Christ. These are the foundations of Heaven on Earth. You have no idea the impact your choices can have—I can almost guarantee that you’ve already changed someone’s life in ways you can’t see.
Give Him whatever you can, no matter how broken and withered and small, and trust that it is exactly what He was looking for. Sometimes it’s awkward, sometimes it feels pathetic, pitiful, fruitless. But there are no ashes He cannot turn into beauty, no loaves He cannot multiply, no bowls of milk He will not share…except the ones you never give Him.
‘He said, “Bring them here to Me.” Then He commanded the multitudes to sit down on the grass. And He took the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up to heaven, He blessed and broke and gave the loaves to the disciples; and the disciples gave to the multitudes.So they all ate and were filled, and they took up twelve baskets full of the fragments that remained.’
Matthew 14:18-20