Saucier — Humble circumstances

“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”

That’s in Chapter 8 of Mark. In the very next chapter, those faithful followers were arguing about who was greatest.

Remember that most of these disciples were just kids.

They hadn’t yet had their “aha!” moments — their conversion from “me” to “you and we.”

Paul was probably 30-ish when he fell on the road to Damascus and surrendered his self-satisfying search for Jews who followed Jesus.

Moses was 80 when he knelt before the burning bush, relinquishing a peaceful desert life to lead his people.

I fall more into Moses’s camp — his age of revelation, not his destiny of liberation.

And mine happened on a bathroom floor.

For years, I’ve been involved with some charities working with the poor, hungry and imprisoned.

These are small but effective ministries, touching lives in little but transformative ways.

I work with incredible people, men and women who are not only dedicated to the cause, but who are empathetic and vulnerable, faith-filled and fun.

Those we serve, be it a mother with a sick child or a woman trying to resurrect her life from the ashes of bad decisions, are most often friendly, smiling and truly grateful.

And therein lies my problem.

I’ve always wondered how deep and heart-driven my commitment was.

Leading this board or going on that mission trip was a comforting stroke to a needy ego.

I really enjoyed time spent working with others and seldom failed to learn something profound from those we try to serve.

How much of that being a servant was just about me feeling good?

Then I found myself working in the bathroom in one of the houses we have for women coming out of the judicial system with addiction histories.

It was a clogged toilet — and not one to be fixed in a few minutes with a plunger. It was a stubborn, industrial-level blockage that demanded hours of work in less-than-ideal circumstances.

Amid all that, it hit me. This was my “first shall be last.”

It was a loathsome task — nothing to brag about. I did it, not without frustration, but at least without complaint.

I realized those women in the house — trying to stay sober, to atone, to forgive, to reclaim their families — were doing much tougher work than I was doing on that bathroom floor.

This was the least I could do for them.