She lifted her weary head from the pillow and listened, tilting her head to one side, sending her thin gray hair flowing across the pillow. Another blizzard shook the old parsonage. Alice Green, a Presbyterian pastor, had seen a few blizzards in the 52 years she had served in Savoonga on the northern edge of the Arctic, beyond the rising sun. She had finally gotten to bed a couple of hours ago, for last night had been a tough one. Thor, a handsome 26-year-old youth, had committed suicide, hanging himself from the rafter in the laundry room.
Thor had attempted suicide six months ago; however, his girlfriend happened to come in and grabbed his legs, holding him up till help came. This time there was no one to help. Suicide among the Inuit youth was an all too frequent problem in the long winter in this forbidding arctic wilderness, and Pastor Alice had seen enough to make her weary. We were about to witness it ourselves.
My wife and I were newly married and recently arrived missionaries to the Inuit people in a remote village with a population of six hundred. On the island, lying above the Arctic Circle and 35 miles (56 kilometers) off the coast of Siberia, we were the upstart church in the village. At the turn of the last century, the state of Alaska had been divided up by the American Council of Christian Churches, and the remote, windswept island was given to the Presbyterian church. That was a century ago, and now the whole village was Presbyterian. Our little Seventh-day Adventist church was only a few years old, started by an old Inuit elder who learned about the Sabbath on the radio while sick in the hospital.
For the first month in Savoonga, I observed Pastor Alice from a distance, a little too shy to be assertive or friendly. But she was open and accepting, and before long she began to include us in her little parties where she made her specialty, homemade ice cream. One bleak, dark morning, she stopped by our little one-room cabin for a visit. As the conversation warmed up, I blurted out, “Pastor Alice, you are amazing. You have served these native people for fifty-two years—why do you do it?”
“Why not?” she said, as if it were a needless question. Then she paused in reflection. I leaned in as she almost whispered the answer as if thoughtfully speaking to herself. “I guess it’s because they need me.”
That week I sat alone in my little homemade office that doubled as a children’s room on Sabbath. I was working on my first sermon as a missionary pastor, but I could not get Alice out of my mind. She was not a charismatic person nor a natural leader, but she had given her life in service. She had never married nor adopted children; the people of the village were her children. I reflected on her 52 years as a pastor—the children she had seen born, the funerals she had conducted, and the people she had grown to love—our paltry commitment of 2 years as missionaries seemed just plain insignificant.
As I studied for my sermon to my little congregation of three church members plus my wife, I was drawn to Romans 12 and the emphasis on spiritual gifts. The second spiritual gift, listed right behind prophecy, is service, and it must have been significant to Paul to place it there. A child of God may not be able to prophesy, preach, or teach, but they can show their love for Jesus in loving deeds of service.
A little later Paul used an interesting Greek word, haplotes. It’s a bit difficult to translate, but in today’s language, it probably means “the sheer joy of giving of yourself,” either seen or unseen and with or without recognition, praise, or acknowledgment. Few today realize that haplotes, simple kindness or just humble hospitality, is the lifeblood of the body of Christ—and it was the lifeblood of Pastor Alice.
Pastor Alice had made a significant choice, a life-altering choice, to practice haplotes, the joy of giving of yourself, for 52 years on a remote island to the Inuit people who needed her. Her commitment carried in its wake a profound practice of sacrifice that came from a heart that said, “I guess it is because they needed me.”
As our perfect model, Christ was a steward of the grace of heaven on earth—because we needed Him. He came to serve, to minister, to love. The words He spoke were profound, even compelling, but the deeds of love were life-altering, and it appears that He spent much more time in deeds of loving service than in words of love, although both were partners in grace. Pastor, can you imitate Jesus’ example of love, service, and self-sacrifice? Are you willing to practice haplotes?
