“What do these bags mean?”

By Scott Seaton

That was the question I posed to volunteers from Christ Church Of Arlington, as they began their day of service at the food pantry last month. They had volunteered to help serve our neighbors who needed some help providing food for their family. Christ Church had collected food for them to distribute that day, and I wanted these kind-hearted volunteers to leave with something as well.

And so an hour before the pantry opened to our guests at 11:00 am, before any guests were waiting in line, we walked to the railing outside the entrance to the pantry. I pointed to the bags tied there, and asked the volunteers if they knew what they meant. “Bags for people to use to get food?” “Yes,” I said, “but we didn’t put them there.”

Our neighbors had tied them to the railing shortly after 9:00 am, two hours before the pantry doors opened. They secured the bags to secure a place in line. To be first, to be certain they would they would get food that day. They’d return to the pantry before 11:00, and take their place in line.

That’s what a scarcity mindset does. We had plenty of food, plenty for everyone that day, even latecomers. But when you’re facing food insecurity, when a lot of your anxiety and planning and effort goes towards figuring out how to get enough food for your family this month, you see the world’s resources as very limited. Not enough to go around. When that becomes a mindset, that’s what you do: you arrive two hours early to the food pantry, and tie your bag to the railing.

Aren’t we all the same, though? We may not be facing food insecurity, but we still are burdened by our insecurities. We don’t have enough savings, the right job, the right relationships. We’re insecure about our weight, our appearance, our health. We just tie our bags to a different railing.

There’s a story in John’s gospel, about a Samaritan woman who comes alone to a well in the middle of the day to draw water. That immediately tells you something’s not quite right, as the village women would arrive together in the morning, to enjoy cooler weather and good company. But this woman came alone at noon, in the heat of the day. Only Jesus is there, and he starts to talk. Even that’s unusual, as Jewish men didn’t talk with Samaritan women. He’s drawing the woman out, and we learn that her dignity is badly bruised and broken. What she needs is water that will quench her real thirst, living water that only Jesus can provide. “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again. But whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:14)

I asked the Christ Church volunteers how the people they’d be serving might feel when they arrived at the pantry. "Worried.” “Overwhelmed.” “Ashamed.” They were seeing our guests not just as food recipients, but as people, fellow image bearers of God. People whose dignity was also bruised and broken. They were hungry and thirsty, and for more than mere food and water. “What can we do to serve them, in addition to providing food?,” I asked. “Greet them with a warm smile.” “Say hello and talk.” “Offer them something to eat and drink while they wait.” “Play games with the kids.” “Help them pick out food they actually want.”

And that’s exactly what they did. For the next few hours, the pantry in South Arlington felt a bit like that well in Samaria. People from different backgrounds and beliefs had come to give or receive food. But all left with more. In Matthew 25, Jesus describes signs of a heart that expresses God’s gracious heart: “I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink.” If we have eyes to see, we just may see Jesus in our neighbors at a food pantry, and in our seemingly small acts of compassion.

We’d love for you to join us at the well—or rather, the pantry—to serve and be served. Sign up to volunteer here.