Why Do-Gooders Belly Flop

When You Need to Stop Needing Thanks

The post-er on a neighborhood social app complained that they’re giving up on helping others who ask for help. Every time they reach out to help, the person who asked for help doesn’t respond. So this do-gooder is done. No more doing good.

The thread reminds me of something one of my grown kids has said more than once: being kind, even sacrificing to help another person, often backfires. Nice guys finish last, the saying goes. No good deed goes unpunished. Don’t be a chump.

These adages push us toward staying in our bubbles. We constantly hear from media and social interactions that we should always look out for Number One. And they teach us to feel disappointed if our goodness isn’t reciprocated.

When our hearts tug us toward loving our neighbor, we feel cheated if no reward is forthcoming.

For most of my life I’ve been that way too. Life is tit for tat, eye for an eye. I learned from an early age that if you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Santa only brings gifts to those who’ve completed the Nice List Battery of Tests. No wonder I invented a transactional God who only liked me if I was doing the right thing. And as Anne Lamont once observed, God just happened to like all the same things I did.

This method of doing good only if you get something in return has shaped our culture. Meanwhile, Jesus’ ideas got buried under a lot of capitalist business deals. It’s OK to love God with all our heart and mind and soul but watch out for those greedy and needy folks trying to steal your way of life. Who is my neighbor? rings across the millennia, looking for somebody to actually care.

And when you step up and love even creepy, needy neighbors, what do you get? Nada. Zip. Suddenly the gumball machine eats your nickel and even laughs at you for expecting change. No wonder people like the one on the app give up.

I hate to say it, but Americans are set to enter possibly the most transactional government ever. We’re liable to get a lot of tit for tat as congresspeople gouge each other’s eyes out while trying to look out for Number One. I think if Jesus came today, he’d be urging us to get busy loving our neighbor. With so much bad juju around, he might say, love needs all the help it can get.

The problem for a lot of folks will be that pesky reciprocal action. If you help someone and they don’t try to return the favor, how will we feel? Butt-hurt? A loser? A chump? Does Jesus really want us to go without a gumball? I mean, if you put money in the slot, shouldn’t you get something for your trouble?

Jesus is making this stuff really hard.

We get a blessing. That’s it. No prize or crown or full-page ad announcing our good deed. Only our Lord’s favor, as we grapple with our blessing-minus-accolades. Pastors across the ages have told us that doing good isn’t optional. We don’t get to rate how much a neighbor deserves our love. We don’t even get to define “neighbor.” We are commanded to love.

We get to learn how to love with a smile on our faces. Faith pushes us to drop our transactional do-gooding and practice loving just because. We even have to hold our noses and pray for our enemies—at which point I’m whining to God, “Do I have to?”

But here’s the thing. The more I learn to delight in doing good for others just because, the less I need those rewards. If love captures you, joy is never far behind. Then, mercy, compassion, comfort, generosity and justice crowd in to be included in the daily giveaways.

Love hates being alone, shies away from back-scratching and tit for tat. Love invites everybody in, even those who’d crash the party. Love your neighbor from the deep end of your heart and suddenly, everybody is your neighbor.

All this takes practice, and I don’t always get it right. I can be as small and petty as the next person. But as I enter this new phase of widowhood, I can tell you that feeling entitled to get something in return feels worse and worse. Entitlement isolates us and insulates us from the love we could be handing out daily. And who knows, maybe one of those people I tried to help will return the favor one day.

But I’m not holding my breath. I swear, grief has a way of showing you all the hurt and brokenness around you—stuff you didn’t notice before. I’ll dive into the deep end of the giving pool, knowing that I’ll probably belly flop on the way to loving my neighbors. But God waits to bestow blessings on do-gooders everywhere, even if they mess up. Maybe that’s a whole lot of what love is, too.