I once served as an apprentice at a congregation close to the graduate school I was attending. One summer the leaders of the congregation planned a road trip to a popular leadership seminar offered by a large church. I wanted to go but did not have the funds. My wife and I were literally pouring every cent into my studies. But days before the event, my supervisor at the congregation informed me that someone had paid for me to go. All costs were covered. And, he said, the donor wished to remain anonymous. I was overjoyed. The trip and seminar were refreshing and paradigm-shaping. I still feel the influence of that event. And it was possible only because of an act of “secret service.”
Mark Buchanan writes about the importance of secrecy in our acts of service:
“We want to be either heroes or martyrs. Our acts of service tend to rise from the yearning to be one or the other. We want to be either carried on the crowd’s shoulders or trampled beneath the mob’s feet…emblazon my name on the marquee or set me ablaze at the stake…Make me a hero or make me a martyr…[But] God invites us, Christlike, to become servants. That means we’ll do many of our acts of service in secret. We’ll do them regardless of whether we’re thanked or applauded. We’ll do them not seeking persecution, but not avoiding it either.”[1]
A problem for many of us is that we want to do acts of service so striking that we are hailed as heroes. Or we wish to do acts of service so sacrificial that we are memorialized as martyrs. But some of the most impactful ways of serving are not-so-striking and not-so-sacrificial. One of the most transformative habits to cultivate is that of serving others in ways that are routine, quiet and anonymous. Secret service doesn’t necessarily make us heroes, because it isn’t noteworthy enough to make the news. And, it doesn’t necessarily make us martyrs, because it isn’t valuable enough to go viral. Instead, it simply makes us Christlike.
Secret service has transformative power because it runs so contrary to our fleshly desires. Richard Foster writes,
“Of all the classical Spiritual Disciplines, service is the most conducive to the growth of humility…Nothing disciplines the inordinate desires of the flesh like service, and nothing transforms the desires of the flesh like serving in hiddenness. The flesh whines against service but screams against hidden service.”[2]
The flesh gripes against service. But it groans against secret service. The more we practice hidden acts of kindness for others, the more our flesh kicks and screams. It craves the attention and applause which can only come from public and advertised service. Most of us want to serve, as long as we get a mention on the ten o’clock news for our service. But when service is hidden and secret, it forms us into people who look and love more like Jesus.
Secret service is, in the words of Dallas Willard, and act of trust:
“Few things are more important in stabilizing our walk of faith than [secrecy]. In the practice of secrecy, we experience a continuing relationship with God independent of the opinions of others…Secrecy rightly practiced enables us to place our public relations department entirely in the hands of God…”[3]
Many of us have our own private PR department. We use it to promote a good image of ourselves among others. And some of the greatest branding tools our PR department has are our acts of service. Everyone loves a servant. Thus we are tempted to plaster our compassionate conduct on billboards for all to see. Yet, when we serve secretly and anonymously, we spin off our PR department and place it in the hands of God. He alone takes over all branding decisions. We are free to focus solely on serving.
This, of course, is not easy to do. James Bryan Smith suggests that many of us live by the following narrative or story: “My value is determined by your assessment.” [4] We hunger for affirmation and attention from others because it establishes our value. We believe there is no other way to determine our value other than what people say about us. Thus we serve—but we serve in ways that bring attention to ourselves. What is needed, Smith writes, is a new narrative. Something like this: “My value is determined by God’s assessment.” Because God’s view of me is the only one that matters, I can now live for an audience of one. My worth is not dependent on what others think of me. Thus I am free now to serve, and to serve secretly.
Take Ten
Take ten minutes to perform an act of secret service today. Serve in a way that allows you to remain anonymous. Tell no one about the act, not even the one whom you are serving. Ask God to use this service not only to bless the recipient, but to change you, the giver.
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[1] Mark Buchanan, Your God is Too Safe (Multnomah, 2001), 211-212.
[2] Richard Foster, Celebration of Discipline Revised and Expanded (Harper & Row, 1978), 130.
[3] Dallas Willard, The Spirit of the Disciplines (HarperSanFrancisco, 1988), 172-173.
[4] James Bryan Smith, The Good and Beautiful Character.
