When I was growing up, we weren’t as smart as we are today about riding in cars with children. Nowadays, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention say that no child under the age of 13 should ride in the front seat. But, during my childhood, I can’t remember a time when I didn’t ride in the front seat, if I was the only passenger.
The fact I was in the front seat played an important part of one memory I have: the time my mother almost got into a fender bender. I don’t remember the specifics, but I vividly remember her screeching on the breaks, and my mom’s right arm flailing out to hold me in position. (Seat belts weren’t exactly in high use back then, either . . . it’s a miracle anyone survived the 1970s.) The whole incident lasted a second, maybe two. And there was nothing particularly noteworthy about that moment; I’m sure thousands – if not millions – of children can relate similar non-incident near-accidents in their own histories.
Still, this story came back to me as I reflected on today’s Gospel selection from Matthew. This famous teaching from Jesus is the source of “do not let your left hand know what your right is doing.” And it’s an important lesson because it strikes to the heart of why we – as Christians – should do certain things. Why do we give to the church? Why do we fast? Why do we pray?
To return to my childhood anecdote, why did my mother’s hand fly out to hold me to my seat? Is it because she thought other people might have been looking, and would have felt poorly of her if she didn’t seek to protect me? Is it because she hoped to curry favor with me? Was her gesture a calculated action to seek some kind of reward? All of those options are really unlikely; the whole incident happened in seconds . . . far too little time for serious contemplation.
No, my mom flung her arm out for the same reason that any mother’s flings out: parental instinct. Parents don’t need to be trained on how to protect their children in a split second, nor do they undergo extensive mental preparation, or anything else. If a parent’s heart and mind is properly aligned with parenthood, then one’s instincts for protecting one’s children are a natural consequence.
Similarly, Jesus’ teachings emphasize again and again that a kind of natural existence with God should be our goal. And today’s Gospel is no exception. We should be giving to the needy not out of any expectation of other reward, but because we can’t envision not doing so. We should be praying not so that we put up appearances, but because praying is something that comes naturally to us. We should fast not because we’re hoping to get brownie points among other faithful, but because it helps remind us of the Lord’s sacrifice and our own hunger to get close to God. For your left hand not to know what your right is doing, you need to be operating on an instinctual level.
Even if it’s not instinctual, it is a skill that can be built and developed like any other! When I first learned to drive, I had to consciously think about every element. Count to three, glance in the rear view mirror. Count to three, glance at the speedometer. Count to three, glance at the far distance. And so on. But, today, driving for me is pure instinct; I still need to remain focused on the task, but my mind can remain on the larger whole of my objective – drive safely and be alert – rather than the minutia of how I’m driving or what I’m doing.
Some elements of your faith may already be instinctual, like turning your thoughts to God in a crisis, or intuitively feeling the glory of a sunset. And you may be working on other parts, including – yes – at times worrying about what others think of your faith and actions rather than what God thinks about your actions. If so, keep working at it, knowing that God loves the effort you put into making yourself a better person! Not all instincts are those we’re born with, and – with faith and determination – we can build them, to bring us closer to Christ.
