I danced in front of a room full of cheering Koreans…
The year was 1998 and I had just started my third year at LABI College. Often times during the weekends the school would rent out space to different groups to make ends meet. This weekend it was a group of Koreans that didn’t speak much English.
That Friday I was called into Sister Gloria’s office, our dean of students. She asked if I would be willing to serve the Koreans during a special dinner they were having. I agreed—being in Bible School was all about serving others.
I arrived early to make myself available. I noticed that other students had been asked to help as well. We were approached by a nicely dressed Korean man who spoke in broken English. He led us inside where he showed us styrofoam plates of authentic Korean food covered in saran wrap. He proceeded to give us these directions: “The loud music will start and one at a time you will take one of these plates and dance around the room showing the plate of food to different people and as they look at the food you will quickly pull it away.”
“Wait, what?!” I thought as panic started to rise within me like ice water. I thought I was there to help serve food or clean up. But this? Anything but this. I was at a place in my life where I had learned not to take myself too seriously. I had no problem making a fool of myself as long as I was in control of the situation. This wasn’t the case. My mind began to quickly think of ways out: Fake a heart attack or a broken leg, just leave and never return again, or go with the “No espeake ingles!” “This would be the perfect time for the Rapture to happen,” I thought. But no Rapture. No heart attack! It was time to man up and get my dance on.
What happened next was a big blur. The music started, the rented lights were flashing with a Saturday Night Fever feel, and a man holding a microphone a bit too close yelled muffled words in Korean. Apparently the guy who went before me had a leak in his plate and unknowingly was pouring food juice on everyone. So when I boogied toward the same people they looked at me in horror. Not knowing he had spilled on them, I thought that my dance moves couldn’t be that bad?
We find it easy to serve as long as we’re doing it on our terms. But at the point its outside our comfort zone we want out. It’s like when Christians ask God to use them one week and the next they want to leave the church because they feel used. I once heard someone say, “No one has a problem being a servant of others until they are treated like one.” I have to agree. Pride has a way of coming to the surface, “Don’t they know WHO I AM? I’m a big deal. I don’t need them. They need me! I quit.”
I was at the library and overheard a conversation where this lady asked a guy she knew: “Are you still volunteering there?” “No,” he said. “I was fired. Which was fine with me. They were out to get me. They bossed me around and always wanted me to do things.” I think he missed the point of volunteering. I believe the apidimi of great service shouldn’t been found in 5 star hotels and swanky restaurants. It should be Christ’s followers. If we’re following Him we’re serving.
A couple of the disciples’ mom had a big request from Jesus: She wanted her sons to sit at the right and left of Jesus when He came into his kingdom. The rest of the disciples were offended by this. Jesus proceeded to teach them this lesson: “You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones exercise authority over them (The world’s way is to push people down to get ahead). It shall not be so among you. But whoever would be great among you must be your servant, and whoever would be first among you must be your slave, even as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many (If any man had the right to demand to be served it’s Jesus. But He served! We who follow Him should do the same).” Matthew 20:25-28
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