On Saturday I moved a mountain. More specifically, four students from my church helped me move a 12 tonne mountain of top soil from the street into my next-door neighbour's back garden. Tim, Jack, James and Charlie turned up at 10am, bleary-eyed, and grafted for two hours. James dug up a spike (pictured) which he thinks is a Viking prong. It was a labour of love. I still ache a bit from the labour. But the labour would have been empty if it had not been a labour of love. In fact, everything I do would be pointless, all that I live for would drain away if love was not the source of my action. I know from 1 Corinthians 13v2 that "if I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains (including top soil), but do not have love, I am nothing."
My motivation is not to do nice things for people so I feel good. My fuel is that God loves me so much that he sent his son to die for me. That love is too much for me to handle so it bubbles out of me and I have to give it away to others. This way, I don't run out of it.
My neighbour was glad to get the top soil moved. But I'm convinced he was more affected by the love shown by the four students who gave up their saturday morning to help him. It's not about the act of kindness itself - its about the God of love radiating from the people who act.
Imagine the mountains that could be shifted if a generation on students woke up and blessed the socks off their mates and loved the hell out of their unis.
