The Big Lesson of Little
When Scripture leaps off the page into reality because you meet someone who is living it, the impact can shake you to your core and impel you to drastically evaluate your life of faith and changes you need to make.
Years ago, I was part of a group that traveled to Israel. All of us were from various parts of the United States. We were men and women of different ages and backgrounds, some single and some married, but we shared the common bond of faith in Jesus the Messiah and God’s heart for His people, the Jewish people, to come to Him through faith in His Son.
We had all signed up for this trip, a unique opportunity to travel through the Land seeing historical biblical sites, experiencing Israeli culture, learning more about the roots of our faith, and interacting with Israeli believers in Jesus. We would do so not only by visiting some congregations but helping them in tangible ways, like working on projects in people’s homes or their place of worship. We also knew there would be opportunities to speak with Israelis, both Jewish and Arab, of our love for Israel and about Jesus, the anchor of our faith.
A week into our trip, we traveled into northern Israel where an Israeli congregation was expecting us and people from their fellowship had offered to host us for two nights. I was excited about the opportunity to meet these believers and to stay in someone’s home, as well as for the plans we had for outreach with the congregation. I thought, We will surely be an encouragement and possibly a spiritual boost for whoever hosts us as they see our commitment and love for Israel and the gospel, and as they witness our faith to come on this trip.
I would soon find out there would be a faith lesson, but it would not come from us.
We drove to the congregation leader’s home and met him and his family. Shortly after, a couple of others from their kehilah[1] joined us, to take us to the various homes where we would be staying. Questions ran through my mind about who we would be staying with, and the type of lodging. Together with a retired pastor and another brother, the three of us were soon being led by one of the men from the congregation to the home of our host.
We arrived at some older two-story flats (apartments) which had seen better days. The area was obviously home to people whose income was modest at best. Our guide led us to the back of a very old building that looked like there was an apartment on the top level and a very small flat below. He took us around to the back of the building where there was a yard — with hard ground bearing weeds and a patch or two of worn grass. My eye caught a table sitting completely in the open, covered with a pressed white tablecloth, with five chairs arranged around it. Only two of the chairs seemed to be of the same set.
Suddenly, a woman burst through a curtain of beads hanging over the open back door of the flat. She was of medium height, thin, and her taut arms spoke of years of hard work. Her brown hair framed a face with eyes that were radiating joy. Her voice exuded excitement as she ran to us, and her smile was wide and sincere as she welcomed us in English with a thick Russian/Hebrew accent. *Luba introduced herself, called us brothers, and she meant it with her whole being!
Within a few minutes the table was filled. The smell of herbed chicken and roasted potatoes filled the outside air. Bowls and platters, containers with fresh pita bread, hummus, assorted salads, tahina, steaming vegetables — it was a feast! Luba’s English was very limited and both Hebrew and Russian words filled out her short sentences.
An hour later, after strong black tea, ice cream, and fresh pastries, Luba led the three of us into her small flat. The man who led us there translated that Luba would not be staying there for the two nights, only us.
After a few instructions we were given a key, and Luba insisted we get rest. She was overjoyed we were there, as if we were doing her a favor by staying in her small flat. Small it was — one small bedroom had two single beds squeezed against opposite walls, with barely enough space between the beds to scoot sideways, but the sheets and bedding were clean and fresh. The front room had a small sofa that opened into a bed. A small table, kitchen sink, stove, and refrigerator were compressed together. There was a single chair. When we pulled the string to turn on the ceiling fan, the whole assembly seemed to start moving, creating a kind of strobe effect with everything sagging and threatening to loosen from its frail attachment.
I later realized this woman’s home was a testament to her faith. When we left to meet with other people from our group and later returned, Luba wasn’t there, but the table and leftover feast had been tidied up and put away. In the small, old refrigerator was a pitcher of water for us with mint leaves and lemon slices floating in it.
The following evening, after a full day with our group, we returned to Luba’s worn but tidy flat. As soon as we opened the door, there stacked neatly on the small table were all our clothes from the previous day, which we had shed hurriedly in the morning as we dressed and left. The clothes had been washed, dried, and folded as if pressed.
Again, Luba was nowhere to be found. In the refrigerator was soup and salad for us, as well as a pitcher of water with mint and lemon wedges.
We sat for a moment looking at the neatly stacked clothing, the tiny apartment, the appliances on their last legs. We were silent, and then one of the men, the retired pastor, started to speak. His voice cracked. Tears started to run down his cheeks, and in choked emotion he said, “I’m not a believer like this woman.”
The next minutes became a spontaneous prayer time, as we confessed wrong priorities, pride, and worldliness in our lives. We praised God for the lesson of Luba — her unrestrained love for the Lord and how she absolutely loved others more than herself.
Yes, but the lesson was even greater than this. We later found out Luba had insisted with the congregation leader that she be allowed to host people, as she wanted to serve the Lord this way. We also learned that the two nights we stayed in her flat, she had worked a full day at her job and then gone to a senior hospital care center where her frail, sickly mother lived because of very poor health. Luba slept in a chair next to her mother’s bed, went to work, and somehow managed to return home to quickly wash our clothes, hang them on a line, and return later to remove and press them and prepare some soup for us before going back to her mother.
I have never forgotten Luba, this dear Jewish woman who dearly loved her Messiah Jesus and had little of earthly value as she lived out the verse to consider others more important than herself.[2] Luba taught us a big lesson. She spoke loudly with no words and challenged us by showing us her faith through her life.[3]
Written by Jeff, Life in Messiah staff
Have you ever met a Luba in your life? Someone whose love for Jesus was evident in the way they joyfully put the needs of others before their own?
Is there any worldliness, pride, or greed preventing you from loving God and others with your whole heart? Take some time to bring these things to the Lord in confession and repentance.
How can you be a blessing to someone else today, even if it comes at a cost? When we go out of our way to serve, we are following in the footsteps of Jesus who gave everything for our sake “so that you through His poverty might become rich” (2 Corinthians 8:9).
Endnotes:
[1] Assembly place of worship.
[2] Philippians 2:3–4.
[3] James 2:17–18.