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“But whoso hath this world's good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him, how dwelleth the love of God in him? My little children, let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth.”
— 1 John 3:17-18 (KJV)
Sister Uju walked past her neighbour’s compound and noticed the widow Mrs. Okonkwo struggling to fetch water from the well, her arthritic hands trembling. Uju felt a stir in her heart—a prompting to help. But she was already late for market, and helping would cost her time and effort. She hurried on. That evening, conviction settled on her soul. She had spoken kind words to Mrs. Okonkwo many times, even prayed for her. But love, she realised, demands more than pleasant greetings.
John’s words pierce to the bone: “whoso hath this world’s good, and seeth his brother have need, and shutteth up his bowels of compassion from him.” The word “shutteth up” means to close, to withhold, to refuse. It speaks not of malice but of indifference—the cruelest form of lovelessness. We see need. We feel nothing. We do nothing. And we ask ourselves: does the love of God truly dwell in us?
Jesus made this principle unmistakable. In Matthew 25:35-40, He reveals that when we feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and visit the sick, we do it unto Him. Conversely, when we ignore these needs, we ignore Him. This is not sentiment; it is doctrine. Practical love is the evidence of genuine faith.
Notice John’s command: “let us not love in word, neither in tongue; but in deed and in truth.” Words are cheap. A greeting costs nothing. A promise costs little. But to wake early and fetch water for a neighbour who cannot? To share your food when your own family is hungry? To sacrifice your time, your strength, your comfort? That is love in deed. That is truth.
In our Nigerian context, we understand community. We understand Ubuntu—”I am because we are.” Yet how often do we retreat into our compounds, lock our gates, and pretend not to see? The widow down the street. The unemployed neighbour. The family without school fees. We see them. We know them. We simply choose not to act.
God’s love is not abstract. It fed five thousand with loaves and fishes. It washed disciples’ feet. It hung on a cross for sinners. It always moves from heart to hand.
Today, ask yourself: whom have I seen in need? Whom have I chosen to ignore? What would practical love look like? Perhaps it is fetching water. Perhaps it is sharing a meal. Perhaps it is sitting with someone in grief. Perhaps it is lending your strength to lighten another’s burden.
This is how the world will know we follow Christ—not by our eloquence, but by our sacrifice. Not by our theology, but by our tenderness.
Lord, open my eyes to see need and my heart to respond with the hands of Christ.