In a Bible study a year or so ago, we went around the room and said the top three big things we wanted that we couldn’t get right away.

My list went like this:

1. Second Cat
2. House
3. World of Warcraft Phoenix Mount

I explained the third, because our Bible study was full of actual adults (and not just kids of adult age).  It’s the most beautiful item in the game.  Your character can fly around on a fiery bird that trails pink ribbons of love and joy behind it.

The problem is that it takes 10 people and 50 weeks of dedicated successful kill attempts.  On average.  (2% drop rate from a boss available once a week.)  We figured we’d be lucky if we got good enough gear to use 7 players instead of 10.

I don’t know that I ever thought I’d actually see it, but my family started up trying for it.  It took us a few weeks to get the boss down (we had limited time to try, due to our schedules).  But on the third successful kill attempt, what do you think happened?

It dropped.

O.O

After that, I figured I didn’t need anything else from the game.  I wanted to give back but didn’t know how, and I’ve been trying to find outlets to show my gratitude to the people who helped me get this beautiful big wish item.

When you do something out of thanks and gratitude, when you don’t have to do it, it means more.

But everything changes if someone starts to think they’re entitled to your gratitude.  When they start to expect it.  Then it stops being selfless and becomes a debt you have to repay.

It’s like that with my faith.

Good work (charity, if you will) stops being personal when people get mad at (or think less of) you for not doing it.  It stops being an expression of thanks and turns into something you do to avoid getting hassled.

With every fiber of my being, I hate that.

It’s why I don’t go to scheduled church events where everyone gets to see and monitor each other on what good work they’re doing.  Not everyone monitors you, but I guarantee most churches have at least one person judging everyone else, thinking (wrongly) that we do have to pay God back for saving us and that we’re closer to him if we keep a tally of who’s being good and who isn’t.

If I want to give out of thanks or love or gratitude, I try to do it quietly or unexpectedly.  I don’t want my name trotted out in front of the whole town, I don’t even want to be noticed.  I want to go in, do my work, and go home feeling like I did what the Spirit moved me to do, instead of feeling like I did what I had to.

But if anyone insists on making a big deal about it, counting up my good deeds in front of people who will judge me on them, then those deeds become absolutely worthless to me.

I don’t want to present gifts to my gaming friends in front of our entire guild, and I don’t want to do good works for God in front of an entire church.  For me, it doesn’t count when I get too noticed — then I’ve gotten my reward, like the man in the Bible who prays on the street corner.  I’m much more inclined to hiding and praying in a room.  For myself, it’s the only way to make it real.