There's a man at our church named Bob Zonts. He's our family pastor, and he does get on stage — he's not hiding from anybody. But that's not actually what makes him impressive to me. What makes him impressive is that he's everywhere people actually are. He counsels. He runs a small group. He shows up at the hospital when someone's scared and doesn't know who else to call. He does weddings. He's in the lobby before and after every service, and I've never once seen him work a room like he's got somewhere better to be. Bob is a people person — not a people pleaser. There's a real difference.
Selfishness asks, "what do I get out of this room?" Selflessness just walks into the room and looks for who needs something. I've never once seen Bob do the math on which conversation is worth his time. He just has the next one, and then the next one after that, and he's been doing it for years without slowing down or keeping score.
That's the part that gets me. Nobody assigns Bob the hospital room, or the small group that meets on his one open night, or the person standing alone in the lobby that everyone else has learned to walk past. He's not doing any of it for credit, and I don't think he's doing it to avoid credit either — I don't think credit crosses his mind at all. He's just there, for whoever's in front of him, because somebody has to be and he decided a long time ago it would be him.
I try, in my own small way, to live something like that — showing up for the unglamorous thing nobody assigned me, because somebody has to and I'd rather it be me than nobody. But watching Bob has reminded me that the version worth having isn't the version where I'm quietly aware of my own selflessness. That's just selfishness with better manners. The real thing doesn't stop to notice itself.
I used to read that as being about capability — handle the small stuff well and you'll be trusted with bigger things. I think it's actually about the heart underneath it. Who are you when nobody but God is watching, and you're not even the one keeping track of that? That's the real question Bob's whole life seems to be answering, one hospital room and one lobby conversation at a time.
The fact that I noticed anyway is just a bonus — it was never the point.
If there's someone in your life like Bob, this is a good week to tell them what it's meant to you. Not because they need the credit. They probably don't want it. But it's good for the rest of us to say it out loud once in a while — selflessness like that deserves to be named, even by people who'd never claim it for themselves.