He belongs to an elite society composed entirely of nobility (Rev. 1:6). His private estate dwarfs those of the Fortune 500’s most extravagant spenders (Eph. 1:3). His investments would take a Middle East oil sheik’s breath away (1 Pet. 1:3-4). Yet for all that, the man would pass on the street for a commoner. He holds what would be considered a menial job — maintaining buildings in the downtown area of a major North American city. His employment, however, serves its purpose. It provides him unhindered access to sensitive areas. He is, you see, a member of the secret service.
I met him when I was visiting in his city to have meetings. He attended faithfully. His clothing was nondescript; his face could easily blend into the crowd. It was the way he wanted it.
After he has finished his eight-hour shift, he visits the neglected ones, the rejected ones of society who occupy the cramped, dingy basement flats of the buildings he services. This is the “sensitive area” where he works his second job for the secret service. He sits with them on their tattered chairs and talks a little of the things they count dear. Then it is his turn.
He opens the Book in which he finds the title deeds to his estate. Other members of the secret service are recorded there: Abraham’s servant, who wooed a bride for his son; the poor Gentile widow who cared for Elijah; the good Samaritan who rode about with bandages and medicine, looking for people to help; the lad who donated his little lunch to meet the need of a multitude; the owner of the colt used for the triumphal entry.
He reads to them about a Saviour who made Himself of no reputation, who had His name placed, not on an honor roll, but over His head in accusation. He reads to them and then quietly leaves, praying for them as he goes. No one else seems to notice. But heaven does.
Membership in this society is based simply on the fact that those who belong have no desire for the limelight; they want to shine only so they can illuminate the One who walks among the lampstands. Their charter is taken from the words of the Lord Jesus: “Take heed that ye do not your alms before men, to be seen of them . . . but when thou doest alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right hand doeth” (Matt. 6:1, 3).
Anonymous, from two Greek words for “without name,” has meaning for the Christian on earth alone. Because, however unknown God’s servants might be in this world, they are well-known in the courts of light. How different this is from the society in which we find ourselves, where appearances are so important, where reputations are guarded but characters are thrown away. How many there are in the Who’s Who of this world, who are a “Who’s he” in the next. Is this not the horror of perishing? To hear Him say: “Depart from Me, I know you not.” To be sent away from the God who is everywhere and to be unknown by the God who knows everything! Like the rich, young ruler, no doubt well-known in his time, but eternally unknown. The poet has written of him:
We are not told his name, this rich young ruler
Who sought the Lord that day;
We only know that he had great possessions
And that — he went away.
For they who left their all to follow Jesus
Have found a deathless fame,
On His immortal scroll of saints and martyrs
God wrote each shining name.
We should have read his there, the rich, young ruler,
If he had stayed that day;
Nameless — though Jesus loved him — ever nameless
Because he went away.
Perhaps appropriately, the author of the poem is unknown — and yet well-known (2 Cor. 6:9)! Another member of the secret service, unconcerned about being known down here. What a delight it is to discover people who find a joy in doing good anonymously and being found out by surprise, if at all. How good to meet those members of the secret service of heaven who take as their watchword: “He that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord” (1 Cor. 1:31).