An excerpt from Is Life Fair? Good Words for Hard Times
by Charles Poole

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but do not have works? Can faith save you? If a brother or sister is naked and lacks daily food, and one of you says to them, "Go in peace; keep warm and eat your fill," and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that? So faith by itself, if it has no works, is dead. (Jas 2:14-17)

Do your best to come to me soon, for Demas, in love with this present world, has deserted me and gone to Thessalonica; Crescens has gone to Galatia, Titus to Dalmatia. Only Luke is with me. Get Mark and bring him with you, for he is useful in my ministry. I have sent Tychicus to Ephesus. When you come, bring the cloak that I left with Carpus at Troas, also the books, and above all the parchments. (2 Tim 4:9-13)

When I was a little boy, some well-meaning friend or relative would invariably give me the much disdained, but ever-present, handkerchief or socks for Christmas, instead of the much coveted, but ever elusive, ball or toy. My mother, in anticipation of that perennial blow of yuletide disappointment, would whisper in my ear on the way to the Christmas tree, her annual word of warning: "No matter what you get, say thank you. After all, it's the thought that counts."

"It's the thought that counts." Those five words are frequently pressed into service at Christmas time, on birthdays, for Father's Day and Mother's Day, and any other time when gifts are given and presents are exchanged. Most of us learned that phrase rather early in life: "It's the thought that counts."

And it is true, not only about the gifts we give, but about the lives we live. Sometimes, in life, it is the thought that counts, because sometimes the thought is all we can offer or give. Sometimes there is nothing at all that anyone can actually do. In the face of great sorrow or deep trouble or enormous pain, sometimes about all you can do is take someone by the hand, look that person in the eye, and say "I am thinking about you. You will be in our thoughts and prayers." Sometimes, all you can do is remember someone in your prayers and save them a large place in your deepest thoughts.

Frequently, it is the thought that counts, because "the thought" is often the only gift we can give. We cannot reverse the tragedy, undo the sickness, fix the problem, hasten the grieving, or even lighten the load. So we can only pray for, and think about, our friends. In those times, we say that beautiful, magnificent, simple phrase: "I am thinking about you." And the thought counts. Sometimes, it is the thought that counts.

Having said that, we also know that there are other times when it is not the thought that counts, times when only real action and specific deeds can make a difference. In the little book of James, the message comes through loud and clear: sometimes it is not the thought that counts. James is, in fact, a bit blunt about it, isn't he? James says that if you can do something for someone and you do not do it, then, in that case, the thought simply does not count:

What good is it, my brothers and sisters, if you say you have faith but you do not have works? . . . If a brother or sister has no clothes or food, and one of you says to them, "Go in peace, stay warm, and eat your fill," and yet you do not supply their bodily needs, what is the good of that?

James isn't difficult to interpret here, is he? James pulls no punches and minces no words. He says that sometimes it is not the thought that counts; rather, sometimes the only thing that counts is the deed. "If you're cold," says James, "all the nice thoughts in the world won't help. Only a jacket will make a difference. If you're hungry, all the nice thoughts in the world won't help. Only a plate of food will make a difference." James says that "if you see a naked or hungry person, your nice thoughts won't relieve their chattering teeth or ease their growling belly. In that situation, it isn't the thought, but the deed that counts."

For a practical picture of this principle, we need look no further than to a tender and moving passage from 2 Timothy.

Serious, devout, and reverent Bible scholars struggle with whether Paul himself or a younger follower of Paul's was the actual writer of 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, and Titus, commonly called "the pastoral Epistles." That struggle arises from the fact that the grammar and style of the pastoral Epistles differ noticeably from that of Paul's other letters. Also, the organization of the church in the pastoral Epistles seems to be too sophisticated for the middle of the first century, when Paul lived and wrote. Suffice it to say that there are sound arguments both for and against Paul's authorship of the letters that bear the names of Timothy and Titus. Nevertheless, there is very little in the New Testament that sounds more like Paul than this poignant little corner of 2 Timothy:

Do your best to come to me soon . . . and when you come, bring the cloak that I left at Troas, and also the books, and above all the parchments . . . . Do your best to come before winter.

It is apparent from Paul's plea that he is in real need of some specific help. This is obviously one of those times in which it isn't the thought that counts. Paul is lonely, and needs some company. He is cold, and needs a sweater. He is bored, and needs a book. If Timothy had written back and said, "Dear Paul, I can't come and bring your sweater or your books, but I sure will be thinking of you," Paul would still have been just as lonely, cold, and bored. In this case "the thought" would not have counted nearly as much as a visit, a blanket, and a book. Paul needed specific help for specific needs.

Paul was in one of those situations that James described. Paul was in a spot where someone saying "God bless you, I'll be thinking of you" was not going to help a whole lot. Paul needed a friend to come, not a nice thought. Paul needed a sweater to wear, not a warm thought. Paul needed a book to read, not a caring thought. In Paul's situation, it was not the thought that counted. Only specific, actual, physical responses to specific, actual, physical needs would count for Paul in prison.

Please do not mishear me. Sometimes it is the thought that counts. Sometimes, indeed many times, our loving, caring, prayerful thoughts are all we can give. That is frequently true. And in those moments, the thought does count enormously. But sometimes it isn't the thought that counts. The poor cannot buy groceries with the money I thought about giving. The sad cannot find comfort in the note I thought about writing. The lonely cannot be cheered by the visit I thought about making. The discouraged cannot take strength from the call I thought about dialing.

Sometimes, it just isn't the thought that counts. Sometimes, there is no substitute for actually going ahead and doing what you are thinking. Sometimes the thought doesn't count a whole lot. Sometimes the only thing that counts is whether you actually obeyed the impulse, did the deed, gave the money, wrote the letter, made the visit, and lived up to the good intention.

So, what should we do, and how should we live? Well, perhaps we ought to begin by coming to terms with the fact that sometimes, the thought is the only thing that counts. Sometimes, all we can do is "think of someone." In those times, "it's the thought that counts," and it really does count. But we also need to remember that, as the book of James says, sometimes it is only the deed that counts. Those are the times we really need to go ahead and give the gift, write the letter, mail the card, dial the call, make the visit, order the flowers, spend the money, prepare the meal, give the food, speak the word, and take the time.

There will always be a vast distance between the sky of our intentions and the earth of our performance, because there will always be limits to our energy, money, and time. We cannot do everything for everybody. But we must do something for somebody; otherwise we will just mean well, intend much, and do nothing-while life quietly goes by, slips away, and ends.

Sometimes, it isn't the thought that counts. So do what you can. Because when you've done what you can, you've done what you should. Amen.