Introduction: Have you ever wanted to express thankfulness/gratitude to an individual or body of people, but struggled to find the right word or turn of phrase that captured your heart? Have you ever been so moved by another’s love, or others’ (plural) demonstrated love that you thought the phrase ‘Thank you’ was woefully insufficient and weak? If so, this anecdote may be for you. So, read on.

Context: This past week, my wife’s cell phone was hacked. The hackers (yes, it was a team) contacted our cell phone carrier and had our cell coverage cancelled over (in the worst of ironies, over the phone). The cell phone company did not contact us (I mean, how could they? Our cell phones were cancelled by the hackers.)

So, right out of the gate, our means of communication was sabotaged. I could not text my family, email my family from my phone, call my family from my phone. Nothing. To say that I was ‘battling the flesh and the old sinful nature’ is to merit British understatement. If harboring murder in one’s heart is sufficient to merit eternal damnation, I’ve no hope. I was beyond angry. Yet, there’s more. Much more.

First, our phone coverage and all messaging means via phone were cancelled by the nefarious Grimm duo. Second, the nerfarious Grimm duo swiped my checking and savings accounts, as well as my son’s accounts, and went on a shopping spree. Finally, my banks caught on and said, “Wait, Jon and CJ don’t shop like this. Maybe we should take a look . . .” Um, yes, please. And thank you.

Not only were our phones cancelled by the nefarious Grimms, but my liquid assets were stolen, and the nefarious Grimms went retailing during for their merry holiday season.

So my wife had to drive three hours north to one of the bank locations and try to explain all this. Meanwhile, I have had zip, zero, nada communication from my wife or children about what is going on. Why? Because our commo had been cut by the nefarious Grimms! But back to the story.

So, I was at my military installation doing my job and thinking to myself, “It’s quite strange I cannot reach my wife or kiddos via any of the customary means.” Finally, I told my chain of command basically, “Sir, I need to go. Something’s going on.” So I drove three hours north to my home of record. And what did I discover? My wife was not even there! How I did not morph into the Yosemite Sam character, I have no idea. Smoke was surely billowing from my ears and my prayer life was essentially, “Lord, please, just this once. Let me usher in bodies in Jesus’ name. I promise mission success. Just label it ‘accelerated existential evangelism’ via a .45 caliber and a smile. I’m your man.”

My son fills me in: “Dad, someone hacked Mom. They got your/our money. Mom’s at the bank. We don’t have phones that work. Mom’s working it. Just relax. There’s nothing we can do but wait.”

Okay, I wish I could say that taking wisdom from a 16-year-old boy was easy, and that I was super-sanctified, and heeded his counsel with calm and winsomeness. Again, epic failure on my part.

I exhibited the sharp-tongue that is my curse, an instrument that should be used primarily for encouraging the saints and building up the body, and it turned into a rudder for a vitriolic screed as I (mostly to myself) unleashed a polysyllabic tirade that would have made sailors search for the dictionary.

Long story short, eventually my wife returned from TN. She collapsed into my arms and wept. I apologized to my son for hollering at him (as if any of this were his fault!). I earned a new respect for my wife’s resolve and worldly wisdom in dealing with things at which I am horrible like 1-800-No-One-Cares numbers, math, bankish people, “Please hold, sir; your call is very important to us, sir. Here’s some elevator muzak no one likes but Kenny G,” etc. Yes, I blew it. Team Nefarious Grimm’s evil had worked. They’d stolen my money, turned off my communication, made me blow up at my son, caused me to flee home to find my wife gone to another state, and me with no means of reaching her.

But Here Is the Good News, and the Reason for the Title of This Anecdote: If you have even a smidgen of Greek, you know the types of love in the Greek tongue. Even the neophyte knows eros, philia, storge, and agape. They denote physical, brotherly, familial, and selfless love respectively.

Well, it’s easy to give a Greek lesson on types of love in koine Greek, but it’s quite another to be humbled by being the beneficiary of agape love. Again, here’s how the story continued. (I learn best via stories, so indulge me.)

Our Sunday school class found out about what happened. They didn’t just talk about being the Christian church; they didn’t just pray about it and sit on their hands; they didn’t gossip about it. No, they went into action. They purchased gift cards, gas cards, cards for groceries, shook my hand and pressed cash into my hands, and on and on. They embodied what it means to “love the brethren” and to “care for the saints.”

I cannot speak for others, but I will say this: When you are on the receiving end of the kindness of others, it humbles you. Why? Because you have nothing to give back, nothing with which to repay. You have nothing except tears of gratitude for those who ministered to you in your time of need. You have nothing but love for the ransomed body of people who didn’t just say, but who did.

You can sit in Greek classes and conjugate and learn case endings and preach sermons peppered with Greek, even, and there is value in all of that. But when you are touched by the redeemed, you re-learn how weak, how vulnerable, how needy we are in a much greater sense. And you rediscover what it means that we are loved at all. And it makes your heart full, and your eyes water, and you just want to say in the plainest way possible: Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.