John was legally blind. He spent his days inside his Kentucky home with his bedridden wife. When she was asleep, or when the visiting nurse came to tend to her, John would step out to the front porch, to breathe the air, and listen as neighbors walked by on the rocky path and greeted him. The porch was both a refuge from the darkness inside the house, and a place of freedom, a safe spot connecting him to the outside world. John loved his porch, but it was slowly rotting under his feet, becoming less safe every day.

Our modern suburban homes don’t have porches anymore, nor do they have sidewalks out front for neighbors to walk by. Everything is geared to cars. Automatic garage doors open with a push of a button and off we go, with barely time to wave at a neighbor if we even see one. We spend our time locked up inside our all-season temperature-controlled cocoons, and if we do go outside, it’s to our decks and patios in the fenced-in backyard. We’ve lost the pleasure of the front porch, the slow time to unwind and greet the passing neighbor, or maybe even have a short visit with them there.

John’s only escape from dark gloom of sickness, and the oppressive summer heat was his front porch, his connection to life.

One Monday morning, four young people from Wisconsin showed up at John’s front door along with their team leader. “John, we’re going to build you a new porch.” That was the good news. The bad news was that he’d be without his beloved porch for a week. They even nailed the front door shut so he couldn’t accidentally walk out and fall. There was a back door, but it opened on rocky ground and John couldn’t go there.

The porch fell quickly. The only thing worth saving was the front stair-step made of sturdy oak. Now this crew had never built a porch before. Oh, the leaders back at the Appalachia’s Service Project site gave them some sketches from a crudely-drawn booklet, and they’d check in once a day to observe and give advice, but mostly the crew was on its own. At certain crucial stages, their leader would ask for a “stupid check”, as in, “If I cut this four-by-four here, is that the right place to cut it?”. They’d measure two more times, read the level again, and pronounce that what was about to be done was not stupid.

Gradually the thing came together. Uprights at the corners, plumbed and true and the right height. Rim joists and cross members nailed tight. Planking and railing and a new roof installed. A decision made to put in a gate at the top of the stairs. The crew working, sweating, playing and drinking gallons of water; laughing. Friday arrived. The crew had learned that it was John’s seventy-fifth birthday. So Friday morning, they picked up a cake at the local supermarket. Carried it in a cooler.

After some final touches, like a rain gutter and downspout, the crew un-nailed the front door and John came out. The birthday cake was presented, and soon some neighbors came and a party ensued. Someone danced on that new floor. And Old John just smiled and smiled.

“What good is it, my brothers, if someone says he has faith but does not have works? Can that faith save him? If a brother or sister is poorly clothed and lacking in daily food, 16 and one of you says to them, “Go in peace, be warmed and filled,” without giving them the things needed for the body, what good is that? So also faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” James 2:14-17 (ESV)