“They also serve who only stand and wait” is the famous last line of Milton’s autobiographical poem, “On his blindness“. Milton wrote it after he became blind, and was struggling with feelings of uselessness. The poem asks if God is only interested in those who can actively serve God with their work—and then dismisses the notion, for “God doth not need either man’s work or his own gifts”.
Accepting your limitations is seen as its own form of service.
The liberating conclusion is that “They also serve who only stand and wait.” Accepting your limitations is seen as its own form of service and a genuine way in which to demonstrate trust in and love for God.
We tend to tell heroic stories. The implication is that the people who matter are those who are extraordinary—in other words way above the ordinary. The trouble with this idea is that we are surrounded by the ordinary. If we only have time for that which soars beyond that standard we miss too much.
We also don’t model the example and teaching of Jesus. After all, when in Luke 21:1-4 Jesus notices some rich people putting money into the temple treasury he turns his eyes away and spots a widow putting in two small copper coins. It’s clear who has the successful story to tell… those rich people who had managed their money so well that they now have large amounts that they can give away. Why shift the focus to the widow?
It’s a very intentional pivot from the heroic to the ordinary. Or is it? Perhaps the heroic thing is to give up all that you have, as this widow did, even though it only amounted to two small copper coins. She might have given much less than the rich donors, but it is one of those instances where less is so very much more.
The eyes of Jesus... notice.
It takes the eyes of Jesus to notice this. The first 5 words of Luke 21:1 are significant: “As he looked up, Jesus saw…” He looked, and he saw—and he spotted the alternate story that others were missing.
Looking—and seeing. Actually, we tend to see what we are looking for. Who would you have noticed if you had been in the temple that day? I’m pretty sure I would have noticed the large donors. I’ve become wired to look for success.
My gaze is not hostile to the widow who quietly gives her small (but enormous) gift, it just doesn’t notice it. Luke 21:1-4 reminds me to look for the stories I am missing—the things that slip under my radar, but are highlighted in God’s. “They also serve who only stand and wait.”
But back to Milton’s (1608-1674) story. He went blind in 1652, aged 43. He initially felt that this meant his one talent (writing) would be destroyed—for how can you be a writer if you can’t see what you are writing or read the work of others?
Growing sense of uselessness.
His poem “On his blindness” was probably written in 1655 and reflects his growing sense of uselessness—the one remarkable thing he had been able to do no longer a serious option for him. His only solace is that “they also serve who only stand and wait”.
As it turns out, Milton’s waiting turned out to be remarkably productive. His best work ascribed to the period after he became blind. Apparently he managed to construct and hold verses in his mind for long periods before he went on to dictate them to his daughters or friends.
Astonishingly his most notable works (usually cited as Paradise Lost [1667]; Paradise Regained [1671] and his partly autobiographical Samson Agonistes [1671]) were written after his blindness had rendered him “useless” (or that’s how he had originally thought of it).
But in telling Milton’s story I am reverting to the common trope of “the heroic outcome” where the hero overcomes all obstacles. Most often that is not how it ends—and actually for Milton, despite his continued literary output, he died impoverished and with less influence than he had earlier had (that changed after his death).
More commonly after receiving a devastating medical setback or a major life disruption, most people find that their circle shrinks, they discover who their true friends are, and sometimes they are able to enrich relationships with family—who realize that they probably don’t have much more time together.
Quieter stories are... often far more important.
The “heroic” might be limited to conversations that would otherwise not have been had, or love that might not have been affirmed, not because it was not real, but because, well you know, we just don’t say these things. These quieter stories are every bit as important—often far more important to those impacted by them.
I’m writing at a time when war has (yet again) broken out. There are the usual tragic pictures of bombs exploding, buildings collapsing, and lives being shattered. There is much chatter about the changing face of war—the way that relatively cheap drones can wreak as much havoc as far more expensive and sophisticated weapons.
But there are so many other stories currently being written—most of them will not be told. The story of little people caught up in a war that is in no way of their making, desperately trying to work out how to remain alive, and humane, and not pulled into an endless spiral of bitterness and rage.
The deepest struggles in our heart are of finding ways to forgive.
For the deepest struggles in our heart are of finding ways to forgive, and start again, and to see the face of a fellow human, even in the face of the enemy.
These are not easy stories to write, and many millions of people are going to have to find a way to write them. For unless we find a way to write these stories… well, the alternate is not worth contemplating.
And for those of us who can only stand by as onlookers from a distance, in this time of crisis perhaps we too can still find hope-filled ways to serve as we wait for the breakthrough, “For they also serve who only stand and wait.”
Originally published by on Brian Harris' Blog. Republished with permission.
Dr Brian Harris, is based in Perth Australia. After decades of church pastoring and 17 years leading a theological college, he now directs the Avenir Leadership Institute, a future-focused consultancy which helps to shape the kinds of leaders the world needs. Brian is the author of seven books, the latest of which are: Why Christianity is Probably True (Paternoster, 2020) and Stirrers and Saints: Forming Spiritual Leaders of Skill, Depth and Character (Paternoster, 2024).
