I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the story of the good Samaritan. It’s been on my mind constantly.
Of course I love it. I am in the business of noticing everything at turtle height. This is the advantage to not having an important career, pressing schedule, scads of followers, insert-your-definition-of-success-here.
I love that a man happened to be traveling, noticed an injured fellow, took care of him, and went about his business. This is the lifestyle I want and the one I’m capable of pursuing.
Today I had a few errands to run. Return some shoes, deposit a check, run to Costco to see if I could develop pictures. Before I gathered the kids into the car, I scribbled down on a scrap of paper: I see you. I care. You matter.
The good Samaritan embodied these seven words. Jesus lived them in the world, and God has designed our hearts to beat it out in an unbreakable rhythm.
We exited Costco, sixty-four toilet paper rolls richer, and opened the hatchback when she approached us. “Excuse me?” she said shyly in English, and held up a small paper, gesturing for me to read it.
She needed money for gas, food, rent. She had two babies in the car. They were living in the parking lot until they could save enough.
I hate to admit how sensible I am, to my shame. I want a little proof that someone is really needy and not just trying to take advantage of me, especially in the parking lot scenario near the pot shop. But maybe in our good samaritan tale the man on the side of the road had deserved to be beaten and robbed–it wasn’t the point of the story. The two guys who had passed him on the road and didn’t stop to help–they had judged their own status and itinerary as more important than a dying man. In fact, they went out of the way to avoid getting tangled up in his mess.
Jesus wants us to see, to care. Do we drop our agenda and show mercy to people in their time of need?
In Matthew 25, Jesus paints a picture of Heaven.
…the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you clothed me, I was sick and you visited me, I was in prison and you came to me.’ Then the righteous will answer him, saying, ‘Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? And when did we see you a stranger and welcome you, or naked and clothe you? And when did we see you sick or in prison and visit you?’ And the King will answer them, ‘Truly, I say to you, as you did it to one of the least of these my brothers, you did it to me.’
First, notice how awesome Heaven is going to be–a place God has been preparing for his people from the beginning of the world. Second, take a look at what God says He cares about: hungry people being fed. Thirsty people given a drink. Providing shelter, visiting the sick and imprisoned.
He doesn’t say, “Get over here, you awesome Bible college homeboys! High fives for all you in the paid ministry! Doesn’t get much holier than wearing skinny jeans on stage and reinventing the hymnal!”
The mark of the “righteous” who will inherit the kingdom isn’t flashy. He is commending folks who simply paid attention to the needs of their neighbors. Kingdom people, as we learn in verse 37, are actually too busy loving others to realize that every single act of mercy is a service to their King. Funny, the “good” Samaritan in the Bible isn’t ever described as good. He just did the right thing. He saw. He cared.
God gives us these gifts–time, money, energy–and he waits for us. Will I spend it all on myself or will I keep an eye out for the stranger on the road? Will I take her into Costco with my cranky kids and buy her a cart full of food and baby items, trusting that God can redeem the time, money, and energy I spend on someone else?
My mother still writes out hundreds, probably thousands of checks to various ministries and organizations. She sits and signs checks in the kitchen at an old table (garage sale find) next to a refrigerator that is orange with rust. The ceiling is drooping, the floors are plywood, the chipped siding is slowly turning green. My dad likes to quip, “we’re building a mansion in glory”–a wise thing, because this earthly one is falling apart. They are giving their best away. Am I?
I put GK back into the cart and we diverted from our plan for the morning. Our new friend did not understand English, Spanish, or Portuguese–the only languages I know. She knew some French, but when we got to the table stacked with plastic boxes of croissants, there was no recognition in her eyes. Big American dummy–I had assumed because of her French she was from France. France=croissants.
No. French probably wasn’t her first language.
We approached the diapers. I make exaggerated sign-language gestures with my arms–”How…heavy…is…your….baby?” I pointed at the boxes. “Seven to ten kilos?”
She shook her head. She couldn’t read the words. I picked up a size 3 and said a quick prayer for them to fit.
We muddled through the aisles and ignored the faces of impatient shoppers around us.
Costco is not the place to stock the car of a homeless person. No one except a rich person like me buys a membership card to a place that sells computers, 32 ounce bottles of shampoo, and key lime pie the size of my bike tire. It isn’t practical. But that is where we were, so I loaded the cart.
She held my four year old’s hand as we paid at the cash register.
“God bless you,” she whispered. “God bless you.” I hugged her, gave her my phone number, and watched her push the cart away.
I wanted to hop in my car and follow her to see if there really was a car with babies in it. But my two year old decided she’d had enough Costco shopping. She was throwing a tantrum and arching her back so that I couldn’t buckle her carseat. Our friend disappeared. God meant for it to happen that way–generosity doesn’t need to see the receiver’s budget.
It was time for me to go on about my business again.
I see you. I care. You matter.
