“He’s missing a leg, and he needs a ride to the Chelsea Hospital,” my wife said on the phone. She was at her church.
“Okay… (sigh)… Give me his number.” He lived on Division St by the stadium, and I was around the corner at Meijer, picking up groceries at noon on Sunday.
After a quick phone call, I drove to J’s house. He came out the front door on aluminum crutches and made his way with ease down the steps and over to my little Geo in the driveway. His left leg was missing, the blue jeans knotted off on that side where his knee would have been. He lost the leg to cancer I learned on the 45 minute trip north to Chelsea.
He chatted most of the way in a stream of consciousness fashion. He said his doctor told him to go to the Chelsea ER to get pain meds for his leg. He’d called churches all through town looking for a ride.
Being an introvert, the more he talked the more I retreated into the safety of silence. Toward the end of the trip he fell silent too — I glanced over at him and saw he’d fallen asleep, his head bobbing slightly. He looked in his mid fifties, with long gray hair. He smelled strongly of cigarettes.
I got him to the emergency room at the Chelsea Hospital. As he reached to get his crutches from the backseat, he said, “I don’t get paid till Friday. I wonder if you could help me pay for my meds.”
I was expecting the money request. I glanced down and said, “No, I can’t help you there.” He nodded and moved quickly into the ER. I don’t know what happened afterward or how he got back to Adrian.
I drove home to prepare for the evening service, hoping he wouldn’t call and ask for a return trip. He never did. I caught up with my wife at home and asked her to douse me with Febreze to kill the cigarette odor before I went back to church.
It’s tempting to pat myself on the shoulder for a good deed, but my actions fell short of Jesus’ teachings. The Good Samaritan would have walked with him into the emergency room, paid for his treatment and offered a follow up visit, just like in the parable. I was more the Half-Assed Samaritan, doing a good thing certainly, but with great reluctance and not taking it any further. Certainly not living up to the ‘Go, and do thou likewise’ our Savior expects.
The reason for the failure is fear. Whenever I try to help a needy person, like this one-legged man, I am afraid the encounter will morph into an abyss of need. I don’t want to get too close to edge of the abyss for fear of falling in and disappearing. So I back away.
It’s not rational, of course. But then, fear never is. When you look at it closely, it’s hard to love your neighbor as yourself.
You are absolutely right. I have been working on becoming the Compassionate Ministries Pastor at our church and it’s been interesting. I visit people in jail now and it’s weird. I never thought I would have enough compassion to do that. To show compassion is putting ourself out there. It’s being vunerable. It’s not safe. We are not able to do this on our own. We need the love of Christ to urge, maybe even persuade us to act. Once we take that step it gets easier and easier. Of course it will probably lead to more need, that’s what God is calling us to. Love fully, not partially, not half heartedly. The more you do this the more you’ll probably start carrying cash, just in case.
It’s definately fear. I’ve taken others with me to visit people in jail and they said, cool, that was easy and they feel great about it afterwords. But I’m afraid they are still in the safe zone. Let’s see what happens when that person gets out of jail.
Wow, I love your story and thanks for sharing. It’s definately a fear thing, but Christ’s love can overcome that fear as we have our Hearts Clean and our Hands Dirty.
Great post…I suspect there isn’t a pastor who reads it that won’t immediately remember a similar episode. Half-assed Samaritan…accurate, painful and right-on image!
Despite what the “Lukewarm! Lukewarm!” chanters might say, I suspect half-ass is better than no-ass.
‘half-ass is better than no-ass’… thanks! I needed to hear that. I did do a good thing… I know that. It’s just that the ethics of Jesus are so relentless and demanding. It’s like looking at Michaelangelo’s David and realizing, ‘I’m never going to look like that.’ It’s an ideal shape… and I live in the slobby world of reality.
Pat and Rich… thanks for your comments too. Peace to you all.
One addition. It was only 7 minutes after I sent that comment about the guy getting out of jail that my Pastor emailed and said the guy (Roy) is being released to us on Friday. So here we go. As my Pastor asked, “ready for the rubber to meet the road?”
So please pray for Roy and ourselves as we continue in our relationship with him and his relationship with Christ. It’s his 3rd dui offense. As Chris said, ” the abyss of need” is here.
Thanks!
First, fourth best title ever.
Second, the “abyss of need” is real. There are some who haven’t learned well to do for themselves. There are some who can’t (due to mental illness, substance abuse or other issues). There is a delicate balance between almost enough help and too much help. Unless we are able to be in long-term relationships with folks, we can’t really know where that balance lies.
Some days I pat myself on the back for giving just enough help. Some days I am upset with myself because I gave too little or too much. All we can do is love and hope for the best.
Good points… thanks. Umm… what are the other three best titles?
I stand in awe of your honesty Chris. I get to the abyss of need quickly in East Austin but I also fall into the spiral of cynicism. “They’ll just use it for drugs…” or “I can’t help them all, why try, just roll up the window and move on…” I often forget where I come from and how miserable life is when there is no hope. The best remedy for my abyss or spiral is a long time spent with undocumented Latino immigrants.
Thanks, Sam. Peace to you.
Wow…loved this!
There is certainly a tension between the Good Samaritan and the fact that there is such a thing as too much help.
Still, if we are to err, it may as well be on the side of too much help.
Isn’t that the point? Christ was the good Samaritan that paid the price we can’t pay-for the injured but also for our own sins. We are the ones that need the help and Christ is the one that took care of us.
Top three titles…
1. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
2. Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
3. Webster’s New World Dictionary, Second College Edition
Crusher: I’ve preached that interpretation of the parable… with Christ as the Good Samaritan and all of us as the wounded one.
Ken and Dogeared… thanks!
Chris, gotta give you props for the honesty and articulating an issue for so many. As SRB mentioned, I more often end up being assless. So many moments where I could’ve given of myself and instead held back.
It’s definitely fear. Fear of not being able to say no. Speaking for myself, there’s often times I want to help…but will I say “no” when it’s time? But that shouldn’t be the focus. We should help and trust that Jesus is who He says. That He’ll protect us and grant us discernment and wisdom. We only have to be willing to be willing.
Much of this willingness is featured here: http://richardtgarner.blogspot.com/2009/12/renewing-stars-faith.html
Thanks for the comment and the link, Rick. It’s clear I need to see ‘The Blind Side.’ Peace to you.
Sam wrote: “They’ll just use it for drugs…”
Recently had a woman ask me as I left Church with a couple of dinners in hand, “Would you bless me with a couple of dollars?” I stopped for a moment, and in that moment all those cynical thoughts ran wild. But it was the word she used that made me think again, and let the better angel emerge. It really is a *blessing* that I am bestowing. As we have been blessed, so we are called to be a blessing to others. I gave her a couple of dollars, and God’s blessing. I am not accountable for how she and her free will used them. I am only accountable for the act of blessing. And I hope I remember that the next time I’m in that position! Great post, Chris, and great comments all!
Thanks, Paul. I’ve given money at times too. You’re right… they’re accountable for how they use it. Peace to you.