“‘Which of these was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?’...’The one who had mercy on him’.” (Luke 10: 36-37)

What’s your reaction when you’re first in line at the red light, stopped right next to the disabled man holding a sign asking for help? Look away? Fumble for the least amount of change you feel you could get away with? Meet his gaze with a smile but empty-handed? Hand over a prepared bag of toiletries/snacks or a small gift card to McDonald's? 

Perhaps more to the point, what’s your attitude toward this man? Do we justify our reluctance or refusal to give a hand out by telling ourselves that every store, every restaurant posts a “Help Wanted” sign? By telling ourselves we couldn’t possibly help everyone on every corner? By hoping the next person in the traffic line-up will help? 

Proximity + attitude = my measure of neighborliness. In my car, I am physically oh, so close to the unemployed man, but my attitude is often far from neighborly. Is Jesus speaking to me, too, in His parable of the Good Samaritan? These men and women desperate for a hand-out may not be lying on the curb, “stripped…beaten…half dead” (10:30), but they need attention and deserve kindness nevertheless. Am I the priest or the Levite “passing by on the other side” (10:31-32)? To my shame, yes, I have switched lanes when I see the light turning yellow. Does that not render my Christian faith useless, even potentially dangerous? What if everyone switched lanes? 

Chris Rice’s song “Go Light Your World” tells me exactly what I should do:

There is a candle in every soul, 

Some brightly burning, some dark and cold. 

There is a Spirit who brings a fire, 

Ignites a candle, and makes His home. 

Carry your candle, run to the darkness, 

Seek out the helpless, confused and torn. 

And hold out your candle for all to see it. 

Take your candle, and go light your world.

Who is my neighbor? The one next door? Sure. But I’m also meant to “seek out the helpless, confused, and torn.” The Good Samaritan’s candle “burned brightly” as he moved toward the injured man when he could have passed by with a kind word and smile or, worse, switched lanes. He didn’t wonder if the man was worth his time and money; he just acted out of mercy and compassion. 

How thankful I am that Jesus, the true and better Good Samaritan, didn’t wonder whether I was worth His time, or whether I should be trying to help myself more. He saw me and moved toward me with compassion…at the enormous cost of His own suffering.

During this, the week after Resurrection Sunday, how might we share Christ’s compassion and mercy with those who cross our path? After all, they are all our neighbors.