Angling Away?

“Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side.” Luke 10:31 (The Message)

Few of us mean to be apathetic. We do not set out to be cold or unconcerned about the plight of others. Yes, there are the handful of folks who will admit to dismissing other people’s needs for a myriad of excuses. But, for the most part, most folks want to be helpful. At least, that is what we say.

That is why we are so stunned to see “good” people ignoring obvious needs around them. We wonder how many cars have already driven past the woman on the side of the road, obviously struggling with a flat tire. Of course, we wonder that as we also drive past, hurrying on to some commitment that keeps us from stopping.

This was a priest! I am certain hope rose within the beaten traveler’s heart as he saw the priest come up the road. This is a man close to God. Knowing the teachings of the Scriptures, he reasoned that one devoted to the temple would be certain to stop. Over and over God had taught that care for one in need was the same as care to God Himself. It did not matter whether the person was familiar or a stranger, a national or a alien.

This road between Jericho and Jerusalem was often traveled by the priests. They had appointed circuits: there were 24 courses of priests in Jerusalem and half that many in Jericho. So, it was no surprise that the priest would be traveling this road.

“Luckily”, he traveled the road. “Luckily”, that is, from the victim’s point of view. “I can’t believe my fortune! I was afraid I might die out here of exposure. Now someone is coming down the road. There is someone who might help, and best of all, he’s a priest!”

But his “luck” was short-lived. It is not that the priest didn’t notice. We are told that he “saw” the man and having seen him, continued on the other side of the road. Priests are important people, after all. He was probably late for his temple duties. The people of all Jerusalem would be waiting for him to administer the daily sacrifices. If he did not arrive on time, people would be nervous, waiting to know if their sins were forgiven. And, after all, the priest’s commitment was to God. It wasn’t like he was a traveling salesman who had mere secular obligations.

I don’t want to sound dismissive, but we all have noticed that sometimes the “irreligious” can show more compassion than some who are steeped in religion. That is exactly the comparison Jesus is making. The Samaritan who finally helps this wounded man is a horrible mixture of Jewish and pagan thought.

I have seen people recognized their need for Christ. They admit their own sin, admit they have lived primarily for themselves, and humbly request His forgiveness. Sometimes, though, they end up never repeating that prayer-attitude again. From “save me, I’m a sinner”, the prayer can evolve into “I’m so glad I’m not like ‘those people’ anymore.” And their “religion” morphs into life that is just as self-centered as before. Only now they don’t drink or do naughty things. But they might pass by a person changing their tire on the highway.

That is only one segment, I know. There are many others who, finding Christ, and letting Him do His work in their lives, become exquisitely more compassionate. Their hearts are moved at the merest hint of need. They never lose their sense of wonder that Christ would actually give Himself for someone like them. And, they never forget that, though a saint in Christ’s eyes, they are also a mere sinner who Jesus picked up from the side of the road.

It is easy to “angle away” from the needy. We are busy people. Our resources are limited. When we engage someone in need, we know we are probably committing ourselves to much more than we bargained for. The Samaritan knew that. He didn’t just provide a donkey-ambulance run to the hospital, but, leaving the victim in their care, he promised to provide whatever else might be needed.

May I never be so “holy” that I walk around those most in need. May I never be so busy for God that I miss the invisible pain of someone whose hurt is crying out for friendship. May I never be so full of great sounding “sanctified, anointed, bring-em-to-the-altar, call the Holy Ghost down, hedge-building and stand against the enemy” jargon that I never relate person to person.

There are real people with real wounds needing my care. There are people whose invisible pain is so great it has become etched upon their faces; portraits of a struggle few of us would understand. Do I hurry off to my next meeting where I’ll feel better about my life, and ignore the person left in the ditch by their own? May I never “angle away”, acting like I don’t see.