An Inconvenient Faith

The older I get, the more truth I find in the old French proverb, “There is no pillow so soft as a clear conscience.” Most nights I slip into slumber easily and awaken the following morning refreshed and eager to embrace a new day. But sometimes rest eludes me, chased away by regrets I have inadvertently created during the day. If only I could fully appreciate the significance of each decision at the time I am making it.

In the Parable of the Good Samaritan found in Luke, Chapter 10, our attention is drawn to the man who unselfishly gives love to a stranger. He is the hero of the story; a model for the behavior Jesus would like for us to emulate. It’s easy for us to see ourselves in that role and identify with the good guy. Given the right circumstances, surely we would also rise to the occasion and do the right thing.

Imagining the appropriate response is easy but actually putting our faith into practice is often quite inconvenient. Serving God is costly in terms of time, treasure, and talents. The Samaritan was willing to pay whatever price was required but the priest and the Levite had none of these to spare. Both clearly saw the suffering but crossed to the other side of the road and passed by. Undoubtedly they had important appointments to keep, no money to spare, and too many people to please. They couldn’t be bothered with the needs of a stranger.

Although many of us have more in common with the sinners in the story rather than the saint, Jesus didn’t elaborate about them. He probably figured we are already well acquainted with the consequences of selfishness and no further discussion about them was required. We needed a higher standard to follow. But I am curious. Was their indifference to suffering a momentary lapse or a typical way of life? Did they sleep well that night? Or did they toss and turn, haunted by regrets over what could have been, restlessly counting each hour until the light of dawn finally pierced the darkness?

If the test had required less sacrifice, perhaps they would have passed it. But a test cannot truly measure character unless it forces us to stretch and these fellows had no room for flexibility.

My test also came at the worst possible time. It was Saturday night and I had been suffering with a dreadful cold since Wednesday. My sinuses were aching and the simple act of breathing was laborious. Even talking wasn't worth the effort required. I wanted nothing more than a warm bed and the blessed oblivion of sleep but reluctantly agreed to accompany my husband to the mall to return a few items.

I had just completed my third and final return transaction and was on my way to meet my husband when I saw her. It was just a glimpse really. I noticed a young woman with long dark hair exiting a rest room at least twenty feet away. I had turned the corner and taken at least ten more steps before the thought penetrated the cold medicine induced fog in my brain. She had both of her hands near her face. Was she crying?

Honestly, I didn’t want to know the answer. It wasn’t that I didn’t care. I did; however, I was sick and didn’t feel like talking to anyone. I simply wanted to go home and slip into my warm bed.

Yet, a world of possibilities stretched before me. If she was crying, this was an opportunity to share God’s love with her by listening, offering prayer, and comforting her. If I was mistaken, I had nothing to lose. The compassion that led me to retrace my steps to be certain she was okay might open the door to an interesting conversation or a new friendship. God had opened a door. Would I cross the threshold and allow Him to use me to bless another or would I cross to the other side?

Like the priest and the Levite, I am also a Christian leader. I am passionate about my love for Jesus, but the timing of this encounter was incredibly inconvenient.

Hours later, I finally climbed into my bed but the warmth brought little comfort and I did not enjoy the peaceful rest I anticipated. Instead, I spent several miserable hours vainly trying to formulate one single excuse God might find acceptable.

Two weeks later, I am still regretting my decision to turn away and speculating about what might have been. Now that I’ve had time to reconsider my response, I would gladly sacrifice my time, my treasure, and my talents to provide assistance to her but the moment has passed and the opportunity has been lost. I cannot recapture what might have been. I hope the next person to come along behind me was less concerned with convenience and more committed to Christ-like compassion than I was.

This test is over and the results are in: I failed. But God is patient with slow-learners. He will give me another chance and the next time will be different regardless of how I feel.

Even so, I wish I knew how this story ended.

Can you tell me?

What did you do when you saw her?