The Misguided Samaritan

Originally published on the Musings Blog

The priest and the Levite may have gotten a bum rap! I refer to the story Jesus told of the two religious leaders who passed a wounded traveler on the side of the road apparently without offering any help. A well intentioned Samaritan comes along and helps the man by bandaging him up, taking him to an inn, and paying his expenses. Jesus makes the Samaritan the hero of this story. But could it be the Samaritan settled for meeting an immediate need while ignoring the scope of the real need?

Consider: Should the Samaritan really have stopped? Was that really the most strategic use of his time? Maybe the Samaritan didn’t really care. Maybe he just wanted to do that which is easiest and leave the bigger problem for others.

If the Samaritan really cared about roadside assistance, would it not have been more effective to organize an emergency roadside assistance response team, train them in how to care for those in trouble on the road, and send them out to help each and every person traveling and not just the one? Was this man somehow more worthy than the many others who travel and find themselves in need? Is it right to ignore the scope of the need while tending to the one?

How do we know that the priest or the Levite, in response to a heartfelt compassion for the wounded man, didn’t organize a fund raising dinner in the next town in order to fund an emergency roadside assistance team? Could it be their experience in leading organizations gave them an appreciation for strategic thinking which helped them think outside the box of how you would normally help someone dying on the side of the road? Could it be their vision for helping victims of robbers far exceeded that of the Samaritan?

Isn’t it likely that the priest and Levite possessed some discernment that the Samaritan lacked – they saw that this man was too beaten and hurting to be of any help in reaching others. He didn’t appear to be an influencer (apparently he was traveling alone), and it would take some time before he was in any kind of shape to help other roadside victims. Clearly it’s a better use of resources to leave cases such as this one to those with the proper medical training. The priest and Levite may very well have understood that leaders work with sharp people in order to multiply their influence and make a greater impact. In this way all victims of roadside robbers can be reached, not just a few here and there.

I used to feel guilty for passing stranded motorist on the side of the road. But now that I’ve reflected more deeply on this story I’ve seen that me stopping to help would only be a hindrance to the greater cause of Christ as I would be distracted from the strategic mission God has called me to.

So let’s call him the Nice Samaritan, or the Well-Intentioned Samaritan, but not the Good Samaritan. Clearly he didn't care enough to be called good. It seems all he cared about was the fact that the man had a need and he was in a position to meet that need. Such pious and simplistic “love your neighbor as yourself” kind of thinking will never cut it if we’re serious about reaching the world for Christ.

Who's the Grinch?

Pastor Robert Jeffress of First Baptist Church Dallas has started a website (www.grinchalert.com) where you can report businesses that refuse to say, "Merry Christmas." From the website:

... you can nominate businesses and organizations that shut-out expressions of Christmas in their interactions with the public via marketing, advertising and public relations. When companies use misplaced political correctness to halt the celebration of Christmas, they belong on the “Naughty List.”

I’m starting a new website – ScroogeAlert.com that allows users to share their experiences with churches that shut-out expressions of the gospel in their interactions with the community via marketing, advertising, and public relations. When churches use a misplaced emphasis on the culture war to put up barriers to the gospel, they belong on the “Bah Humbug List.”

Not everyone at First Baptist is on board with Pastor Grinch Jeffress - you can read more here.

What If Ice Cream Cost You Your Vision?

(Originally published on the Musings Blog on 5.4.2005)

I really like ice cream. My favorite treat is a warm brownie (thin, slightly under baked) under several scoops of Blue Bell ice cream. I can taste it now.

But what if I knew that for every bowl of ice cream I enjoyed I would lose 1% of my vision? My initial response would be to swear off ice cream completely – my vision is way too important to throw away on a short-lived pleasure.

I suspect after awhile I would wonder if it were really true – does ice cream really cause me to lose vision, or did someone make that up to keep me from getting fat? Eventually I would try it out. I would eat some ice cream and then look at some words to see if they were blurry. I’m guessing I would see just fine – one percent wouldn’t make that much difference. But just to be safe, I would only have ice cream once a month.

After a year of ice cream that amounted to a 12% loss in vision, I think I would notice a difference. In a blurry street sign I would see some consequences of my indulgence. The eye doctor would change my prescription and I would have to get new glasses. And then I would see clearly again.

In seeing clearly again I wonder if I would be tempted to eat just a little ice cream, since the consequences appear manageable. In fact, eating just a little ice cream would still leave me many years before losing my eyesight completely. Stronger prescriptions, laser eye surgery, and eventually a walking stick or seeing eye dog … I’m adaptable, I think I could still make life work.

Sometimes I wonder if little acts of sin smudge the window of my soul. I confess, ask for God’s cleansing and all, but while I’m confident of restored fellowship with God, I wonder if I’ve lost something I can’t fully recover?

He Knows My Name

Growing up in Texas you are taught early and often the importance of God, family, and football, not necessarily in that order. Communities around the state gather each Friday night at their local stadiums for a fellowship, if not worship, that often surpasses that which takes place Sunday morning.

I played for a legend, Coach Tom Kimbrough. Coach Kimbrough came out of the Tom Landry school of coaching: he didn't yell a lot, but when he spoke, you listened. He commanded your attention and respect. I'll attempt to describe in a later post the impact Coach Kimbrough has made on my life. For now, let me describe the first time I talked to him.

It was the Spring of my sophomore year. Back then no one played for Plano Senior High School until your junior year, so your first taste of Plano football came in the Spring of your sophomore year during offseason workouts. We were nervous that first day - Plano offseason workouts were legendary. Players would go on to play Division I football and consistently report back that never did they practice as hard as they did at Plano. Beyond the challenge of the workouts was the awesome prospect of stepping on the same field as those coaches and players we revered.

We sprinted to the practice field, nearly hyperventilating with nerves. Coaches barked directions to a confused group of sophomores just hoping to survive their first workout. Early in the workout during one drill Coach Kimbrough approached me. This in and of itself froze me in place. Then he addressed me personally for the first time in a distinctive east Texas accent I can still hear, "Now David, when you're ..." I can't report the rest of the what he said, for despite my deep respect and my fear of messing up, I didn't hear another word, I couldn't get beyond one thought that reverberated over and over in my mind:

He knows my name. How does he know my name. This is Coach Kimbrough. I'm a skinny sophomore. How does he know my name?

Something changed that day. I was still in awe of playing for Coach Kimbrough, I still felt a rising tension in my gut each day as I watched the last minutes of the last class tick away before practice, but that day I was welcomed on the team. I belonged. I was known.

I think something similar happens with Jesus. You can know about Him, respect Him, even listen to Him, but something changes when you realize, when you believe, Jesus knows your name. When He speaks, He speaks to you, personally. Until then religion is a lot of work without much meaning.

"Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name; you are Mine!" Is. 43:1

Unfortunate Appearances

On the way back from our Colorado vacation we stopped by the Air Force Academy. We were disappointed to find the main Chapel closed because of three weddings back to back, but we did discover the Catholic Chapel on the lower level. My boys noticed several pictures of recent Popes displayed on a side wall. After taking in Pope Benedict my youngest boy, with no malice at all, states matter of factly, "He looks like a Sith Lord." I had to admit, situated next to the grandfatherly appearance of John Paul II, Pope Benedict does come across a little less photogenic!

Frittering

The compulsive search for diversion is often an attempt to escape the wretchedness of life.

Douglas Groothuis

I don't yet Twitter, but I do Fritter. I fritter away time. I go on little diversions throughout the day - I check in at espn, or peruse a few blogs, or play a game on the computer, or check Facebook, or ... I trust you can add you're own favorites. It's easy to make the argument that these  harmless activities provide a needed break from the routine of the day. 

Pascal argued over 300 years ago that it would be wise for me to ask why I fritter my time away. He didn't even have the internet, yet warned that entertainment and diversion would hinder happiness and ultimately lead to destruction. You can read more in this post by Justin Taylor.

I tend to fritter when I'm avoiding something. My frittering has less to do with taking a break than it does with delaying the start of work; it's a computerized version of cleaning the room before studying for the test. But the studying eventually takes place because the test is tomorrow. But what if the test isn't tomorrow?

Not everything of importance has a due date. I can take an hour to reflect on the direction of my life or  I can make that one on one conversation with my child happen today, but I don't have to. I can always do it tomorrow ... or the next day. It's not that Frittering takes up so much time that I can't do the important stuff, it's that Frittering keeps me occupied, it keeps me distracted so that I don't even think about the important stuff.

The longer you don't think about the important stuff, the more terrifying it is to set aside the Frittering and reflect on your life, your calling. But one day the due date on life comes to pass. One day we all give an account for what we did with the one life we were given.

I'm not sure the way forward, but I'm pretty sure it's not playing a computer game. 

What about you - is Frittering a harmless distraction or something more?

That's My Boy

My son Trent has never played on a good baseball team. His team is the one you don't have to try out for, the one that remains open to kids who haven't played much. There is no such thing as a routine play - the easiest pop up or ground ball can quickly turn into an adventure. The bottom half of the lineup does well just to get the bat on the ball, never mind actually getting on base.

Last night Trent's team enters the bottom of the last inning losing 5 to 2. The end of the batting order is due up, so parents begin to gather their folding chairs recognizing we'll soon be telling the boys good game and reminding them it's about getting better rather than winning.

New pitcher on the mound, doesn't look like he has much - it's not uncommon for teams to get away with pitching their third or fourth best pitcher against us. Outfield playing shallow, like 15 feet behind the infield. That way if a ball actually does get out of the infield, the right fielder can thrown the kid out at first.

First batter hist a ball clean over the left fielder's head for a double. The kid has hit some balls hard before, but it only occurs once every ten at bats, so you kind of forget he can do it. Next better hits a clean single to right field. He rarely gets the bat anywhere close to the ball. First and third no outs.

The other team's coach has seen enough. After only two batter and a 5 to 2 lead, he casts off his pitcher to right field and brings in his ace. Tall, left handed, hard throwing, and the attitude that says you'll be going home soon.

The left-hander begins by picking off the runner at first base. One out. Then he strikes out the batter. Two outs, runner on third, and our meager hopes dying fast. But we did manage to get to the top of the order.

Our lead off hitter crushes the ball to left center. Crushes as in the outfielder turns and runs without looking at the ball because he knows it's going to the fence. Inside the park home run, two runs in, still losing 5 to 4.

Next batter takes a mighty swing and rips the ball ... five feet down the third base line. It's perfectly placed ... the pitcher scrambles over, makes the throw, but it's not in time. I quickly look to the on deck circle. That's my boy, watching the play, reacting with a fist pump, and jogging to the plate with two outs, the tying run on base, and all the pressure in the world to get a hit.

It's hard to appreciate what goes through a players mind at this point. You want to be the guy that gets the clutch hit, but you don't want to be the guy that lets the team down. Players secretly fight off the thought that they hope the kid in front of them ends the game with a key hit ... or an out. Anything but making the last out yourself. But you can't be the hero without risking failure.

Trent fouls off a pitch. He's behind on the ball - not sure he can catch up to this guy. He take a ball, fouls off another pitch, and takes another ball. Two balls, two strikes, two outs. This could be it.

Fastball, outside corner, a flash of the bat, and a lightning shot down the right field line into the corner. Stand up triple, game tied. Next hitter knocks a single into left, scoring Trent with the winning run. Joy. That's my boy, so proud of him, so happy for him.

I love that he got such a great hit, but I'm even more proud of the fist pump when he realized he was coming to the plate with the game on the line. He was nervous, but he was courageous as well. That's my boy and God is doing a good work in his heart. That is something to cheer about.

What Do You See?

We have a field behind our church - a good size field, flat and green and recently mowed. In one corner is a backstop - the kind used at a major league baseball park for batting practice. I never see anyone using the field, which is odd in a youth sports crazed town in which an open practice field is hard to come by. Perhaps it's the signs.

Two signs announce that the field is only available for official church functions. I asked around and found out the original signs included a "NO TRESPASSING" warning. Good move - wouldn't want anyone not associated with the church to be on church property!

What do you see? Apparently you can look at a field and see several different things, such as ...

• a blessing to the community
• increased insurance cost
• an open door to undesirables
• something to be shared
• something to be guarded

Another way of asking the question: What do you fear? I fear we've been entrusted with a stewardship from God and we have buried our field in the ground.

Voices: Coach Thomas

Coach Thomas worked with lineman on my high school football team - the big guys who did all the hard work so us little guys could run around and grab all the glory. I remember his voice on the football field - a big voice that commanded attention. But when I replay that voice in my head, I hear a voice of strong encouragement and deep joy and peaceful humility.


I played for several coaches who modeled faith and hard work and commitment. Coach Thomas was one of those. He called boys to become young men and made sure they knew he was for them. Ever since I've known him (over twenty five years) he's followed Christ.


I heard his voice again several weeks ago. My wife and daughter and I were watching my son run in a track meet, actually just a practice meet for middle school kids. With the sun setting on that wind blown day we were getting just cool enough to think about heading home. Looking down the track I spotted my son talking to Coach Thomas. Found out later Coach Thomas recognized my son by his resemblance to me. Soon Coach Thomas made his way to us. So good to see the warm smile and hear the deep voice once again. Introductions were made with my wife and daughter and words exchanged when this big, hulking football coach stooped over and engaged my eight year old daughter in conversation. He discovered she wanted to be a teacher. With a big smile and that familiar voice of encouragement and joy, he shared how much he enjoyed teaching, acknowledging it didn't pay a lot, but it was so rewarding. How he couldn't imagine a better life.


This coach who had encouraged me in my faith and life, who had generously supported my pursuits, who had affirmed my call, now blessed my daughter and her dreams. Coach Thomas just keeps on giving and encouraging and affirming and he does it with such joy and humility. I can only hope and pray I've captured some of his voice in mine. Thank you, Coach Thomas. Your voice carries on through the generations of young men and women you've blessed. I count you wealthy - rich in all the things that matter. 

Opportunity Knocking on the Church Door

A volcano in Iceland shuts down air traffic in Europe stranding passengers in New York City to sleep on airport cots and shower in public restroom sinks. Tim Stevens wonders if the church is missing an opportunity to be the hands and feet of Jesus and show some hospitality by providing a place to sleep, a warm meal, and a change of clothes.

Got me thinking about what kind of church would help in that situation: probably not a highly programmed church - too busy keeping the machine operating (unless of course they had already set up a ministry program to reach stranded travelers.) Probably not a church more concerned with teaching right answers on a theology exam than living the faith - too busy getting ready for Bible study at the church.

Before coming to any conclusions I shared a lunch with my friend John. He talked about what God had been showing him - that perhaps some of the challenges he saw around him came from people not experiencing God's love. And perhaps his challenges in responding to those people also fell short because he didn't fully experience God's love. Perhaps the most important thing he could do would be to help people experience the love of God.

Simple and profound - I keep thinking about it ... Today I'm looking for opportunities to help people know and experience God's love. Surprised at how often my agenda gets in the way - which leads me to question why my agenda is what it is.

What if the church made it her focus to help people experience the love of God - seems like that would change the way a lot of churches operate. I suspect you would see an encouraging church - less concerned with getting you to do their thing, more concerned that you knew in your soul that God loved you. I suspect you would find a listening church, willing to serve, to understand, to meet you where you are to offer a taste of the gospel. I suspect you would find a humble church, awed by the enormity of the good news of Christ, desperately dependent on God's grace and power to share that gospel in ways that actually pointed people to Christ.

A church like that is a church that would see stranded passengers as an opportunity to show hospitality - just what God does with us wandering travelers, lost in our own agendas, unsure of which way to go, wondering how we will ever find our way home.

To Write

I need to write, so I will write. Something inside me needs to get outside me, so I've decided to write. Not entirely sure what that something is, but it's there. Perhaps I'll discover what it is as I write. 

In Search of Stereo

Turned on the car radio and was greeted by a favorite song, but something wasn't right - the sound sounded flat, dull, uninteresting …Poking around the many buttons on the radio I stumble across the problem: the radio was set to “mono on.” I’m not sure why a radio would have this option, but there it was. A change of settings allowed me to catch the last few lines of a favorite song in stereo – a full, deep, and rich sound, even through my twelve year old Camry speakers.

I think a lot of people speak in mono. Perhaps out of loyalty, or meeting the expectations of another, or rejecting a particular voice, the sound comes out less than full, less than alive. It may work, it may keep the peace, it may get you through the day, but it’s not really you.

Growing up a lot of different voices speak into your life - parents, teachers, coaches, friends, culture. They serve a purpose, they teach us to speak, to sing, to enter the world of words and find which words work for you. But these voices are not your voice. They may shape your voice, they may be heard in your voice, but they are not your voice. When you speak solely from the voice of others it comes out flat, lacking depth and richness. It comes out mono.

It takes time. Common to think you've found your voice, only to discover later that your sound was only a rejection of an other voice. Finding your voice isn’t a rejection of the other voices, but a bringing together of those voices into a new sound that only sounds right coming from you.

Ultimately I believe it’s God who brings out your true voice by speaking truth into your life. “This is my beloved Son in whom I am well pleased …”

So I write and in writing I listen. I’ll share some of the voices that have become a part of my voice. At the same time I’ll listen for a truer voice, formed in the heart, released in the life, that sings the song I was created to sing.