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.