Journal of Sacred Work

33 But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was. And when he saw him, he had compassion. 34 So he went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine; and he set him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. Luke 10:30-37

     Outside, in the high heat and close air of a southern August, cicadas bow the cellos of their legs, woodpeckers lance the skin of oak trees, voices of children dance in the music of summer.  Inside churches, millions stand to sing time-worn hymns.

     On the way home from church and the christening of his baby sister, a little boy cries. “What’s wrong?” his parents ask. The boy whimpers, “the preacher said he wanted Jenny and I brought up in a Christian home and I want to stay with you guys…”

     And on that same Sunday, another little boy was overheard praying: “Lord, if you can’t make me a better boy, don’t worry about it. I’m having a good time like I am.”

     Christianity calls us to be better, kinder, more loving caregivers. But a big part of us feels like the boy. Leave me alone, Lord, I’m having a good time like I am.

     We all know of the Golden Rule. But the plastic rule is much more appealing. The one created by humans to be pliable, to adapt to what we want. It’s comfortable to give into our natural selfishness, to pretend Christianity while living as if we had never heard or understood the parable of the Good Samaritan.

     Christians caregivers are called to be acrobats of light and love. To tightrope into the shadows of need and suffering, to lean into the darkness and help others.

Christian caregivers are called to help those wounded not only in body and mind but in the heart, to be present to the suffering and sadness of others, to bring our love to meet the vast need of another.

     The little boy wants to God to leave him alone. What about the adult? Will we open our hearts to Love and hear the calling of the Samaritan? Will we hold to the gold or yield to plastic?

     Ultimately, we may, ourselves, be dependent on the kindness of strangers as described in this prose poem that came to me as I reflected on how Christianity fits into the lives of caregivers.

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The Salvation of Strangers

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Beyond the sun, on the other side of rain, where clouds flake blood, trees flower lead & you are gone, I will suffer alone on gray ground waiting for the Samaritan to lift my wounded body, lay me across the shoulders of his strong animal, bear me to the inn, anoint my bleeding soul, love me to my end.

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No, it will not be a Holiday Inn, neon sign blistering the night, metal-voiced clerks issuing instructions on the proper use of plastic cards that open doors to the rooms with black out curtains & whirring air conditioners & identical paintings of trees.

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No, the Samaritan will take me to a place where saints wash my feet, angels anoint my face, you are there & the Samaritan never abandons me.

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Yes. We are dependent upon the kindness of strangers.

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Peel the earth to his core, filet him of hate, leave his skeleton exposed, grow new flesh upon his bones, insert a new heart. Forget the brain. We need no more thought; only the kindness of strangers. For strangers offer our only salvation.

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After all, do you recognize Jesus, always standing near to care for you?