An Essay on Human Kindness

                                                    An Essay on Human Kindness

                                                                   Larry Sparks

It is not our nature to notice the severe pain existent all around us.  For that to happen we would need to slow down, perhaps pause long enough to study the facial expression of the one nearby and look long enough in their eyes to see the tears from a swollen heart.  Kindness is not an innate virtue in human nature.  We must see an example before us and work at the discovery of ourselves in contrast with the picture we have seen.

There are few good Samaritans on life’s journey.  It is expensive, time consuming and tends to bruise the inner man when we stop to care for the hurting.  It is far easier to be a Levite or Priest, passing by on the other side.  As we view them we feel quite at peace to comment on their predicament or criticize their foolishness.  I doubt we could ever imagine ourselves lying at the side of the road, beaten, robbed and alone.  Besides, we would call an ambulance with our cell phone and charge the treatment on our master card.  Yet, it is always intriguing to analyze these poor souls in such a pitiful state.  “I would...”, “they should have...”, “why doesn’t someone...”, “are there no government programs for such?” and on and on we indulge.

Dried blood, salty tears and a stench of human failure are not attractive to us.  If only there was a committee formed or an organization designed; I would surely donate something.  Well, Jesus said the poor you’ll have with you always and when he told the story He didn’t have me in mind?  You see, God knows how busy I am, how limited I am financially and I have stress of my own.  Who needs more depression?  Not me!  I never want to be the hero in anyone’s story.  Besides, I like myself most of the time and I have nothing to prove to anyone.

I suppose we are all better spectators than participants in this kindness thing.  Watching others is very inspiring, creating marvelous illustrations for me to relate to others.  Who needs the inconvenience of a scarred and broken body to mess with?  I mean, we love the talented, athletic, beautiful, famous and rich; not the pitiful person who can’t even carry a piece of wood.  Yada, yada, yada, don’t we have all the answers and excuses.

However, I have wondered if at one time a carpenter from Nazareth was not walking down the Jericho road toward the Temple on some business for His Father.  When suddenly thieves attacked, robbed, beat and left for dead this poor humble carpenter.  And as He lay there in a near death decent, too weak to cry out, too immobile to do anything but bleed and believe His time had not yet come; so surely help would arrive.  Squinting through swollen eyes he saw his savior coming.  He even recognized him from the Temple.  This pious priest would do the God-thing and rescue Him.  Oh, but wait...he’s staring, perhaps praying...he comes...no he is going on shaking his head as he hurriedly walks on.

A few flies circle the crust of blood on his lip and nose.  “Help me Lord...” how quickly the prayer was answered for here approaches the most religious, hands-on people Jehovah ever set aside, the Levite.  He is shaking his head, he is staring rather covetously at my cloak and sandals.  “Hurry, I’m just about to pass out my Levitical friend...”  Silence, then footsteps trodding ahead.  I am so in pain, its getting dark and religion hasn’t delivered me today. 

I must look hideous lying here in my own blood, face swollen, arm broken and clothes torn.  I look like a beggar, or servant, not a King.  “Father, into thy hands I...” Whoa my friend, don’t die on me.  Up, on my beast; this is going to hurt, plop!  “What awesome eyes you have.  Who would hurt such a man with so gentle a face?  What’s our world coming to?”

“Now off to the inn at Jericho, a good meal, soft bed and first of all, get this poor man some medical help.”

Daylight arrives early for the tired Samaritan but pressing business in Jerusalem must be carried out, “Here, innkeeper, feed and nurture this man.  Here is some denarius, if not enough, I’ll be back in seven days and take care of the remainder.  That’s all I have for now, but take my word, I’ll be back for him.”

He trods ahead from the inn, thinking how good God is to him for allowing him an opportunity to help someone.  “I hate to get around the Temple again but that’s where my business is done.  Why, the last time there a Priest ran me out of a certain section of the Court and a Levite so-and-so cursed me in Hebrew.  He didn’t think I knew what the words meant, but I certainly did.”

Now as darkness falls once again on the Jericho inn, an injured guest raises himself on his elbows and utters a “eulagogos” or a blessed word for the man who saved his life.  “Perhaps, one day I can do the same, only for your soul, Mr. Samaritan.”  Sleep comes finally.  Thank God, He never sleeps.

To be a Samaritan you must come close to the injured in life.  You must get dirty, be willing to see your clothes stained with some poor souls blood and not question whether they deserve it.

Just a story, an illustration, an over-active imagination?  Perhaps, but as I stare across the street I see many a bleeding soul who waits for me to cross over with a loving hand and some good news.  There is oil in my flask, water in my jug and a few coins in my purse.  I’m scared but I’m ready.  “Want to cross the street with me?  There’s too many for me to carry alone.”

I am not by nature kind but the one who lives in me has given such kindness of heart and courage to carry it across the street.  There is a sign outside the Jericho Inn that reads “Vacancy”, lets go fill the rooms full.