the good samaritan

I spent a few hours down at the rail trail this afternoon, handing out water and lemonade to the joggers, walkers and bike riders.

So I am talking to one guy in a red t-shirt, and he says "you're a good Samaritan."

And as he left, I wondered. This man was comfortable making a NT reference, but to him, seeing a simple act of kindness brought to mind a Samaritan and not a follower of Jesus. Could you imagine a person in a similar situation saying "you're a good Christian"?

About five minutes later, another man makes the same comment, "You're a good Samaritan."

So when I get home tonight I do a little reading. I was surprised to find out that Samaritans believed in God and the Torah. They considered themselves Jews, though they were detested by the "mainstream" Jews. (One writer compares this to the rift between Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland.) In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus tells the tale of one man who rises above this bigotry to help a man in need -- exemplifying God's call to love your neighbor as yourself.

Today, the term "good Samaritan" is used as a common metaphor and applies to any charitable person, especially one who, like the man in the parable, rescues or helps out a needy stranger. My guess is that it represents a term acceptable in a secular society, where as any reference to God or Christ may be off-putting.

So while these guys weren't giving Christ any credit for me being out on the rail trail today, the fact that my presence led a few people to reflect on Jesus' words made me feel good.

But when a third guy came by and asked "Who can I thank?" I decided to clarify the situation.

"God," I replied. "You can thank God."

.

lessons from the rail trail

Sometimes people are just thirsty

Sometimes being an evangelist means you need to shut up.

Sometimes leading a movement has nothing to do with organizing or programs.

Sometimes when the wind blows, the trees come together to create the most well-choreographed ballet.

Sometimes you need to go out of your normal way to meet someone at the exact place where they wanted to be at that moment in time.

Sometimes people are cynical. Most times they are not.

Sometimes you can hear the river flowing… even when it is well out of range.

Sometimes you can give someone the most amazing gift just by showing up.

Sometimes people will stop and talk, and share things about their life, and not be really sure why they feel so comfortable with a stranger.

Sometimes the moments in life where absolutely nothing is going on are the fullest.

Sometimes people will go out of their way to repay a simple act of kindness.

Sometimes a smile means more than words.

Sometimes… there are not enough sometimes.

The cold and rain have brought an end to rail trail Saturdays for now… spring will be here soon... but not soon enough.

thirsty

This past weekend, a man drove down to a trail in town that is popular with bikers, joggers and dog walkers. He set up a table at a juncture—a spot where many start, end or turn around. On the table sat a pitcher of lemonade, some bottled water and a sign that read “FREE—cold drinks”.

Some people asked what cause he represented, or what he was selling (‘there’s always an agenda’). Others walked by the table, intent on never looking over—because eye contact was dangerous.

But most people smiled and thanked this man. In fact, many were overwhelmed by what was truly the most simplest acts of kindness. Others stopped to chat… their day suddenly changed for the better. One jogger remarked how cold the world had been feeling to him. Another woman, who returned from a six mile run, said ‘I was so hoping you would still be here when I got back’.

After two hours, the man packed up his table, the cooler and his sign and took inventory. He had served a total of five drinks: two lemonades and three bottles of water.

And yet he came away knowing that many more drank that day… for what he came to learn was that people are not thirsty for water or lemonade… they thirst for kindness. They thirst for love.

How indifferent have we become to our brothers and sisters? How often do we go through days with blinders on, focused only on the next destination? How cold has the world become, that such a simple gesture—a glass of water—can mean so much? How have we allowed so many people in our community get so thirsty?