Ahhh…my first official attack of blogorrhea! Unfortunately, it’s stemming from a rare, but serious bout of insomnia as well, so there’s no telling how much sense this will make later in the day, but here goes.

I’ve been pondering the story of the Good Samaritan quite a bit lately: Man asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life…Jesus says, “What do you think?”…Man says, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself…Jesus says, “You got it.”…Man says, “And who’s my neighbor?” Jesus responds by telling the story of a Samaritan who takes the time to help a man who has been badly beaten and left for dead. And not just any man, but a Jewish man; a man who treats Samaritans like second-class citizens. Add in two fellow Israelites, a priest and a Levite, who pass by without stopping to help, and you have the makings of a beautiful parable.

With that understanding of the story, I tend to become rather proud of my answer when I ask myself “Who is my neighbor?” I’m pretty sure I’ve got this one down pat. My neighbor is the old boss who treated me poorly at my last job, the ex-con who lives down the street, the girl who teased me in middle school, my sister. No one’s disqualified from the mercy God calls us to give. Got it.

What hit me the other day was that I was missing a vital part of the story. The Samaritan recognized the value of this man’s life and served him with humility and grace, though he could have easily justified leaving him behind. But what I had never thought about before was the fact that, before he ran across this man, the Samaritan must surely have been on his way to do something else. This may sound like a simple thought, but to me, there are few things I value in this world more than my time. If I could use another theological source to help get my point across, I would have to use that brilliant and wise beacon of truth we’ve all come to know and love: Veggie Tales. In their version of the story, (”Are You My Neighbor?”), the priest and the Levite (or the mayor and the doctor in this case) sing together as they quickly pass by their fellow townsman in need:

We’re busy, busy, dreadfully busy. You’ve no idea what we have to do.
Busy, busy, shockingly busy; Much, much too busy for you.

This catchy little song changed my entire perspective of the story, and made me realize that I had more in common with the priest and the Levite than I cared to admit. Knowing who my neighbor is doesn’t help me too much in my quest for righteousness when I see a person in need and whisper a five-second prayer for them as I rush by on my way to a more important event.

Last Sunday my husband and I passed by two sets of homeless people asking for help as we rushed to our church Youth Group meeting, making sure to avoid eye contact (maybe I don’t have the first point of the story down after all, huh?). How many times have I driven by stranded cars on the side of the road as I headed to work (or maybe the mall) and felt confident that someone else will stop? And I can’t forget the countless times I avoid checking on someone who’s going through a hard time because my favorite television show is coming on. While I can’t say I’ve ever run into someone who’s been beaten and left for dead on the side of the road, the concept, as it applies to my life, is still the same.

We’re not called to simply be knowledgeable of whom we’re supposed to show compassion. We’re called to lay down our generally meaningless agendas and be the hands and feet of Jesus when we see someone in need. But does that mean everyone we see in need? Always? Is it more important than getting to work on time? What about the kids’ soccer game? Won’t I be thought of as inconsiderate or irresponsible if I don’t arrive for Sunday dinner at the in-laws’ before the ham gets cold? When does the call to serve others take a back seat to my need for lunch?

Veggie Tales may have added a bit of dramatic license to the story in that I’m not sure if we really know why the first two men didn’t stop. But I think the point of the interpretation is valid. The Enemy uses a brilliant and effective strategy for keeping us from acting upon the will of the Father - he continuously reminds us that we have better things to do.