Who Is My Neighbor?: Being a Good Samaritan in a Connected World

by Steve Moore

  This is how it is supposed to work. But we all understand what should be is not always what is. In between compassion and action there are some common exit ramps. I describe them as intention, deflection, rationalization, and justification. While these exit ramps do not flow directly from the teaching of the Good Samaritan, I think you will agree they help explain why and how we are so easily sidetracked somewhere between compassion and action. They give us a grid for understanding the behavior of the priest and Levite.

  Exit 1—Intention

  More often than I'd like to admit, I have been made aware of a specific need, felt the compassion of God aroused within my spirit, and affirmed the good intention to take practical action based on the hope I could make a difference. I really ought to write her a note of encouragement. I really ought to call to pray with him about that need. I really ought to give to help advance that cause. I mean well. Really.

  But it is too easy for my good intentions to get swallowed up by the harried and hurried pace of life. If I don't forget about what I felt I really ought to do, I often find myself procrastinating until it seems as if the window of opportunity is lost. There is almost always a moment of regret when I come to believe I've missed a chance to let information about the needs of others produce compassionate action. But I've noticed a scary temptation that may be even more troublesome than my failure to act: ascribing spiritual merit for merely having the intention to do something even if I don't follow through.

  The mental gymnastics go something like this: Well, at least I thought about doing something. I'm sure there were plenty of people who learned about that need and never intended to do anything. After all, it's the thought that counts.

  No, it isn't.

  The thought only counts when it reflects untarnished motives contrasted with unskilled action. Imagine a child trampling through a beautiful flower garden in the backyard to pick a bouquet for his grandmother. He comes in the back door with a handful of flowers behind his back and hollers with excitement for his “Nana.” As she walks in the kitchen, with great pride and joy he thrusts the flowers toward her, saying, “I picked these for you, Nana!”

  A wise grandmother will at least for the moment overlook the dirt tracked in from the flower garden, accept the bouquet, put it in a vase on the counter, and express her wild appreciation for this act of love and generosity. Only later will she offer gentle and loving remedial instruction about the flower garden. Why? Because in this case, untarnished motives are contrasted with unskilled action. In this case, it is the thought that counts.

  When we assign ourselves spiritual merit for merely thinking about serving others, we are vulnerable to a dangerous form of hypocrisy that is difficult to confront because the self-righteousness is dressed up in good intentions. We view ourselves as active participants in the life of the body when others know we are merely passive observers. This is a self-awareness gap. We think we are mature, balancing knowledge with obedience, but we are not. The merit we are assigning to ourselves based on good intentions is invisible. This is stealth hypocrisy. We become the fools who, after looking at ourselves in the mirror, walk away, immediately forgetting what we look like. We are hearers only; good intenders, but not doers (see James 1:22-25).

  For almost seventy-five years the Ad Council has sought to stir people to action with public service announcements. One of my personal favorites is the “Don't Almost Give” campaign. One ad shows a man with crutches struggling to go up a flight of concrete stairs. The narrator says, “This is a man who almost learned to walk at a rehab center that almost got built by people who almost gave money.” After a brief pause, the announcer continues: “Almost gave. How good is almost giving? About as good as almost walking.”

  Another ad shows an older woman sitting alone in a room, staring out a window. The narrator says, “This is Sarah Watkins. A lot of people almost helped her. One almost cooked for her. Another almost drove her to the doctor. Still another almost stopped by to say hello. They almost helped. They almost gave of themselves. But almost giving is the same as not giving at all.”

  That's true, regardless of your intentions.

  Exit 2—Deflection

  At some point in your spiritual journey, you have probably found yourself listening to a powerful teaching that triggers the following thought: This is really good stuff; I hope my spouse (or child or friend or whomever) is paying attention. Similarly, you have probably been exposed to information about the needs of others and reacted by looking at the people around you, saying, “Aren't you going to do something about that?” I call this deflection.

  There is a difference between mobilization—seeking to rally a greater number of people to engage in a legitimate cause—and deflection. Mobilization is a legitimate expression of action, while deflection is an exit ramp that allows us to avoid taking action in a manner that minimizes the risk of exposure by turning the attention away from ourselves and shining the spotlight on others. Some people have perfected this craft. They speak with a sense of righteous indignation, “Why don't you do something about that?”

  Perhaps one of the most powerful laboratories in which we perfect the art of deflection is at home. We see a mess that needs to be cleaned up, and we deflect responsibility for dealing with it to someone else. We know each other so well that a mere glance says it all: Aren't you going to do something about that? In my family it's not really fair because my wife and kids know my obsession for order and neatness makes it nearly impossible for me to resist cleaning up a mess when I see it. I'm not more spiritual; I'm more dysfunctional.

  Deflection is often followed by hypothetical declarations such as “If I had known about her need, I would have stepped up to take Mrs. Watkins a meal, take her to the doctor, and get her prescription filled.” This overlaps with Exit 1—Intentions, in that it allows us to claim spiritual merit for action we did not take in the past. It is retroactive good intentions. People who brag about what they are going to do tomorrow probably said the same thing yesterday. People who brag about what they would have done yesterday will probably say the same thing tomorrow.

  Jesus called out this kind of hypocrisy in the Pharisees, who were padding their coffers of self-righteousness by bragging about what they would not have done in the past. Jesus exposed their foolishness, saying, “And you say, ‘If we had lived in the days of our forefathers, we would not have taken part with them in shedding the blood of the prophets.” They tried to distance themselves from the murderous behavior of their forefathers when in reality they were seeking to take the same action against Jesus. No wonder he called them “snakes,” a “brood of vipers!” (see Matthew 23:30-33).

  When faced with information about the needs of others that is incontrovertible, for which we don't want to become responsible, a common exit ramp is deflection, the art of turning the spotlight of attention on someone else.

  Exit 3—Rationalization

  Regardless of how gifted, resourced, or networked one might be, it is impossible for anyone to do everything. But rationalization is not about the discipline needed to create margin or the focus required to be decisive. Rationalization has a ring of defensiveness that tries to explain why a need that clearly could have been met is not, why someone failed to take the initiative to show God's mercy by serving others. In rationalizing we say things such as “It will take hundreds of millions of dollars to rebuild Haiti; the $25 I had to contribute won't be missed.” We never stop to think about the fact that a million other people probably said the same thing.

  Rationalization is more an excuse than an explanation. I'm too busy to volunteer, but I have plenty of time for March Madness. I can't afford to give to that worthy cause, but I seem to be able to find the cash for my triple grande, nonfat, no whip, no foam, extra hot white mocha whenever I pass a Starbucks. It's amazing how financial self-control and the discipline of time management rise up when people are invited to give or volunteer for a worthy cause and melt like ice cream on a hot summer day when faced
with a sale on big-screen televisions.

  Exit 4—Justification

  While rationalization has a ring of defensiveness, justification adds a sense of superiority. It suggests that if you knew what I know or had the experiences I've had, you would understand and support my decision not to take action in response to this need. In some cases this air of superiority goes so far as to suggest, “I'm so far ahead of you that you wouldn't get it even if I tried to explain it to you.” “I have my reasons.” There are times our attempts to help actually hurt those in need. But people who know the difference simply find a better way to help rather than sitting smugly on the sidelines.

  In some ways justification is deflection and rationalization on steroids. It leads us to faulty conclusions such as all poor people are lazy and giving to them would only reward their lack of effort. It suggests HIV/AIDS is a lifestyle disease and most of the people infected brought it on themselves, as if their poor choices have disqualified them from God's mercy. And then there is the mother of all justification trump cards that categorizes everything from natural disasters to oppressive governments as “divine judgment,” as if to say helping suffering people unfortunate enough to find themselves in this setting would be tantamount to opposing God. As long as a person clings to beliefs of this nature, it is easy to justify inaction and the sense of superiority over others who are either too naive or too simple-minded to agree with him.

  EXEMPTION DETOUR

  I have placed these four exit ramps between compassion and action. But if we take them often enough, there is a danger of bypassing compassion altogether, taking a detour of the heart that speedily routes us to the exit ramp destination of choice. I label this detour “exemption.” Taking it often suggests we are exempting ourselves from the careful process of assessing what God might want us to do in response to a given need. Perhaps this is why the priest and Levite in the story of the Good Samaritan “saw the man” beaten and left for dead but “passed by on the other side” (Luke 10:31-32). They both had information about the need, but there is not even a hint of compassion and there is a complete lack of action.

  I think you can see by now that it is one thing to be aware of a need, to have information, to feel a measure of compassion rise up in your spirit, and something else altogether to take practical action. The Good Samaritan shows us how it is supposed to work, what Jesus would do. But there is a vast wasteland of missed opportunities, of almost serving, in between compassion and action. The priest and the Levite remind us that a godly heritage and spiritual training do not automatically translate into Christlike initiative in the service of others. In their decision to pass by on the other side, we have a warning of the danger of creating a detour around compassion, avoiding any possible gut-wrenching experiences in our hurry to find solace in our favorite exit ramp.

  This is true when the measure of responsibility for serving others is limited to physical proximity plus urgency plus capacity. It is even more complicated when we add virtual proximity, or proximity to the power of Google, which adds the flood of information about the urgent needs of others I am aware of because they are virtually, but not physically, close to me.

  As the world becomes virtually smaller and the flow of information literally faster, there is even more pressure to take an exit ramp on the way to practical action or the detour that bypasses compassion altogether. You might remember the story of Neda, a twenty-seven-year-old music student from Iran who participated in demonstrations in Tehran in the summer of 2009. Caught in the cross fire of this political unrest, Neda became the symbol of the opposition movement. Amateur video footage of her lying in a pool of her own blood, breathing her final breaths, was posted on Twitter feeds, YouTube, and ultimately broadcast on news channels around the world.

  The untimely death of a young student with a promising future would be tragic no matter when it happened. But for most of the history of the world it would have been hidden from everyone without physical proximity to the tragedy. When the needs of the world are on display in real time, physical proximity is expanded by virtual proximity that can result in information overload and compassion fatigue.

  INFORMATION OVERLOAD—COMPASSION FATIGUE

  The picture I'm painting for you is not intended to pile on new levels of guilt and shame. I'm trying to help you come to terms with the reality of how complicated a simple question such as “Who is my neighbor?” has become in this globalized world. I'm trying to give some shape and contour to the emotions and decisions we face as we try to make sense of our God-given responsibility to take the initiative in crossing boundaries and overcoming barriers to show God's mercy by serving others.

  The problem we are wrestling with is not the lack of information about the needs of others. It is information overload, which too often produces pseudo-compassion fatigue. To modify the wording of the Good Samaritan, we could say, “He saw him and her and him and her, and he was overwhelmed, almost burned out, to the point where he felt paralyzed and didn't take action.” In clinical jargon, true compassion fatigue is referred to as Secondary Traumatic Stress Disorder (STSD). Symptoms of STSD include anxiety, lack of productivity, negative attitudes, and diminished capacity for empathy, usually resulting from repeated and extended exposure to and service among victims of trauma.

  In recent years compassion fatigue has been offered as an explanation for the diminished interest and generosity people feel toward those in need after too much exposure to too many disasters in too short a period of time. The 2004 tsunami resulting from the earthquake in the Indian Ocean generated a global response. But other natural disasters following the tsunami did not trigger the level of interest we might have expected if they occurred the year before. The 2010 earthquake in Chile would likely have received more coverage and greater response had it not occurred so soon after the earthquake in Haiti. No doubt the scope of the problem in Haiti was much larger than the situation in Chile, and the capacity of relief and development organizations was already stretched to the limit. But it seems clear compassion fatigue played a role in the amount of coverage and response to the needs in Chile.

  As the world continues to get smaller and communication continues to get faster, we are in danger of producing a society that lives in chronic pseudo-compassion fatigue. I say pseudo-compassion fatigue because it does not result from the traditional caregiver experience of giving too much without taking time to refuel. It is the result of too much almost giving, almost serving.

  But it doesn't have to be this way.

  PASSION-PRIORITIZED ACTION

  In part 1 of this book I've been focused on the lessons we learn from the Good Samaritan and how they apply to our increasingly complicated and globalized world. In part 2 we'll turn our attention to a pathway that will enable you to organize and prioritize your service of others, mitigating information overload and compassion fatigue. The word compassion comes from Latin and means “with passion,” or more literally, “together suffering.” The pattern observed in the life of Jesus and illustrated by the Good Samaritan is information, awareness of the needs of others, produces compassion, which leads to action. It is a picture of together suffering. I believe if you let God lead you on this journey of together suffering, you will emerge with passion. And your passion will give you direction; it will enable you to calibrate responsibility for serving others with whom you have physical or virtual proximity.

  God can use life-shaping experiences such as the short-term mission trip you took last year or the powerful message you heard last month or the news story you will hear tonight on your drive home or the meeting C. T. Studd attended in Liverpool to transform the ocean of information regarding the needs of others into rivers of passion that fuel Spirit-directed action. I want to show you how.

  Part 2

  CONNECTING WITH YOUR PASSIONS

  Chapter 4

  TWO STREAMS OF PASSION

  In the spring of 1884, a seventeen-year-old Irish girl named Amy went to a Belfast tea shop with
her mother. While sipping tea and nibbling sweet delicacies she noticed a young girl standing outside with her face pressed against the window of the tea shop. Amy found it charming and amusing to observe the little girl's perusal of tantalizing sweets on display in the window. But the innocence of that moment was about to be interrupted.

  As she walked out the door with her mother, Amy's gaze playfully returned to the little girl. There she stood, barefoot, dirty, wearing a thin and ragged dress in the light rain. Without a word being spoken, in a matter of seconds, Amy's perspective on the situation changed. The eyes of her heart were opened. In the words of the Good Samaritan, she “saw her.” The little girl's poverty was anything but charming. Compassion was aroused in Amy's spirit.

  Later that evening, in the warmth and comfort of her own bedroom, Amy reflected on this experience and wrote, “When I grow up and money have, I know what I will do, I'll build a great big lovely place for little girls like you.”1 Then in a moment of honest self-reflection, Amy continued writing, “And yet at present I do nothing ‘for little girls like you.’ Please, God, tell me what to do.”2

  Seventeen-year-old Amy Carmichael was being impressed by the Holy Spirit to take the initiative in crossing boundaries and overcoming barriers to show God's mercy by serving others. She had a Good Samaritan experience on the side of the road by a tea shop in Belfast. There were other people who passed by this little girl, but they did not see what Amy saw. Information was triggering compassion that would soon be translated into action. All of this together would eventually help refine Amy's passion for the marginalized, exploited, and underserved.