For When You Miss an Opportunity to be Jesus

Today, I’m feeling like I got offered the role of the good Samaritan in Jesus’ famous parable, and instead I chose to play the priest or the Levite, both of whom left a man who had been robbed and beaten lying on the side of the road (Luke 10: 29-37). I know I’m not the only Christian who’s done this. Why would I choose the lesser role, the role that fails? I can’t help wondering, why do we so often pass up the opportunity to be Christ to someone in need? We avert our gazes and keep walking, ignoring the blatant need that’s right there in front of us.

I picked up L from preschool at lunch today, and we went to Costco so that she could pick out a birthday treat to take to school tomorrow. As I was buckling her into her car seat, about to head home for nap time, a young woman came walking toward me across the parking lot. She was dressed in cutoff jean shorts and a grey t-shirt, and her hair was caught up in a disheveled ponytail, her face devoid of makeup. She looked strained. She approached me hesitantly, clearly unsure of herself.

“Excuse me,” she said. “I’m so sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a few dollars you could spare? My car is almost out of gas, and my credit card was declined. I have my kids with me, and I don’t know what to do other than ask someone for help.”

My urban ministry training taught me never to hand out cash to anyone, because you might unknowingly hurt someone more than you help – especially if they spend your money on illegal drugs. Almost without thinking, I gave her my stock answer – which was also an honest one.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but I don’t carry cash.”

She nodded and thanked me, said she was sorry she’d bothered me, and walked away.

I got into my car and headed toward the exit. As I was driving, I saw the young woman from a distance, standing next to a car whose doors were standing open. She was looking around, shading her eyes with her hand. It was hot out, and growing hotter by the minute.

As I approached the end of the parking lot, I felt torn. My inner dialogue was going a hundred miles an hour:

She’s probably a scam artist. She might be. But then again, she might not be. She might really need help. 

What if she has an accomplice? What if she has a gun? (Clearly, I’ve watched way too many episodes of Criminal Minds and Without a Trace.) Listen, you’re in the Costco parking lot, surrounded by hordes of people. What could be safer?

What if she’s lying about having kids in the car? She might be. But what if she isn’t? It’s hot out. Too hot for kids to be sitting in a car parked on hot asphalt.

I don’t have any cash. You can buy her some gas. You can have her drive up to the pump behind you, and you can put some gas in her car in full view of the parking lot attendant. You won’t be giving her cash, L will be safe, and you will be loving Christ, exactly as he said you ought to.

While all this discussion was going on in my head, I pulled out of the parking lot. As I was about to go through the light at the corner, I made a split-second decision and turned right, then right again into the opposite end of the same parking lot. I spent the next several minutes circling the perimeter, then making my way up and down each row of cars, looking for the young woman.

She was gone.

Maybe she’d gotten into her car and driven away to look for help elsewhere. Maybe she’d taken her kids next door to Chick fil-A to cool off. Maybe she’d given up and decided to see how far her near-empty gas tank would take her.

When I’d gone through the entire parking lot twice, I knew it was time to give up. I’d missed my chance.

I went home and tucked L into bed, and then sat down in the peaceful quiet of my cool apartment. What had I just missed out on, I wondered? What if that woman was me, stranded by the side of the road and in genuine need of help? What if it was my sister? My mom?

Here’s the thing: Maybe she was trying to scam me. Maybe she didn’t have any kids. Maybe her gas tank wasn’t empty. If I offered to buy her some gas and she refused, I’d know the truth. But in all honesty, none of that matters. What matters is that someone approached me, asking for help, and even though there was a safe, logical way to provide it, my first response was to claim I couldn’t assist. Only after a minutes-long internal battle did I see what I could have done. And when I turned around, when I got to the right place in my head and in my heart, it was too late.

Not that it’s always too late to turn around – often, it isn’t. My point here is that, as followers of Jesus, who was a lover of thieves and miscreants and prostitutes, we ought to be ready and willing to give help whenever we can, to whomever we can. Even if we don’t know all the circumstances. Even if we might be getting scammed. Because an act of generosity can move mountains within the heart and soul of a lost person. And really, if we say everything we have comes from God, then all we are doing is sharing what he’s given us, right? I’m not talking about risking the safety of our children or putting ourselves in danger. I’m not talking about following someone down a dark alley in a bad part of town because he says he has a toddler who needs medical help (in that case, back – or run – away and call 9-1-1).

Jesus made it clear in Matthew 25: 34-40 that anything we do to provide for someone in need is the same as providing for him, our savior, who died on the cross for us. How, then, can we so easily turn aside when someone asks for help?

“’Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me,I was in prison and you came to visit me.’“

I had a friend in Chicago who carried a stash of twenty-dollar gas cards and McDonald’s gift certificate booklets in her purse. Whenever she met up with someone who claimed to need money for fuel or food, she would offer one or the other. Sometimes, the person backed away, usually muttering angrily, caught in an attempt at deception. But many times, her offer was gratefully accepted. Sometimes, she got to hear that person’s story and then tell her own, which meant sharing Christ. Once in a while, she even got to pray for someone.

I remember one time when I was with this friend, and we were approached by a woman who claimed to be homeless. She was dirty and smelled like she hadn’t showered in a week. She told us she hadn’t eaten in several days. We bought her lunch, which she inhaled faster than we could believe, and then we gave her the address of a Christian women’s shelter, then prayed for her and put her in a cab. We have no idea if she ever got to the shelter – we didn’t go so far as to follow up, and she could have asked the cabbie to take her somewhere else on our dime – but we did the most we could do in that moment to offer her an opportunity for more than she had before she met up with us. I remember that she was smiling as she drove away. My hope is that wherever she is today, she knows the love of Christ and has received more grace than she can take in.

I missed an opportunity to be Jesus to someone today, but it’s occurred to me that in that lost opportunity, maybe God is giving me a nudge. Telling me sit up and take notice of what he’s asked me to do in this world. I’m not going to waste the reminder. Could it be he wants to remind you, too?