Here is a simple, rule-of-thumb guide for behavior: Ask yourself what you want people to do for you, then grab the initiative and do it for them. Add up God’s Law and Prophets and this is what you get. [Matthew 7:12 (MSG)]
Back in 1964, it was the slaying of Kitty Genovese in New York City. For thirty-five minutes, at least 38 people watched a killer stalk and murder her. Twice the attacker was frightened off by lights or voices but, when the police didn’t arrive and no one came to the woman’s aid, her assailant returned to continue his vicious attack. Apparently, the only call to the police was made after the woman was dead.
The Genovese story made headlines across the nation in 1964 and I had no trouble remembering her story and name today. Nowadays, however, stories like hers don’t seem to give us pause. In February of this year, a Chicago man was sucker-punched, knocked unconscious, and landed in the street. Surveillance footage shows that more than a dozen bystanders failed to come to his aid in the nearly two minutes before a cab accidentally hit him. No one tried to pull him out of the street or even to stop traffic. In fact, within seconds of his being punched, while others watched, two men ran up and rifled his pockets, taking his wallet and cell phone. The young man died from his injuries a few hours later. Last April, a girl was attacked by a man and woman on a Chicago commuter train. As she screamed for help, fellow passengers on the train did nothing to help—they simply watched as the nineteen-year old was brutally beaten. Even more shocking is that, after the attack, rather than calling the police or coming to her aid, the witnesses left the train car. More than fifty years have passed and people still won’t get involved. Worse, in this era when onlookers post videos of muggings, schoolyard attacks and rapes, stories like these no longer seem to shock us.
As Christians, we know that we should treat others as we want to be treated. We’re sure that we would never be the kind of bystander who ignores a cry for help and picture ourselves as being the Good Samaritan. In reality, most of us would probably be more like the priest or Levite and avert our eyes or go the opposite way. This attitude of indifference is so prevalent that psychologists have a name for it: Bystander Apathy. Apparently, the greater the number of witnesses, the less likely we are to help. First, we look to others for clues—if they don’t appear to think help is necessary, neither do we. Second, with more bystanders, each person feels less individual responsibility. Surely, someone else has called for help we think as we walk away. Studies have shown that when others are present, people will help only 20% of the time but, when there is only one bystander, the likelihood of offering help raises to 80%. 80%, however, is not good enough.
As you might have guessed, the text for a recent sermon was the parable of the Good Samaritan. An interesting question was asked: who do you think represents Jesus in the story? The obvious answer is the Samaritan because he had mercy, showed love, paid the man’s debt and promised to return. It was suggested that we also consider the victim as a Jesus figure. He was beaten, stripped, and left to die, as was our Lord. He was ignored by the pious Jews, as was Jesus. He was accepted by the outcast Gentile, as was Jesus. I couldn’t help but think of our Lord’s warning that when we ignore the needs of others, we’ve ignored Him. While we may be willing to pay no attention to the screams of a woman in an alley, an unconscious man in the street, or a girl’s plea for help, are we willing to ignore the cries of our Lord?
Father, forgive us for being indifferent and unresponsive to our brothers and sisters. Instead of looking to others to know how to react, remind us to look to you. Don’t let us turn our backs to those in need; give us courage enough to become involved.
Last week, I sat down to write in my gratitude journal and couldn’t believe my eyes. I hadn’t written in it for seven days. “I write in it every day!” I protested. Surely there was a mistake—pages must be missing. It wasn’t and they weren’t—the mistake was mine and it wasn’t pages that were missing; it was gratitude! It had been a week jam-packed with family, errands, chores, and writing—a week of “same old, same old,” just at a faster pace than usual. That, however, was no excuse for a heart oblivious to the blessings of seven ordinary days. Surely, within each one of those unexceptional but busy days there had been something for which I could thank God. Although I always offer thanks in my daily prayers, that journal has been a way of making me mindful of God’s specific blessings of each day—a way of making me see His hand in a life of the “same old, same old.”
I watched the snowy egret at the beach and couldn’t quite decide if he was an exceptionally smart bird, just plain lazy, or a little of both. Egrets are excellent fishermen and will wade in the shallows stirring up the water with their feet to flush out delicacies like fish, frogs, and crayfish. Other times, they exhibit great patience as they stand nearly immobile for several minutes just waiting for their prey to come near enough for them to strike and catch dinner.
I have a love-hate relationship with my camera and its autofocus. An enormous golden silk spider hangs over the boardwalk we take through the mangroves to the beach. Officially the Nephila clavipes, the female of this species is the largest non-tarantula-like spider in North America. This impressive arachnid has spun her giant orb-like web high above the walkway. She often scares tourists when they glance up to see her suspended above their heads. While I managed to get a shot that of spider, I’d hoped to get a few more of others that have spun their webs down closer to the boardwalk. Autofocus, however, was my enemy. Because their webs were nestled in the trees, the camera looked right through the spiders and focused on the large branches and leaves behind them. My camera focused only on the spider when nothing was behind the creature, but it had plenty on which to focus when pointed at the spiders in the mangroves. The ease of having a small point-and-shoot camera that is so easy to use keeps me loving (but occasionally hating) it.
Devotions of the Heart 