So how do I mingle compassion and respect here? And by "respect" I mean not just deference for his person, his dignity, but also for his privacy. He may very well want to be left alone. And if someone desires that — however convinced we may be of their rampant "needs" — musn’t we, as Christians, respect that? Or do we charge in like marauding spiritual warriors, crying, "We’ve got the Lord’s work to do. Dignity and privacy be damned!"
Let’s face it. Just because you have the Holy Spirit doesn’t mean you’re not annoying. I’m annoying. So in this situation, I’m just as capable as the next well-intentioned Christian of mucking things up. Probably more so. Possibly irreparably. Which is why I’m blogging about it instead of banging on Bill’s door.
Because … if I think I’m loving someone, but he feels bothered, have I loved him? If I think I’m serving someone, but he feels burdened, have I served him?
It’s interesting. As I’ve prayed about this, the Lord’s graciously given me three things: the chance to see Bill again, an answer to prayer, and, because of the first two, an end to this story — for now. Here’s what’s happened.
The other night, my husband and I went for a walk. I confess we did stop at a nearby apartment complex and inquire after Bill. But if he lived there, no one knew him. A little dejected, we stepped back to the sidewalk …. and there he was, limping toward us with his cane in one hand and a bag in the other. He wore a white, floppy hat and a stained sweatshirt. His head was down. I was relieved to see him, so, impulsively, I spoke.
"Bill?"
He looked up, wary.
And I kept talking.
"Hi. Yeah. We met you — the other night?"
We reintroduced ourselves. He spoke then, remembering us.
"Oh, yeah. Hi."
This time, I smelled alcohol. I saw beer in his bag.
"So how’re you doing? You okay?"
"Oh, yeah. Everything turned out fine. I just hadn’t eaten. But I’m okay." He didn’t look directly at us. He fiddled with his cane.
"Well, we’re really glad to hear that."
"Yeah, you know. Thanks for everything."
My husband reminded him, "Hey, I’ve still got your beer. Do you want me to bring that by? You live right here?"
"Yeah," he gestured vaguely. "Up those stairs. But you can just keep the beer. That’s okay."
"You sure?"
"Oh, yeah. Uh, don’t bother. Save it for the Chargers game or something," he insisted.
"Okay. Thanks."
He spoke as he started to shuffle away.
"Well, it was good to see you."
We didn’t know what else to say.
"Yeah. Good to see you, too. Glad you’re doing okay. We’ll see you around, hopefully."
And that was it.
Awkward. Polite. But clear: "I feel humiliated. I like my privacy."
Back home after this encounter, I opened my Bible. The Lord led me to Proverbs 19:2:
"It is not good to have zeal without knowledge, nor to be hasty and miss the way."
Ah. My answer to prayer.
O Lord, temper my zeal with knowledge. I don’t want to be hasty. I don’t want to miss the way. I’ll wait for You to show me.
Wait and pray. Wait and pray.
*sigh* so much to take in, I had never taken the time to think about what the other person might want, and my desire to serve really not being loving. Thanks for the food for thought.
Wow. This was a great series. That Proverbs verse was a MAJOR wake-up call for me. I totally would have rushed in, doing the crusader thing, and it would have been woefully wrong. Thanks for this.
And may your obli heal well.
-Hat
Thank you for the series on the Good Samaritan. I just discovered your blog (linked to it from Bene Diction Blogs On) and I have already bookmarked it so that I can check in regularly. I pray you a blessed Advent.
Ray
What a great story, and an excellent ending. It’s good to be reminded that you’re only doing someone a favor if THEY see it that way. Thanks!