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

by Steve Moore

  The drive from my house in suburban Atlanta to my office is about twelve miles. In that twenty-five-minute commute I drive past ten of the approximately three hundred thousand Protestant churches in the United States. To put it in perspective, that is about one Protestant church for every one hundred people, compared to one McDonald's for every 2,400 people and one post office for every 940 people. I'm thrilled about the proliferation of churches in our country and agree with the premise that the best way to bring new people into the kingdom is to start new churches. There are no doubt hundreds, even thousands of lost people living in the same communities I drive through between my home and my office. But they are lost in plain sight. When considering the strength of the church, the strength of the harvest force, and the scope of available resources, they have more access to the gospel than perhaps anyone on the planet. Everyone has the same need for forgiveness, but not everyone has the same access to the gospel.

  IMPORTANCE VERSUS SEQUENCE

  In the last few chapters I have been making a case that the highest PageRanked, issue-based passions of God are serving the poor, freeing the oppressed, and in this chapter, saving the lost. A common question you may be asking is “which of these three is most important?” Some would argue that these passions are inseparable in the heart of God and the question itself is flawed. Others would suggest saving the lost is much more important than meeting any temporal needs and look suspiciously on anyone engaged in compassion ministries that does not repeatedly offer a disclaimer about the priority of the eternal over the temporal, the soul over the body.

  I think there is general consensus around the need for a both/and or “all of the above” approach that expresses the fullness of God's heart for the poor, oppressed, and lost. But agreeing on that point does not answer the haunting question, “What is the priority?” It is helpful to understand there is a difference between priority in terms of importance and priority in terms of sequence. With lostness, eternity is at stake. There is something much worse than any level of suffering or exploitation: hell. Forever. That makes lostness more important than poverty or oppression, though we must employ an “all of the above” strategy in order to reflect the fullness of God's heart.

  But sharing the gospel, especially when serving people trapped by poverty and exploitation, is rarely a priority in terms of sequence. Upon arriving in a refugee camp where people are literally starving to death in hell-on-earth conditions, the highest priority in terms of sequence is giving them food, water, and other basic services. Although whatever practical ministry we provide is done “in Jesus' name,” the initial priority in many contexts is given to serving rather than proclaiming as it relates to sequence. Even where the physical circumstances of the needy are not “life and death,” when engaging people from a Hindu, Buddhist, or Muslim background, the process of communicating the gospel unfolds in layers of relationship, cultural sensitivity, and unconditional love, often at a pace that is much slower than what is appropriate for compassion ministries.

  This distinction between importance and sequence is a point of confusion as well as caution. It brings confusion when those engaged in compassion ministries are wrongly criticized for giving priority, in terms of sequence, to physical needs. It is a point of caution when the emphasis on the horizontal (compassion ministries) indefinitely consumes the vertical (proclamation ministries). An “all of the above” approach that gives attention to poverty, oppression, and spiritual darkness as a reflection of the fullness of God's heart, does not suggest equal emphasis at every point in the journey. There is a difference between importance and sequence.

  OVERLAPPING CIRCLES: THE SWEET SPOT OF GOD'S COMPASSION

  The overlap between poverty, oppression, and lostness is remarkable. It has been said that the lost are the poor and the poor are the lost. More than eight out of ten of the world's poorest people live in a geographic region of the world known as the 10/40 Window, a rectangular-shaped area from North Africa to the Pacific Rim, from 10 degrees to 40 degrees north latitude. An estimated 2.67 billion individuals living in approximately 5,710 unreached people groups are in the 10/40 Window. The 10/40 Window also contains the largest unreached people groups, over one million. In addition, the 10/40 Window contains the overwhelming majority of the world's least evangelized megacities—that is those with a population of more than one million. The top fifty least evangelized megacities are all in the 10/40 Window.3

  Everyone has the same need for “food,” but not everyone has the same access to provision.

  Everyone has the same need for “freedom,” but not everyone has the same access to justice.

  Everyone has the same need for forgiveness, but not everyone has the same access to the gospel.

  God cares about every need, no matter who is involved or where that person lives. But as we have seen in these last few chapters, the Bible selectively emphasizes God's heart for the poor, the oppressed, and the lost. The overlap of these three circles could be seen as the sweet spot of God's compassion and a priority for our action. You can expect God to give you life-shaping experiences that heartlink you to these issue-based causes. As you refine your understanding of the highest purpose for your life, it will resonate with the PageRanked passions of God. Yet we must be careful to avoid extremes, recognizing that when Jesus clarified His mission by saying He “came to seek and save what was lost,” He did it on the heels of personal ministry to a rich Jew named Zacchaeus (Luke 19:1-9). But it is also important to note that Zacchaeus, reflecting his sensitivity to God's prompting, immediately committed to reimburse those he had exploited as a tax collector, no doubt many of them poor, paying back four times the amount stolen. The overflow of Jesus' ministry to a rich Jew brought restorative blessing to others suffering under the weight of unjust power.

  AN UNLIKELY WITNESS

  In 1997 I bought a yak. Purchasing long-haired, high-altitude livestock native to the Himalayan region doesn't sound like a very smart investment for a city slicker like me, so let me explain. In 1996 I led a group of church leaders on a prayer journey to Tibet. While there I had the opportunity to share with a small group of westerners in a Bible study and prayer group. During our prayer time I found myself in a small group of three consisting of me and two twenty-something young women from Europe; I'll call them Helene and Alexandra. I was struck by their passion for God and commitment to join Him in a relentless search for the lost in the region. At one point in our prayer time, I remember opening my eyes as they lay prostrate on the cold wooden floor, weeping and begging God to open a door for them to move to a very difficult region of Tibet to gain access to a specific people group. I was amazed at the fact that these two single women, smart, attractive, and filled with potential, were pursuing the highest purpose for their lives, one that connected their deepest sense of fulfillment with their greatest sense of accomplishment, in a very difficult place. I committed to pray for them and offered to do what I could to help them.

  Now back to the yak farming. The next year I was contacted by these two girls who explained how a large region of China where Tibetan nomads live had been hit with a third year of severe winter, with the worst storms in fifty years. It had devastated the yak herds, killing by some estimates more than one million, as much as 40 percent of the yak population. Piles of dead animals could be seen by the roads. As many as eighty thousand Tibetan herdsmen had been affected. The Tibetan nomads rely on yaks not only for meat but for milk, clothing, shelter, and fuel. Herding families tend to be very poor, typically getting by on an income of between $100 and $300 a year. Money is earned by trading animals for grain or selling them or their meat for money. There were reports of Tibetan nomads, in total desperation, breaking into cars looking for food.

  Tibetans in this region of China are among those with the least access to the gospel. They live with the frustration and unresolved tension of their ancient land having been absorbed by China. The combination of poverty and spiritual darkness was obvious. They were in the sweet s
pot of God's compassion, and it is no surprise that He moved on the heart of Helene and Alexandra to join Him in taking action. They hatched a plan to raise funds that would be used, under the direction of Tibetan nomadic clan leaders, to organize a livestock exchange whereby herdsmen who had yaks they could spare would sell them to the leaders, who would in turn give them to others who needed them most.

  On a high grassland plateau, a meeting of Tibetan nomads was convened. It took several days for everyone to arrive. Helene and Alexandra had raised thousands of dollars to purchase yaks for a fair price and give them to nomads who were in desperate need. They wanted very much for this act of compassion to be done in Jesus' name and to open the hearts of lost people to how much God loves them, but it seemed impractical. This would have to be a time when lostness was a priority in terms of importance but not sequence. So they thought.

  As the transaction was about to begin, their Tibetan friend, who was not a Christ follower, made some unexpected comments. He explained to the people gathered that Helene and Alexandra were not Tibetan Buddhists but rather followed Jesus. He reminded them that while influential and wealthy people from the West had sent money to their region, it went directly to monasteries and did very little to enrich their lives. But Helene and Alexandra wanted to make sure their actions were a blessing to the people, and they were motivated to serve the people because of their love for God. Amazing!

  This is one example of what it looks like to take the initiative in crossing boundaries and overcoming barriers to show God's mercy by serving others. And though they were thousands of miles away from my home, our connected world provided the opportunity for me to become a yak farmer, partnering with two European women living in the sweet spot of God's compassion to bless Tibetan nomads I'll never meet, at least not on this side of eternity. Life in a connected world can seem like an out-of-control roller coaster, but what we are exploring together in this journey, the process of PageRanking your passions to fuel the highest purpose for your life in order to leverage your giftedness in ways that make an eternal difference, is not nearly as complicated as you might think.

  Chapter 10

  WHAT IS YOUR LIFE?

  It has been said that if you can worry, you can meditate. It's the same skill set, just different thoughts. I would suggest that if you have ever been angry, you can be passionate. It's a similar mixture of primal emotions, just a different focus. That's important because I meet people on occasion who have struggled so long to discover their passions that it has become easier to believe they are destined for a passionless existence. They doubt if they will ever experience the combustible mixture of information, volition, and emotion associated with high levels of passion. You may be tempted to believe that the focus and freedom that come with PageRanked passion and a purposeful existence is for everyone but you. If so, I believe Amy Smith's1 testimony has an important lesson for you; but before I tell you her story, I want to revisit some of the key ideas we've looked at so far.

  LIFE IN A CONNECTED WORLD

  Life in a connected world is exhilarating and exasperating. We have more information than we could possibly manage along with faster, smaller techno-gadgets that have changed everyone's expectations about what it means to be accessible and informed. Physical proximity, as it relates to assigning responsibility for Good Samaritan activity, is important but incomplete. It is complicated by virtual proximity. And because in a connected world I'm virtually proximal to almost everyone on the planet, I can learn about the needs of others, perhaps even see their faces, hear their voices, and know their names, in almost real time. Being one hyperlink away from tragic, chronic, and pandemic needs makes us increasingly vulnerable to information overload and compassion fatigue. The exit ramps between compassion and action are tempting. In this global village we're seeing more “wounded travelers” than ever on the side of the road. But it is easier than ever to justify passing by on the other side.

  The goal of faithful Christ followers is not to filter out needs but to organize and prioritize them, to PageRank issue-based passions based on life-shaping experiences that heartlink us with God-ordained causes and intersect with His purpose for our lives. We are called to take the initiative in crossing boundaries and overcoming barriers to show God's mercy by serving others. Even if they aren't like us, don't like us, won't thank us, and can't repay us, which brings me back to Amy Smith's story.

  SERVE YOUR WAY TO THE TOP

  Amy Smith is passionate about serving others. She has discovered that her hospitality gift along with her husband Carl's gift of giving and passion to develop people is a powerful combination that God will bless. But finding that sweet spot of service was a journey in itself.

  After the birth of their first daughter, Amy found herself among the 10 to 15 percent of women who struggle with postpartum depression. The joy of motherhood existed simultaneously with loneliness and confusion, a desert season of the soul. Amy began to wonder, Maybe we need a new church? But that didn't help. Well-intentioned friends thought she may be harboring unconfessed sin; others suggested she should dig deeper in her personal devotions. In fact Amy was seeking God as desperately as ever. And though as imperfect as anyone, she was sure all her shortcomings were buried in the ocean of God's grace.

  Then like the sun breaking through the clouds for a moment on a long, overcast day, Amy felt she heard God's answer: She was to serve her way out of the valley. That revelation led her to pray a powerful and dangerous prayer: “Let my heart be broken by the things that break the heart of God.” Just as unexpectedly as the ray of sunshine that highlighted service, Amy sensed God prompting her with specific direction: Serve refugees.

  Really? That was her husband Carl's response. Having grown up in Miami, he had a very narrow and stereotypical understanding of what refugee ministry might look like. But Carl was not only committed to serve alongside Amy, he was prepared to step up and lead the way. Within a week Carl and Amy found themselves reading a bulletin insert at their suburban Atlanta church, with a list of about sixteen ways to put your compassion into action. One of them jumped off the page as Carl scanned the options: Host a refugee family for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. Hospitality and generosity were colliding with an opportunity to serve refugees. This had to be God.

  Carl called the World Relief office in Atlanta to get more information, only to discover all the families had been placed. Maybe God was just testing to see if they were willing? On the contrary, He was simply making it easier for the World Relief office to deal with a last-minute cancelation. Carl got the call back, and the door was opened for a Liberian family to join the Smiths, along with another couple from their church, for a traditional Thanksgiving dinner.

  Over turkey and stuffing, the Smiths would learn about the civil war in Liberia that killed as many as two hundred thousand people and produced one million refugees. About forty-five thousand refugees, including the family sitting around their dining room table, had made their way to a camp across the border in Ghana. Carl tried unsuccessfully to imagine what it would be like to flee your homeland, pushing your wife in a wheelbarrow because she had been hacked like tall grass in the bush by machete-wielding men in acts of cross-tribal violence. The Teamah family, now sitting comfortably at the Smiths' table, had spent the last fourteen years in a refugee camp, arriving in Atlanta just eight days before joining Carl and Amy for Thanksgiving dinner.

  The sharing around the table exposed a common faith, and one of their new friends suggested they pray for Liberia and the people back in the camp. During the prayer time, Carl slipped away to encourage the children of both families to play more quietly. After the prayers came to a close, he offered a sincere apology for the background noise, saying a few minutes of peace and quiet was not too much to ask of the children.

  Surprised by Carl's concern over the noise, one of their Liberian guests spoke up, saying, “Peace to us is no bullets.” Those six words were chiseled on Carl's heart. They removed scales from his eyes and r
eleased a wellspring of empathy from deep inside his soul. Over the next few years compassionate action included driving lessons, job hunting, and ongoing discipleship, until two years later Carl had the privilege of accompanying Paul, a member of this family, back to the camp in Ghana to invest in church leaders with the goal of sending people back to the sixteen districts of Liberia for church-planting ministry. Paul was the first person to willfully return to the refugee camp after being resettled. He had started a church in the camp, and after receiving so much from his new friends in America, he just had to give back.

  For Carl and Amy this Liberian family would become the first of a number of “wounded travelers” God would allow them to serve in His name. Amy marvels at how God can turn anything into an opportunity to bless others. The Smiths committed to host a Somali family of eleven arriving from a refugee camp in Kenya. Their existence had been so primitive that it was deemed they needed at least one week living with an American family before moving into their own apartment. They had never used an indoor toilet or even turned a modern doorknob. Carl and Amy were up for the challenge.

  But in the middle of that hectic week, Carl's mother died; he had to return to Florida. This Muslim family watched with amazement and curiosity as Carl grieved, but not as one without hope. In a very natural and unforced conversation, Amy found herself sitting around the kitchen table explaining to her guests the reason for the hope that was within her and Carl. Death was being swallowed up by life as only God could do it.