Green light. Green for GO! The driver in front of you at the stoplight doesn’t move. Probably texting, you mutter to yourself. You tap the horn.
"Come on, buddy!" (or "lady," because you aren't sure who is at the wheel.) Not yelling yet, but your helpless hands stabbing the air over your head, should alert the offender. Is this oblivious driver chatting it up with the passenger beside them, or is he/she deep in hands-free conversation over which fast-food stop will provide dinner-in-a-bag tonight?
You're louder now, “Let’s go!” After all, you have a doctor’s appointment, or a child awaiting you after school; or you just want to get through the intersection before that light turns red again. You have a lot to do.
You offer helpful coaching: "Pick your shade of green, already!" After all, life's short! And the line of traffic isn't!
But you don’t know what's going on in that car. Maybe his doctor’s office just called to set up the appointment to discuss cancer treatment options. Perhaps there’s a “termination of employment” letter crumpled on the floor next to her. What if the passenger just got a text the driver wasn’t supposed to see?
I've been that frustrated driver behind the car that doesn't go when the light turns green. Challenging business, this sharing of life's road with others. Some years ago, while I worked on a real estate license, our instructor taught an important first principle of customer relations: “Remember,” he said,” always tell the customer that if you were them, you would feel exactly the same way.” Then came his big grin, as our teacher clarified: “After all, if you were that person, you WOULD feel the same way!” I imagine every time he taught that lesson, he got some laughs. But empathy in sales is serious business.
However, this was not new instruction. By the time we reach adulthood, most of us have had lessons in trying to understand others. Harper Lee's Pulitzer Prize winning novel, To Kill a Mockingbird is one of my life's most significant touchstones. The classic's protagonist, Atticus Finch, a small-town Alabama lawyer during the Great Depression, is bravely defending a black man falsely accused of raping a white woman. A loving widower left with son, Jem, and daughter, Scout, Atticus has several teachable moments in the novel, trying to help his children understand prejudice, racism, and simply, people who are different from themselves. Atticus counsels his daughter on several occasions: “ First of all,” he said, “if you learn a simple trick, Scout, you’ll get along a lot better with all kinds of folks. You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view {. . .} until you climb into his skin and walk around in it. . . .You never know a man until you stand in his shoes and walk around in them."
More deeply ingrained in some of us, is Jesus's commandment, “Love your neighbor as yourself," which appears several times in the New Testament books of Matthew, Mark and Luke, as well as other books throughout the Bible. It is a phrase easily memorized by children, but, in truth, this is hard gospel. He wasn’t talking only about our "next door" neighbor. As the Messiah traveled throughout Galilee, proclaiming the truth of His kingdom and healing in the streets the paralytic, the blind, and those tormented by demons, he made clear his brand of loving others. It's often the disquieting “other guy,” the grimy woman begging for your dollars outside of a restaurant, the road-weary man seated on the curb near Target, playing guitar for coins to feed his wife and children scattered there around him like broken branches, or the driver in the car in front of you, who refuses to move for reasons we don’t know.
Do we await a divine nudge to give such people love? We may not "feel" any urge to help. Do we try to discern if their need is legitimate or if they will spend our offering wisely? "Love your neighbor," is a directive without footnotes or exceptions for doubtful characters. The end of it is convicting: ". . .as yourself." If you were homeless and hungry, what would you hope for from a passing stranger?
So perhaps greater than the value of money, I could give mercy to the poor distracted soul at the stoplight. Even if he or she is texting, what if I pray a moment for better focus on traffic and dropping the dangerous habit? Would you have paused to wonder, or shaken your fist at me on a day, years ago, when I slowed the world behind me.? There I sat, paralyzed at the traffic light I could scarcely see, awash in guilty grief that my father's battle with leukemia would soon take him to Heaven, but away from me.
The light is yellow now. Time to proceed with caution, taking a moment to consider. I hope the driver up there is okay, and makes it home. Sometimes the highway is littered with pieces of our hurting hearts, our ragged relationships, or sobering news we never wanted to hear. This is a hard road. Jesus commanded we love that troubled and troublesome traveler. I'll remember that you may have to forgive my frailty one day. I'm still working on "climbing in."
