He Came for Me

I always saw the Parable of the Good Samaritan through the lens of the good Samaritan, the good we should do for others. I never saw it through the eyes of the victim until now:

“A men fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead.” (Luke 10:30)

My counselor earlier this year said to me, “This kind of betrayal is life-altering. Give yourself some time.” Especially for a painstakingly tender heart of mine. So many times I’ve mumbled in exasperation, God, you got the wrong girl. I am so not fit for this. Please, please pick someone stronger. My heart is weak, it’s too soft, it feels everything and feels for everyone. I forgive often because I understand, I feel what they battled with, where they came from, why they made the decisions they’ve made. I am deeply empathetic. Which makes it extremely difficult when I don’t receive the empathy or grace I often give. It makes it extremely difficult when people don’t understand me. I understand them, how can they not put themselves in my shoes and understand me?

And that’s the cry of the victim, too, right? To not just be seen, but understood. Trauma can isolate but the real issue is the validation beneath the surface. Sometimes we just need someone to want to carry the suffering with us. We feel understood, held, validated for our brokenness, and free to not pretend or not feel rushed to fix it. When someone understands and holds that moment with us, ah, it changes everything. Just like the Good Samaritan. The victim was left half-dead, and still the passerby’s “saw” but found reasons to not validate, not to understand, not to empathize, and therefore not to engage. They justified their own actions instead.

“A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise, a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.” (vs 31-32)

Some people that I expected to understand, expected to stop at my cries for help, people who perhaps “should” be the ones to stop and help, instead pass me by and pass me off. “Oh, she’ll be fine,” they say. “She’s done it before, she’ll do it again.” “She signed up for this.” 

“It’s not the worst that could happen.” “We all go through it.” “Why is she complaining so much, she’s not dead.” “Well, I’m burned out like her, too.” And off they go.  I am seen but not validated. Acknowledged but not understood. Noticed but not enough to engage.

People who should care, who should know what to do, who should provide and comfort and plan – pass me by on the opposite side, in a hurry to the real mission site, in a hurry to deliver the real provisions they have, to give their support to the real service that is needed. I am just collateral damage, taking care of me will cost far more than their normal acts of service.

And yet, I lay there still, waiting, dying

Flies and gnats buzzing in anticipation of what flesh they can soon feast on

And suddenly, He comes for me

Half-dead (hope, trust, compassion crushed) and half-alive (only faint senses)

And carries me, my broken body, Limbs hanging, 

half-unconscious, bruised and bleeding

My Good Samaritan, God Himself coming to rescue me, to carry me to safety when no one else would

Jesus

He came for me.

 

“But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight.

He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him. The next day he took two silver coins and gave them to the inn keeper with the instruction, “Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.” “Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” The man answered Jesus, “The one who treated him with mercy.”  (Luke 10:33-37)

*As always with journals and emotions, especially anger which is often irrational, the feelings aren't necessarily the truth. For example, feeling abandoned doesn't mean I am. Sometimes victim mentality isolates us from the real truth, that there are many Good Samaritans, for example. And yet, emotions have a need to simply express themselves, like the Psalms, like Lamentations. So this series of blogs are insights into my own lamentations, and hopefully it encourages you to create space for yours. And meet Jesus along the way.