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It was a handful of years ago now. Our family was hauling around the States on a trip back from Uganda. I stood at a gas station in Arkansas, an eye on the climbing digital numbers of my gas purchase. I was deliberately attempting not to look at the car parked two lanes over, whose car alarm was freaking out at what looked to be its owner.

I didn’t want to embarrass the woman. Poor thing. It didn’t help that her lapdogs were going bananas behind the glass.

I looked up at my oldest son climbing out of the car. Blonde, blue-eyed, and nearly eleven, he spoke in a low voice so that I inclined my head.

“Mom,” he asked, “shouldn’t we help her?”

My eyebrows pulled upwards. “Well, I don’t know. I was wondering, but most of the time there’s nothing you can do. It looks like her keys are locked in the car. I can’t really help with that. I’m just trying not to add to her embarrassment.”

“Yeah, but…” here, he paused. “Shouldn’t we ask?”

Now I was the one feeling slightly embarrassed, but with a curious hybrid of awe. This was part of the hopes I’d sheltered in the crannies of my heart, raising my kids in Africa: that they would choose a compassionate life (rather than their parents’ being thrust upon them). And yet, I was always pleasantly surprised when it showed up. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that’s a good idea. Maybe she doesn’t have her cell phone.”

He walked over amidst the car’s hissy fit; spoke in the woman’s ear. After conversing with her, I watched him slide his arm through the narrow gap of the backseat’s cracked window…and unlock the car. It is difficult to describe to you the expression of gratitude that lighted this woman’s face. She grabbed the keys, clambered to the front seat to silence the alarm. Parking lot and maddened canines fell into a vacuum of quiet.

She came over to express her gratitude, to lay a weary arm around his shoulder in effusive relief and thanks. And I?

I was proud of my son.

I pulled our loaner into gear. My delight in my son’s character rivaled questions of my own. In Uganda, need is everywhere. When I was there, I was there to help. One intern from our organization had looked at my husband and I: “Why am I not like this at home?”

There at the American gas station, I, too had made my own  subtle shift. My concern with the woman’s dignity had smothered the inquisitiveness of what I could actually do.

What We Step Over

Author Malcolm Gladwell writes of a fascinating study conducted of seminarians. They were asked to prepare a brief talk, some on the parable of the Good Samaritan. Then to some, the experimenter would say, “Oh, you’re late. They were expecting you a few minutes ago. We’d better get moving.” And to others, “It will be a few minute before they’re ready for you, but you might as well head over now.”

Along the way to the presentation, the seminarians all encountered “a man slumped in an alley, head down, eyes closed, coughing and groaning. The question was, who would stop and help?”

The prediction? Of course the students entering the clergy to help people and having just prepared a talk on the Good Samaritan would be the most likely to stop.

But the experimenters, concluded that thinking about the Good Samaritan “did not significantly increase helping behavior…Indeed, on several occasions, a seminary student going to give his talk on the parable of the Good Samaritan literally stepped over the victim as he hurried on his way.”

Gladwell states that

The only thing that really mattered was whether the student was in a rush. Of the group that was, 10 percent stopped to help. Of the group who knew they had a few minutes to spare, 63 percent stopped…The words “Oh, you’re late” had the effect of making someone who was ordinarily compassionate into someone who was indifferent to suffering—of turning someone, in that particular moment, into a different person. (emphasis added)

Gladwell argues compellingly that the immediate context of the situation actually had more power than the person’s convictions.

Keeping Our Eyes Up

Thinking of my own actions—er, inaction—at the gas station, I have to agree with him. In my ability to tangibly love others, I am fascinated (-slash-horrified) by how my state of mind can trump my deepest-held principles. My anger with my kids karate-chops my longing for a grace-filled home. My distraction by my to-do list flattens my desire to listen to a friend. Martha in the Bible did this, right? The lens of her mind’s eye so zoomed in on her task that she missed the Focus of all tasks.

Yes, this does influence my skepticism over the acceleration of life in our Western countries, the gas pedal flattened by urgent and real-time technologies. But more than anything, this flares my eyes open to how my context can level my convictions.

In my rush to do the actions of love, will I miss loving?

*The Tipping Point: How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference.