Go and Do Likewise - gretchen huesmann

Okay… so I did a really crazy thing last September. Over the Labor Day weekend my sisters and I rode the Amtrak route across the northern states to enjoy a sister weekend. I boarded the train first, picked up a sister in Chicago, and another in Indiana. The three of us met up with two more sisters in New York for a weekend of girl-time.

Sounds like fun, right? Except, if you have read some of my previous blog posts, you know I had been dealing with severe back pain since May, and sitting up all night on a train was not exactly the best thing for someone with back pain and sciatic nerve issues. In spite of the crazy ride, we had an amazing time together, and I received some much needed sister support! But that’s not what this blog is about.

On the way home, after 15 hours on the train, I arrived at Chicago’s Union Station on Monday afternoon. Throughout most of our journey I had at least one sister around to help me. But our weekend was over and it was time to say good-bye to the last sister and wait for my train to Milwaukee.

While my fellow passengers rushed past me, I limped my way through Union Station at a snail’s pace dragging two pieces of rolling luggage behind me, each adorned with a pillow secured with rope.

With an empty stomach, I hobbled through the station in search of a hot meal, when I noticed something interesting. People were staring at me. I glanced down at my clothes in search of coffee spills. My yoga pants and oversized sweatshirt were devoid of stains. Oh! Of course! I was make-up free with hair that could rival Cruella de Vil. I must have appeared utterly scary.

But the looks I was getting were unusual- kind of cold even – no eye-contact or understanding. (I mean, hey, we were in a train station, right?) Until I glanced at my bags. The whole effect was shocking. Do they think I’m homeless, I wondered?!?!

“Who cares,” I thought. “I must find food.”

Although a bit disappointed to not find Chicago pizza, I settled for a Chicago Chili dog (with cheese, of course) and searched the tables for an open spot. It was crowded and the stares continued. I noticed several empty tables with no chairs. In dismay I realized there was no way I could drag the heavy metal chairs myself. I was going to have to ask a stranger for help, but I certainly didn’t feel anyone would accommodate by the way they were staring!

Feeling about as uncomfortable as I possibly could in this crowd, I felt like shouting, “Hey! I’m not homeless! Yes, that’s right. I have a house, and a minivan and I usually have much cuter hair than this!”

I literally laughed out loud as I imagined how this speech could go. “In fact,” I would add, “I’m an inspirational speaker!”

Thankfully the crowd heard only my laughter and none of my thoughts. But surely they now thought me crazy, too!

No one offered to help, and I carried on until I found a single chair at an empty table.

Grateful for a seat at last, I pondered the perspective I was experiencing.

How I longed for a smile! How I had prayed for a bit a kindness or an offer of a chair. How I yearned for understanding or a least a little sympathy for my obvious discomfort. In those few short moments since I had arrived at the station, I felt judged, despised, rejected, and grossly misunderstood.

I bowed my head to thank God for my meal and for this humbling eye-opening experience. I wondered how often I had judged – perhaps even with the same scorn, as if homeless-ness itself is deserving of judgment! How often had I, like the priest and Levite in the Good Samaritan parable (Luke 10), ignored the helpless in the name of busyness or fear or some other lame excuse? How often had I missed an opportunity to smile with empathy at someone in pain and perhaps offer a word of hope?

In the aforementioned parable an “expert in the Law” tested Jesus and asked, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus went on to share how a man who had been robbed, beaten and left for dead on a road. Two out of three men ignored the injured man. With eyes diverted, they walked passed him, unwilling to help.

The third, a Samaritan (not well-liked by most at the time) was the only one to show mercy to the man.

“Go and do likewise,” Jesus instructed them.

“Go and do likewise,” He continues to implore us.

Go and show mercy. To who? Our neighbor – anyone with whom we come in contact.

Our neighbor is the store clerk, the stranger in a train station, and yes, our neighbor next door.

Our neighbor is the homeless person, as he or she has no neighbor.

Our neighbor is the one in the waiting room – or the one waiting on you at your favorite coffee house.

Who is your neighbor? Your neighbor is the one that God puts in your path to share His mercy and love. Watch and wait. He puts us in all sorts of situations with various opportunities for expressing His loving-kindness.

That day in the train station taught me to open my eyes and look at others through Jesus’ lenses of love and compassion. When have you experienced a similar wake-up call? When have you been on the receiving end of mercy? I’d love to hear your stories!

Will you raise your eyes with me and offer a smile, a kind word, or gesture to your neighbor? After all, Jesus did all that and so much more for us! “Go and do likewise!”