Lessons From a Half-Dead Man
- KDL
- Nov 12, 2024
- 9 min read
I'm taking a brief intermission from the anxiety series (here and here). I submitted the piece below to a contest and it took second place for non-fiction. Several new friends asked to see it, so here it is. I hope it will be a blessing to you. - KDL
The West Coast Christian Writers book club recently read the book An Unhurried Life by Alan Fadling. In the fifth chapter of the book “Unhurried Enough to Care” Mr. Fadling uses the Good Samaritan, the hero of one of Jesus’ parables, to encourage us to slow down so that we can love other people well. In one of his reflection questions at the end of the chapter, he suggests, “Read Jesus’ story of the good Samaritan again (Luke 10:30-37). This time, consider who you most identify with. Jesus? The priest or Levite? The half-dead man? The Samaritan? Imagine the story from that character’s perspective…” (Fadling, 2013, p. 90) The question is a familiar construct, but I was caught off guard by two of the characters that he listed - Jesus, and the half-dead man. I sort of chuckled and said to myself, I can’t be Jesus, maybe I’m the half-dead man. Then I stopped chuckling and my eyes filled with tears.
I do feel like I’m half-dead some days. I have multiple chronic, invisible health issues that sometimes prevent me from doing the things I want to do, either from precaution or unrelenting fatigue. My oldest child also battles a long term health issue. Our family has lost three grandmothers in the last four years. Every time our financial situation starts to look better a new big expense comes in. The last ten years have been one struggle after another, and I feel beat up, robbed, and, if I let myself go there, abandoned.
I decided to pause in my reading and take this question as if it were an assignment from the Teacher. I imagined the story from the perspective of the half-dead man. Of course he didn’t start off half-dead. He probably was on his way home from one of the annual Jewish festivals in Jerusalem.
I should not have waited so long to leave Jerusalem. The other pilgrims are far ahead of me and I am alone. I’ve heard all the stories. Every step seems treacherous, but I must get to Jericho before nightfall.
The festival was so beautiful and meaningful this year. I’m glad I came. It was hard to leave behind that special feeling of being close to God. I went to the temple this morning to offer one last prayer of thanksgiving. I lingered there not wanting to leave that special worship experience, but perhaps I stayed too long. Now I am traveling alone, and I am vulnerable. I feel it with every shifting shadow.
My step quickens in a vain attempt to make up some time, or maybe at least catch up with some other travelers. Instead, I stumble and when I glance back to see what tripped me I see a masked head - a bandit! There is the quick flash of a wooden staff, then darkness.
My skin is on fire and my lips and throat are like sand. For a moment I fear I have entered Sheol instead of Abraham’s bosom, but slowly I recognize my surroundings. The sun is beating down on my exposed flesh. I am slowly roasting in the relentless heat. Every limb aches with bruises and cuts that are caked with dirt and blood. The bandits have taken all of my clothing and my bag with my water, food, and money. I try to lift my head, but the whole world spins and I collapse.
I have no sense of time passing, but when I hear the crunch of sandals in the dirt on the pathway the sun is a little lower in the sky. “Help!” I cry, but even to my ears it sounds like the bleat of a newborn lamb. I open my eyes and see the distinctive stripes of a priest’s tunic. His footsteps pause, so I know he sees me. My heart leaps with hope, but then his footsteps continue on the road. I am unclean.
I fight to stay awake because I fear if I fall asleep again I won’t wake up. I repeat the Shema over and over in my mind.
Hear, O Israel: The LORD is our God, the LORD is one. You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your might.
I wince at the sound of footsteps again. I try to call out but cannot make a sound. My eyes are barely open and my vision is blurry, but I can see the distinctive linen ephod of a Levite. My heart sinks as he moves as far away as the narrow path allows. I am unclean. I am forsaken. Only God can save me now.
When the righteous cry for help, the LORD hears and delivers them out of all their troubles.
I am crying for help, but I’m not sure if the LORD will hear me. Am I righteous? Maybe I deserve this trouble. My mind drifts, but I fight to stay awake. It would be so easy to give up, to let the darkness take me, but I grit my teeth and pray for mercy.
The next sound I hear is the clopping gait of a donkey. I don’t even try to see who it is. I don’t want to get my hopes up again. If the religious won’t offer mercy, who will? I hear footsteps on the road, but they are coming closer. Through the slit of one eye I dare a look and realize it’s a Samaritan! I’m too weak to move, but internally I shrink back. Is he checking to see if the thieves missed anything of value? He walks away and I expect to be abandoned again. He speaks softly to the donkey and I hear the rustle of a saddle bag.
The Samaritan returns to my side and I feel the brush of a wet rag on my brow. It stings, but the sweet aroma of wine surrounds me as he carefully cleans each wound. He gives me a small sip of water. I try to say thank you but he urges me to rest. He wraps each wound with oil and rags and gently covers me with a robe. He cautiously lifts me over his shoulder and then drapes me over his donkey. As we begin to move up the road I wonder for a moment where he is taking me, but then I realize it doesn’t matter. I can’t stay here. Soon the cadence of my prayers matches the motion of the donkey.
This poor man cried, and the LORD heard him and saved him out of all his troubles.
I wake to the sensation of cool air. I still feel the donkey’s rough hair under my stiff limbs, but he is not moving. The Samaritan comes to my side and eases me onto his shoulder. He bears my weight as we shuffle into a low simple structure. Somehow, he lowers me onto a thin mat. He checks all of my wounds. He gives me more water and then tells me to rest.
I startle and immediately regret the quick motion. My head aches and my arms are heavy. My legs might as well be bread dough. I slowly roll my head to one side and bite my lip against the dull pain. I force my eyes open and take in the view of my surroundings. Slowly I recall the events that brought me here. Each wound reminds me of the cruelty of the bandits, and each bandage reminds me of the kindness of the Samaritan.
Soon a servant arrives with some water and a little broth. I ask where my friend is. He had to continue his journey but he has paid for me to stay here until I am well. There is nothing for me to do but rest and heal. How will I ever repay him? I will show mercy as he has shown mercy, and I will pray that he is blessed beyond measure for his kindness.
I will bless the LORD at all times; his praise shall continually be in my mouth. My soul makes its boast in the LORD; let the humble hear and be glad. Oh, magnify the LORD with me, and let us exalt his name together!
I sought the LORD, and he answered me and delivered me from all my fears.
After thinking through the story from the perspective of the half dead man, I returned to Mr. Fadling’s question. “...What do you notice from that angle? What impresses you? Where in the story do you think God wants to meet you?”
The first thing I noticed was that the man was traveling alone. The road from Jerusalem to Jericho was notoriously dangerous. It is a desert road, without sources of water or vegetation. It would have taken eight hours of steady walking to reach Jericho; a distance of eighteen miles and a descent of half a mile in elevation. The road was called the Way of Blood because it was a common place to be ambushed by bandits. Why was this man traveling alone? There is safety in numbers. We know the world is a pretty dangerous place. Between health issues, financial woes, relationship challenges, and manmade disasters of crime and negligence, any sense of safety is fleeting. Why do I sometimes travel alone? Although community may not prevent trouble from coming, it can make it easier to bear. When my daughter was in the hospital for several weeks, friends brought meals, provided babysitting for my younger children, visited her sickbed and prayed. Their love and support couldn’t erase the hardships of that time, but they made the load lighter. Lesson number one: when in danger, seek community.
The second thing I noticed is the sense of shame that arose from being passed over by the first two travelers. From looking at modern day pictures of the Way of Blood it is a very narrow path. I had always imagined a fairly broad path that would have allowed the priest and the Levite to at least pretend to themselves and any observers that they hadn’t seen the wounded man. If the man was conscious enough to know that he had been seen and abandoned by those he considered righteous, imagine the feelings of shame and despair that would have been heaped on his physical pain and suffering. It was not the man’s fault that the priest and the Levite valued their ritual cleanliness or their important religious duties over his life, but his emotions might have told him otherwise. Am I carrying a sense of shame and abandonment along with my trials? Do I feel like people who should have been a comfort instead poured the salt of indifference on my wounds? We need to remember that our value is not from the opinions or priorities of other people. Our value comes from God. In His word He tells us that we are so valuable that He knit us together in our mothers’ wombs (Psalm 139:13). He knows the number of hairs on our heads (Luke 12:7), and He knows our names (John 10:3). We also need to forgive the people who wouldn’t give mercy and instead gave more pain. They were not right in their actions, but continuing to bear the pain of this affront will not speed the healing of our wounds. Lesson number two: secure my identity in God’s love, and forgive uncaring people.
The third thing I noticed is how much the Samaritan in the story reflects the character of Jesus. The whole story, besides moralizing on how to be a good neighbor, is a metaphor for salvation. Life is a treacherous journey. There is a thief who wants to steal everything of value to us, including our lives. He has cruelly waylaid us and wounded us with sin. Ritualistic religion cannot save us because it is too busy casting judgment and maintaining a self-righteous image. We need a savior who is willing to come to us in our trouble. He pours out the purifying wine of His blood to cleanse us, and the ointment of the Holy Spirit to bring about healing. He clothes us with His righteousness. He carries us to a safe place and pays all of our debt. He had to go away on a journey, but He will return to see that all is put right. Every person is spiritually dying on the side of the road until Jesus meets them there and rescues them. The good news is that He is willing to rescue anyone who calls on Him (John 3:16-17). Further, when Jesus told this parable, He told his audience to go and do what the Good Samaritan did - be compassionate. If the Samaritan is like Jesus, then we can be, too, by demonstrating love to those hurting around us. We can’t save them any more than we could save ourselves, but our care may introduce them to Him. Lesson number three: trust my Savior for my rescue, and love others.
I don’t know if you identify with the half-dead man the way that I did. If you don’t now, maybe you will someday in the future. When trouble comes, and it will, I hope you will remember the lessons I learned from him. Make sure you are living in community even before danger is at your door. Define your value by what God says, not by what other people say or do. Forgive those around you who have made the trouble more painful. Most of all remember the mercy of our Savior Jesus who has rescued us from all of our troubles, and pour out His love on others.
Quoted scriptures
Deuteronomy 6:4-5 (ESV)
Psalm 34:1-4, 6, 17 (ESV)
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