Bit

Carnivore

I got bit by a squirrel the other day. I'm not bitter, though, since his bite wasn't premeditated. It was my own fault. I've been feeding this squirrel for months off and on, and it was bound to happen eventually. I know I'm not supposed to feed wildlife, but I couldn't help feeding this cute little fella. Frequently, he would approach me when I was outside and be lured close by peanuts. I had him eating out of my hand. As he mistook my index finger for a brazil nut, I was reminded that I was no St. Francis of Assisi.

The thing is, you would think I'd learn my lesson and keep my distance. Even with the images of carnage still playing over in my head, I fed him again recently. I guess the thrill of close encounters with creation overrides my instinct to keep clear of my little ravenous rodent.

I've been bit before (metaphorically speaking), as I'm sure many of us have. The scenario plays out the same: you try to help someone, they come closer, and then they bite you. Many of us have felt the sting from trying to help someone out. Often, it leaves us in a bit of confusion and causes us to think twice about doing it the next time. I've learned from my farmer friends that getting stepped on, kicked, bit, and smelling like shtuff comes with the job. You can expect it to happen, even when you take precautions. No matter how much you feed and care for the mule, given the chance, it will bite. Getting stung by people is to be expected; it goes with the territory. That's not a cynical statement but a practical one.

I love the story of the Good Samaritan. As Jesus tells it, there was a man who was attacked and left for dead along side a road. A couple religious people walked by but didn't stop to help. The Samaritan did -- and it cost him. He was moved by compassion -- not duty, obligation or personal satisfaction. Helping this wounded man interrupted his plans and cost him time, effort and money. He couldn't just pass by. Something within him wouldn't let him pass on by.

Jesus doesn't tell us why the religious people didn't stop. He left it to us to come up with our own assumptions. Admittedly, we don't think very highly of these two who walked on by. I wonder if they had helped people before and been burned? I wonder if they had been taken advantage of or had been hurt while trying to help in the past. I wonder if they had become cynical and suspicious because of previous experiences. Whatever their reasons might have been, we know that they just walked on by.

When I was learning to ride a bike, I fell off a few times and still have the scars on my knees to tell the story. My mom would put a bandage on my knee and tell me to go and try again. She probably knew that if I let my failure and pain stop me from trying again, it would be quite a while before I would learn how to ride a bike.

I don't want to diminish the sting that some of us have felt from helping others. It's legitimate pain. I feel the same sort of pain when a student that I have invested in makes foolish choices that ends up costing them or when helping someone comes around to bite me in the butt. The reality is that people are messy. We're not called to have mercy because it feels good or is good karma. We are called to have mercy because Jesus is merciful. We risk the bite in order to live in that place Jesus lived.

I think Jesus understood very well the cost of unappreciated mercy. He anticipated the sting before it was delivered but his love and mercy compelled him anyhow. I would love to be able to live with that kind of determined, selfless love. Someday, perhaps.

If I've given because Someone has moved my heart to give, what happens next isn't my responsibility. I do believe in being good stewards, but I don't think mercy can be dispensed according to solid accounting principles. We must remember that it is not ourselves that receives the return on the investment.

"In the final foolishness of love, Jesus freely accepts death on the cross"(Brennan Manning, The Importance of Being Foolish).