Angel with a Trolley

I emerged from the grocery store unscathed (I think), but couldn’t open the boot of the car. Don, waiting in the car for me, got out. We’re not going anywhere, he said.

The battery had died. On a hybrid car, it’s not quite straightforward, and we stood considering our options. Call the neighbour to come and take us home where we could get our other car and the jump leads, and Don could consult YouTube to locate the hybrid’s battery.

Ah. We hesitated. The neighbour is nearly 80, taking isolation very seriously. He is so helpful; it would not be fair to put him in such a predicament. Who else could we ask for help? Who else could we even approach to speak with, as everyone is keeping their social distance and approaching a stranger in a car park seems akin to an assault?

I had seen Fiona from church inside the store. Just then she emerged, smiling. What can I do to help? she asked, unhesitating. She made room in her boot for our purchases; we got into the back seat and she drove us the three miles home. Then messaged later to see how we got on.

The angel with the shopping trolley, Don called her.

Where do we draw the line in social distancing?

The familiar story told by Jesus, of the man robbed, beaten up and left for dead, comes to mind. Two religious folk kept their distance. They had their reasons, no doubt. There were dangers inherent in helping someone – the muggers might still be around, the religious leaders would need to purify themselves – self-isolate – before carrying on with their agendas. An innkeeper would need money to look after the injured victim. They averted their eyes and kept on the path.

The Samaritan didn’t hesitate. He went to the aid of the injured man, using what he had to dress the wounds, lifting him onto his donkey and paying for his care at a nearby inn.

In the beginning, the word was with God and the word was God. Through him – through Jesus – everything was created. He looked at it and pronounced it good. But then evil muscled in, insinuating himself into humanity, and Jesus saw his creation mugged and robbed and left for dead. And he didn’t hesitate. He stepped in as a vulnerable human being, carrying our load of sins to the cross and thereby paying for our return to spiritual health and everlasting life. His intervention cost him dear. Physical agony. Humiliation. Profound isolation.

Yesterday we marked his triumphant entry into Jerusalem, at the beginning of this short week ending in him hanging on a cross. My Jesus, my saviour. Our Jesus, our saviour. Thank you.