Jesus was asked, “Who is my neighbor?” and he replied with this famous story in Luke 10,
30 “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead.31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.33 But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity.34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him.35 The next day he took out two denarii,[b]gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’36 Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”
While the Samaritan has been called ‘good’ while we’ve looked down on the priest and Levite for two thousand years, I’d like to offer them a little sympathy. By nature of their roles as a priest and Levite, they had somewhere to go. They were likely in a hurry.
In Social Intelligence: The New Science of Human Relationships, Daniel Goleman relates this study, One afternoon at the Princeton Theological Seminary, forty students waited to give a short practice sermon on which they would be rated. Half the students had been assigned random biblical topics. The other half had been assigned the parable of the Good Samaritan, who stopped to help a stranger by the roadside, an injured man ignored by people supposedly more “pious.” The seminarians worked together in a room, and every fifteen minutes one of them left to go to another building to deliver his sermon. None knew they were taking part in an experiment on altruism. Their route passed directly by a doorway in which a man was slumped, groaning in evident pain. Of the forty students, twenty-four passed right by, ignoring the plaintive moans. And those who were mulling over the lessons of the Good Samaritan’s tale were no more likely to stop and help than were any of the others.1 For the seminarians, time mattered. Among ten who thought they were late to give their sermon, only one stopped; among another ten who thought they had plenty of time, six offered help. Of the many factors that are at play in altruism, a critical one seems to be simply taking the time to pay attention; our empathy is strongest to the degree we fully focus on someone and so loop emotionally. People differ, of course, in their ability, willingness, and interest in paying attention—a sullen teen can tune out her mother’s nagging, then a minute later have undivided concentration while on a phone call to her girlfriend. The seminarians rushing to give their sermon were apparently unwilling or unable to give their attention to the moaning man, presumably because they were caught up in their thoughts and the press of hurrying, and so never attuned to him, let alone helped him.2 People on busy city streets worldwide are less likely to notice, greet, or offer help to someone else because of what has been called the “urban trance.” Sociologists have proposed that we tend to fall into this self-absorbed state on crowded streets, if only to gird against stimulus overload from the swirl around us. Inevitably, the strategy requires a trade-off: we shut out the compelling needs of those around us along with the mere distractions. As a poet put it, we confront “the noise of the street dazed and deafened.”
While at a Seminary and studying the parable of the Good Samaritan, these students in a hurry still passed by the person in need. What did the seminary students have in common with the priest and Levite besides working toward being religious professionals? They were walking. Even at the speed of walking we can be in too big a hurry to notice the person beside us. Most of us don’t live at the speed of walking but at vehicles 5 mph or more over whatever the speed limit is. Driving down a highway, we can see a wreck and feel no responsibility to stop. Our speed gives us distance from the problems of others. If we want a more compassionate world, the answer is not more rules, regulations, ought-to lessons from your mother, or even sermons on the Good Samaritan, we simply need to slow down then we’ll see the stranger as our neighbor.
I often find poets make the best preachers. They focus on each word and every line to provide in often-succinct fashion interpretation of life and scripture. Along with the images of creation in Genesis and Psalms, I hold this version of our beginning by Vassar Miller dear to my heart. 
where in the recesses of my mind, I have a vague memory from my childhood when I prayed in a family or other group gathering. Someone, perhaps a sibling, snickered at the words I chose in my prayer. My mother, the ever protector, responded quickly, “He wasn’t talking to you.”
Through the years as a pastor, I’ve counseled a lot of people about their children, especially their teenagers. Imagine you are Kevin Salwen. He picked up his fourteen year old daughter, Hannah, from a slumber party and was driving her home. At a red light, Hannah looked out their windows and saw a homeless man on the sidewalk holding up a sign asking for money to buy food. On the other side of the car, in the lane next to them, Hannah saw a black Mercedes. She looked from the Mercedes, back to the homeless man, and from the homeless man back again to the Mercedes. Then she said to her father, “If that guy didn’t have such a nice car, then that guy could have a nice meal.” It made sense to her. A less expensive car for one person could keep another off the street. 
When I was a youth, we learned a song that made memorizing 1 John 4:7 & 8 quite easy. The verse is, 