There’s a particular temptation in a task-oriented place like an auto shop. You start to see the car instead of the person.
The car is concrete and solvable. Either the alternator works or it doesn’t. There’s a diagnostic process, a part, a procedure, and an outcome you can verify, and solving that kind of problem feels good. People are messier. They have histories and worries and stories they may or may not tell you, and their broken car is often just the visible tip of a much bigger iceberg.
That tension is exactly where the Good Samaritan lesson lands for anyone who serves. And the part of the story most of us skip past is the part that matters most.
They all saw him
You probably know the parable in Luke 10:25–37. A man is beaten, robbed, and left half dead on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. A priest comes by and passes on the other side. So does a Levite. Then a Samaritan comes along, the last person Jesus’ audience would have expected to be the hero.
Slow down on one detail. The priest saw the man (Luke 10:31). The Levite saw him too (Luke 10:32). It’s not like they missed him. They noticed him, and they kept walking.
Then: “But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion” (Luke 10:33).
The Greek word for “saw” there carries the sense of active, intentional perception, the kind where you actually register what’s in front of you instead of glancing in its direction. So the difference between the three men wasn’t eyesight. It was attention, the willingness to let what you see land on you and move you.
Compassion isn’t a personality type
Notice, too, what the story doesn’t say. It doesn’t say the Samaritan stopped because he was naturally empathetic. It doesn’t say he had a gift for mercy that the others lacked.
And when Jesus finishes, he doesn’t say “go and feel more compassion.” He says, “You go, and do likewise” (Luke 10:37).
That’s good news for those of us who don’t consider ourselves “people persons.” Paying attention is something you can choose. And when you really pay attention to a person, it almost always moves you toward them, and from there to serving them.
What it looks like with a wrench in your hand
Kevin, one of our volunteers, retired from a career in electrical engineering. His way into The Garage was the building itself. He helped build out our space before he ever worked on a car. Then he started on cars, and after a while he started paying attention to the people attached to them. That analytical, detail-minded engineering brain got pointed away from systems and toward people.
There have been times Kevin drove a customer home in the evening, sometimes an hour away, and then came back the next day to finish the car. One job took four extra days, and Kevin kept working on it even when no other volunteers could come. Sheila will be forever grateful. So will Daniel from Butler, and Nicole from Fombell, and plenty of others whose names we may not remember.
What strikes me most about Kevin is that his compassion holds steady even with difficult customers. He looks past the difficult surface to the difficult circumstances underneath it, which is pretty much what the Samaritan did on that road.
Every task has a person attached
You don’t have to fix cars for this to apply. Every volunteer role has a “car” in it, the task that’s concrete and measurable and easy to focus on.
- The meal you’re serving has a person holding the plate.
- The child you’re checking in has a parent who may have barely made it out the door.
- The chair you’re setting up will hold someone who almost didn’t come today.
- The form you’re filling out represents someone’s rent, or job, or diagnosis.
Every car in our bay is someone’s lifeline to their job, their family, their doctor, their church. So yes, you’re fixing cars, but you’re serving people while you do it. The task matters. It’s just never the whole point.
Four ways to practice seeing
Want to grow in this? Here are a few simple disciplines to try at your next shift:
- Ask one real question. Not “How are you?” but something that invites an actual answer. “How’s this week been for you?” “What’s this car need to get you to?”
- Listen to the whole answer. Resist the urge to get back to the task as soon as there’s a pause.
- Let silence sit. Don’t rush to fill quiet moments. Sometimes the important thing comes after a long breath.
- Notice overwhelm. Watch for the tight shoulders, the apologizing, the person who keeps explaining. Those are often signs of a much bigger story. You don’t have to fix it. You just have to see it.
None of these take much time. Mostly they take a decision to slow down long enough to actually see the person in front of you.
Keep both in view
I’m not saying the task doesn’t matter. At The Garage, a friendly volunteer who can’t get the brakes right isn’t much help to anyone. Competence is a form of love.
But the Samaritan didn’t have to choose between compassion and practical help. He bandaged wounds, poured on oil and wine, and paid the innkeeper. His attention led straight to action. See the person, and then serve them well.
The car is never really just the car. There’s always a person and a story behind it, and you need to keep both in view.
I tell more of Kevin’s story, and what it has taught me about seeing people, in Full Service. Here’s one question to carry into your next time serving: Who did I see today, and who did I just walk past?
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