Pluck’s Blog

Last Wednesday, August 12, Wayne Kent, a radio talk show host from Decatur, Illinois, interviewed me. His show, Direct Line, is designed as a live call-in event where current events are discussed through a lens of spirituality. Rev. Kent asked thoughtful questions about the impact of abuse on my life and what it was like to be cast out of my church family. I especially appreciated his own honesty when he admitted to bullying a classmate. To his credit as an adult he attempted to find her and apologize.

Time, of course, is at a premium on radio. The interview was like trying to talk to someone riding a bicycle faster than I could run. I could keep up only so long before they pulled away from me. With only a few minutes to make my point I found myself striving for a good sound bite when I prefer a longer conversation.

After discussing the impact of the abuse and what motivated my attackers, Rev. Kent asked if I forgave my adversaries. Whenever this question is asked I feel sick to my stomach. It churns acid. My arms are pinned to my side and I have trouble breathing. “I don’t know,” I told Rev. Kent.

I wish I had said, why do you ask me that question? If you read Not of My Making you would know I never sought revenge. I wanted reconciliation but my efforts only increased their abusive behavior towards me. I was powerless and terrified. During the church conflict my adversaries berated me for attending church before forgiving them while they insisted they had done nothing wrong. Fr. Lance at my present church has said they were seeking absolution which wasn’t mine to give.

While I remain confused about the difference between forgiveness and absolution, it appears to me forgiveness to my adversaries meant never talking about what happened. They expected me to come to church and act as if everything was still the same between us. I was, however, never good at pretending. I wanted to resolve our differences. The only way I knew how to do that was to discuss the issues that divided us.

Christians often rush to forgiveness believing that will heal everyone’s wounds. They crave stories of redemption. Since perpetrators rarely admit their sin and repent, Christians focus on getting victims to forgive.

Have you forgiven? The question leaves me flustered and unable to make a clear reply. Forgiven who and for what? What do you mean by forgiveness? Writers define it differently. No wonder I don’t know if I have forgiven them or not.

What I can tell you is I never sought revenge. I had a few fantasies of the church blowing up or burning down but I never planned to get even. Instead I tried to get my adversaries to discuss what happened. I was desperate for them to understand me. They were my friends. I wanted them to listen. I wanted to fix things. I wanted them to remain my friends. I would have done almost anything to regain my place in the church except lie. I wasn’t going to be untrue to myself. It was my former friends who sought revenge by driving me out of the church.

So have I forgiven them for that? Geoffrey Robinson, a Catholic bishop, wrote in Confronting Power and Sex in the Catholic Church, that he has found survivors who say they haven’t forgiven yet who by his definition have. Perhaps I am one of those. I don’t know. When I consciously chose not to excuse what my former friends did to me and stopped seeking reconciliation I healed and moved on. I will leave it to God to judge whether I have forgiven or not.

The second round of my virtual book tour occurred during the first weekend in May. It was a challenging weekend. I found myself debating with atheists while responding to comments about spiritual abuse at five different blog stops. It all started when I began promoting my blog stops by posting on Tweeter:

Problems with church started when I said I was uncomfortable with having a gay minister. Unitarian Universalists weren’t tolerant.

The problems followed me as clergy talked about me and allowed others to gossip. In the end the Lutherans didn’t want me either.

I have finally found a safe place among traditional Christians who walk the talk. Learn more at …

It is then that Taigitsune, a systems administrator for the Unitarian Universalist Association, asked, “In what way did you question it?”

I hesitated. What did he mean “in what way”? Was he asking if I was polite and respectful or was he asking what my specific doubts were about having a gay minister? Why did it matter? I replied by directing him to the day’s blog stop.

He replied he didn’t see any mention of Unitarian Universalists there and Unitarian Universalists weren’t mainline Christian. Some UUs are Christian others are not, I replied. In New England they are certainly mainstream. I was a UU for ten years. Taigitsune then wrote, that one of Unitarian Universalist’s seven principles is the inherent worth and dignity of each person including gay ministers. So who, he asked, was really intolerant?

The Unitarian Universalists I answered without hesitation. Tolerance is the practice of allowing or respecting the beliefs of others. In 1993 when I expressed discomfort but indicated I was willing to discuss the issue, my fellow congregants responded by refusing to talk directly to me. Instead they gossiped.

Taigitsune expressed the common UU conceit that they are more tolerant than other churches insisting they don’t place doctrinal demands on their members. But they do. There is an expectation members are political and social liberals with an interest in other religions except Christianity. Tagitsune also wrote that the scapegoating was merely my perception of things. Not so I thought. I was expelled. Told never to return. “No,” I replied, “Scapegoating is a set of behaviors. It is how people avoid taking responsibility for their cruel behavior.”

On the second day of the blog tour Shtole, one of Taigitsune’s followers, joined the conversation by retweeting Taigitsune’s, “If you think you’re right, you’re probably not.” I replied to both of them, “Then you must be wrong since you are so sure I am wrong and you are right.” Taigitsune withdrew and soon it was five against one. I am proud to say I held my own. I didn’t flinch. While not all of my arguments were strong and articulate I did not let them bully me. I demonstrated to other survivors how to stand up for oneself. During this exchange the number of my followers jumped confirming the more I am myself, the more people follow.

During this hot debate I was simultaneously discussing on We Survived Abuse recovery from spiritual abuse. On John’s Grace Walk we talked about why I didn’t leave the abusive churches sooner. On Sunday I stopped by T Michael Cart’s Truth in Ministry where people responded to my Letter to Spiritual Abuse Survivors. We talked about making church a refuge or safe place for all. On Monday at Under Much Grace we talked about patriarchal structures and patriocentricity where the family patriarch is central to family life and family members. We also discussed restriction of emotional display and speaking up for oneself.

Thank you to all the lovely people who have supported me by hosting a blog stop. Together we will plant the seeds needed to reform our churches making them better places for everyone.

The first week of my blog tour is over. Sitting in front of a hotel window overlooking Lake George in the Adirondacks I have some time to reflect on how it went. At the end of Day 1 Deena of A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life emailed me asking me if it turned out okay and expressing the hope that my other stops would turn out better. I replied:

I think the blog stop worked out fine. It gained some exposure for both of us. I know several people read the post even if they didn’t write comments. Some people emailed me privately. One has asked me to write a book with him on friendship. You cannot tell right away how successful a marketing campaign is or isn’t. Some books sold.

Book marketing is hard work. I had to take time to read my hosts’ blogs and write a post for them to use on their blog. My hosts read my book, wrote a review and helped moderate the comments. During the blog stop I monitored comments and responded to readers as close to real time as possible. I also twittered about it motivating people to read the posts and comment. I offered the incentive of a drawing for a free book. Mary Morgan won the drawing for re-tweeting the announcement and Cat M won for writing a comment.

Day One of the tour I stopped at Aida Calder’s Forgetting the Former Things and at Deena’s A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life. Both women posted reviews of my book on their blogs. I then posted my reaction. Several women followed me at Forgetting the Former Things, commented and retweeted my messages about the virtual book tour. Deena asked me questions throughout the day and I responded.

My third blog stop was at The Apostle Wive’s Club. A few women who had commented at Forgetting the Former Things followed me there. Before “meeting” the owner of the blog I had never given any thought of how the Catholic Church responded to priests who broke their celibacy vow and married. Their reaction appears hypocritical. Over the past decades the Catholic Church has covered up sexual abuse and reassigned offending priests. Why are they so forgiving of pedophiles but not of priests who fall in love and marry?

The fourth tour was at Book Hookup where Donna Sundblad asked me to write about what inspired Not of My Making. Read The Healing Journey

The blog tour has gotten me out of my comfort zone and I have “met” several interesting people. That has been one of the unplanned benefits of book marketing. Immediately following my de-churchings I became mildly agoraphobic and withdrew into myself. Book marketing forced me to be assertive and outgoing. I wasn’t going to sell many books if I withdrew into the safety of my home.

If you missed the blog stops you can still read the posts about Not of My Making, spiritual abuse, friendship and book writing. They are located at:

Forgetting the Former Things

Haunted by the Ghosts of Spiritual Abuse

Aida Calder’s Review of Not of My Making

A Survivor’s Thoughts on Life:

Interview with Margaret W Jones, Ph.D.

Is Shunning a Form of Emotional Abuse

Deena’s Review of Not of My Making

Not of My Makng, Part 2

Not of My Making, Part 1

Not of My Making, Initial Reaction to Book

I Met Someone Today – Divine Appointment?

The Apostles Wives Club:

Margaret Answers Your Questions

Book Hookup:

What Inspired Not of My Making?

Week Two of the Tour will start May 2^nd. Please join me. The schedule is:

Part of the journey of writing and publishing a book is putting yourself out there and asking for reviews. This can be a little nerve racking and a rollercoaster ride for ones ego. When Not of My Making received excellent reviews from Midwest Book Review, Joanne Carnavale (A Reader and a Writer Reviews) and others I was ecstatic with pride, joy and relief. There was no difficulty deciding what to do with them. I just basked in the warm praise happy I succeeded in writing a compelling story well.

Reviewers brought something of themselves when they read my book and when they wrote their review. Those reviewers who wrote the book was outstanding understood its central theme and identified with having been bullied and mistreated. Those reviewers who were less positive either could not identify with my experience or were expecting something that I did not promise. One reviewer, for instance, wanted to read more about my childhood and the impact of the church conflict on my marriage. I don’t think I promised to do that in my advertising blurbs and in my view, was not central to the story I wanted to tell.

This reviewer also wrote that I espoused a belief in a distant but noble God. That is not something I actually said and that he inferred. It is not how I would characterize my faith. He also appeared to treat my faith as something that was static and unchanging rather than a journey of moving away from and then back to Christianity. During the experiences I wrote about I was confused by the failure of my former friends to walk their talk. The paradox is that while I do not speak the traditional Christian talk, my tenacity and perseverance in the face of rejection and abuse demonstrated significant faith in God and Jesus. I didn’t give up on church. I am finally a member of a church where there is a sincere emphasis on leading an authentic Christian life. It is not just a Sunday feel good hour.

Another review appears to be more about the reviewer’s misperceptions about me and anger rather than about the quality of the book. She accuses me of holding onto anger and failing to move on. As a psychologist I can’t help but wonder if she is projecting her own fears, hurts and repressed anger onto me. She fails to recognize the long-term impact of neglect, verbal and physical abuse when she describes my parents as merely “very critical”. When survivors such as myself tell their stories, it is their fervent hope that by doing so they are helping to prevent others from being abused and are providing comfort to those who are still struggling with their own victimization.

Writing Not of My Making was a painful journey of discovering why my parents, classmates and former friends were so cruel. I am grateful to everyone who has taken the time to read my book. I pray that their knowledge and understanding of survivors has increased and they are less likely to blame the victim. I also pray they will support groups who are trying to end abuse and care for survivors.

I don’t believe praying for people changes anything. I agree with Harry Emerson Fosdic, God is not a cosmic bellboy who gets you whatever you want. If praying could change outcomes, then why are some prayers answered and others not? I am sure all mothers pray for the safe return of their sons from war but some men die while others survive. Are not all their prayers worthy of attention from God?

Even though I don’t believe God will give me the things I pray for, I still pray. It keeps me centered and helps me figure out what God expects of me. A few years ago while sitting in my living room chanting a mantra and listening to hymns, God spoke to me and I knew that He wanted me to trust my therapist and accept his help. God wanted me to face my fears, reach out to others and recover from Post Traumatic Stress.

This wasn’t the first time I encountered God. Once when I was in my late teens I stood on a ledge overlooking a canyon in Colorado. I watched an eagle soar. Then I felt it. God was standing there with me even though I didn’t believe in Him. Awe. Eight months later as I sunk into despair and contemplated suicide the knowledge that God was there motivated me to hang on and not give up.

A decade later I encountered God while driving home. I had just dropped my daughter off at dance class. It was a week after a drunk totaled my car and fled the scene of the accident abandoning my children and me. As I drove I was thinking how my children and I could have died and my husband would have been left alone. Who would have cared for him? What if I died and my children survived? Who would mother them? My heart rate and breathing increased. Then in front of me, beyond the line of cars, I saw the sun setting and the sky streaked with pink clouds. In an instant I felt God’s arms embracing the earth and knew after death I would be part of that embrace. I would shelter my family forever. There was nothing to fear.

Fr. Lance of All Saints Anglican Church commented on my earlier blog post, “Am I Bashing Churches.” He is concerned about Christians being targeted in the public schools and asked me to comment on it. My first reaction was that was beyond my experience. When I was in school I was a Catholic living in a town that was 75% Catholic. The remaining 25% were either Jewish or Protestant. No one I associated with identified themselves as an atheist or an agnostic. Everyone went to church or temple. Atheists and agnostics were considered evil people that one should avoid.

When I was 16 I left the church and sometime during my first year in college I cease to consider myself Catholic and became one of those “evil people”. That is also the first time I encountered negative attitudes toward Catholics. While standing on the dinner line in my dorm a fellow student called me a papist. I never heard the term before and thought he was ignorant. I was pleased when I heard his roommate smashed his stereo speakers over his head.

I, however, wasn’t free from my own prejudices. It was the early 1970’s and I was heavily involved with the anti-war movement and women’s rights. I called the evangelical Christians Jesus Freaks and avoided them. They were part of the far right that opposed my political agenda. I viewed them as narrow, rigid and intolerant. Later when my children were small I started attending Sunday services at the local Unitarian Universalist fellowship believing them to be a model of tolerance and openness. My children never complained of being bullied by their classmates due to our religious beliefs except once when a neighbor told them our family would be going to hell because we did not attend Catholic mass.

Unitarian Universalism encouraged and supported my religious seeking. Tragically, ten years later when I rediscovered Christianity my fellow congregants had no place for me. My expulsion in 1999 from a Unitarian Universalist congregation was motivated by hostility towards my growing faith in God and Jesus. The Unitarian Universalists were not as tolerant and open minded as they claimed to be.

Apparently the hostility towards Christianity is not confined to the Unitarians Universalists. With the growing tolerance of homosexuality and premarital sex in the schools Christianity is viewed with suspicion and anger. The Biblical injunctions against such behavior are either denied or viewed as ignorant stances from a historical era that is best forgotten. Morality is regarded as relative so individuals should be allowed to do whatever they think is right. People no longer attend church or synagogue regularly. Those that do are the odd balls. If you believe in God and Jesus you can expect to be bullied and ridiculed by your classmates. Teachers who often hold anti-Christian beliefs minimize the harassment Christian students suffer and take no action to stop it.

Teachers, school administrators and parents must take a strong stance against bullying regardless of who the victim is. Bullies need to learn to be more just leaders. Victims need to learn to assert their rights. Bystanders need to bear witness and help the vulnerable.

If you want to learn more about my story please read, Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Churches.

Thanksgiving has come and gone. The stores and radios are now completely geared up for Christmas. I resist the messages that spending will bring my loved ones and me happiness. It won’t.

I stopped listening to my favorite radio station when they began playing holiday songs almost exclusively the day after Halloween. I have switched to listening to my iPod where I get to choose the music. Since I don’t have an iPod dock in my bedroom I listen to a Boston radio station that had the decency to wait until Thanksgiving to begin playing Christmas songs interspersed with light rock.

Two years ago before I owned an iPod I turned on the radio to my favorite station before hopping into the shower. As I enjoyed the warm water raining down on my skin Christmas songs intruded into my consciousness. I groaned. I can’t shut off the radio from the shower. Why do they push Christmas when so many people complain that the season is too commercialized and is starting too early? It must make their advertisers happy. They must believe it boosts sales.

As I dried myself off the disc jockeys talked about a group in Vienna that wants to ban Santa Claus because of the American commercialism associated with him. The disc jockeys dismissed the Vienna group without discussing the merits of their argument. One announcer, a New York Jew married to a Catholic, said she enjoys the family part of Christmas. We agree about that.

“It is better than Hanukah,” she said. “You get the whole family over at once instead of being spread out over eight days.”

The other announcer replies, “It is a religious holiday for some.”

Well, yea, I think. It is the commemoration of Jesus’ birth. Why don’t the disc jockeys do more than pay lip service to that? How did Christmas become a secular, commercial holiday?

I take a slow, deep breath and remind myself that this is Advent, not Christmas. With my daughter’s help I set a table of blue, silver and white with an Advent wreath in the center. Each Sunday during Advent we will light the candles and read from the Bible praising and thanking God before we eat. During my morning prayers I will focus on making myself worthy of the Christ whose coming saved my soul.

During Advent and Christmas, I strive to slow down the pace of my life. This keeps me connected to God. I avoid the malls and limit my spending. I look for ways to be kind and generous to others. While listening to Advent music on my iPod I praise God for this blessed day. The sun shines on a cold earth but I am warm and safe in my home. I praise God for blessing me with two healthy children and a grandson who brings joy to my heart every day. I praise God for pen and ink and the heart and mind to use them. I praise God for all that I am and all that I have. I am blessed a hundred times over. Thanks be to God.

The back of the pew was hard. I wished I had my seat cushion but I left it in my husband’s car. The retreat leader in front of me clicked on the slide. I squinted to see it but the sunlight made it hard to see. But wait, here it was, in my workbook. I turned my back to the window and looked over the diagram of the Trinity. I had never seen it before. Okay, that’s interesting but what does that have to do with overcoming past hurts?

Weeks ago one of the deacons at my church asked me if I would attend a retreat about healing your life. She had attended the same program while she was in Africa and found it spiritually powerful. She wanted a professional therapist there who she could refer participants to if they needed it.

“Sure,” I replied always eager to be helpful.

This was the first retreat I attended since my dechurching. I rearranged my Friday afternoon schedule so I could be there. Sitting in one of the front pews I tried to understand where the speaker was going. The first four hours focused on praying over others a kind of positive affirmation based on the Bible. There was some demonstration and some opportunity to do it ourselves but it was mostly lecture. I was bored. I thirsted to talk about the religious ideas and issues raised but the program didn’t allow for it.

We stopped for dinner in the undercroft. I  took a seat with the leaders of the retreat and the intercessors. I was curious about how their church fared following the schism in the Episcopal Church. Toward the end of dinner one of the intercessors got up, walked around the table to sit next to me. She placed her hand on my shoulder and said, “We need to pray for those who remain in the Episcopal Church.”

“That may be but as a psychologist I am interested in how and why this happened,” I replied. “That way we can prevent it in the future.”

“There will always be a faithful remnant who will renew the church. That’s God’s will.”

“Yes, but –“ The call came for us to return to the sanctuary. “We will have to continue this conversation later,” I told her. It’s fine to pray, I thought, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t take steps to prevent schism. God has given me an inquiring mind and I will use it to understand why these things happen in churches seeking ways to prevent it.

After dinner the retreat leader talked about cults and the occult. Her definition for cult was so broad that it included all religions other than orthodox Christianity. This is ignorant and meaningless, I thought. I want to live a good life and obey God’s commandments but the retreat leaders are taking things to extremes.

The leader began reading off a list of sins that ranged from watching movies like “Poltergeist” to pedophilia.  She made little distinction between those sins for which we already repented from sins that have not yet been confessed. She even talked of confessing our parents and ancestors sins. No way, I thought, I am responsible only for my own behavior and not my families.

I looked at my watched. It was only 7 pm. We had another hour to go. I took out my journal and tried to write my way through it. The retreat leader began leading us in prayers seeking forgiveness for our sins and those of our ancestors. I’m not a Klingon, I thought. I’m not responsible for my ancestors. My throat tightened. I remained silent. I felt walls closing in. These people aren’t the kind of people who will understand and value me, I thought. The longer I sat there the less safe I felt.

Eight o’clock and the retreat leader was still talking. I gathered up my belongings and left as quietly as I could. On the drive home I thought, If they want to talk about evil, I can tell them a few things. Sure people who play with tarot cards are foolish but in my work I have born witness to the survivors of Pol Pot who in my office told me how their loved ones were tortured and murdered.

I don’t need or want a religion that makes me feel sinful for small inconsequential things I may or may not have done and for which I have long corrected. I certainly don’t need to be made to feel guilty for the sins of my relatives.

I want my faith to give me the courage of Abraham who upon learning God planned to destroy Sodom and Gomorrah spoke up and asked God, “Will you really sweep away good and bad together? Supposed there are fifty good men in the city; will you really sweep it away and not pardon the place because of the fifty good men? Far be it for you to do this – to kill good and bad together.”

After listening to Abraham, God agreed not to destroy the cities if there were at least ten good men living there. Lot’s life was spared. I want to have that kind of courage. Imagine being able to suppress your fear as you stand before a force clearly more powerful than yourself long enough to urge the ethical and compassionate use of power.

I don’t want to be submissive before God. Why should I? He knows what is in my heart. He knows I am trying to live a righteous life. As in the song by Robin Mark, “When it’s all been said and done, there is just one thing that matters. Did I do my best to live for truth? Did I live my life for you, Lord?” I want to be able to say yes, I have given it my all. But because I am human I have often failed. I rely on God’s mercy to forgive my failings and at the end of my life to shelter me in his arms.

I do not believe God condemns anyone to eternal damnation. God created us. He knows our stories. When I listen to the stories of men who have done terrible things and I feel compassion, won’t God feel compassion, too?” Surely God is not less compassionate than I am.

Not that there isn’t a price to be paid. But that price is paid here on earth. Godless men live lonely and miserable lives. They are more likely to die early from suicide, accidents and homicides. Does anyone really think Hitler or Saddam Hussein was happy?

While I was doing a book signing at Bayshore Books in Oconto, Wisconsin, the storeowner asked me if my book bashed religion.

“No, why would you think that?” I asked.

“Because of your book’s subtitle,” she replied.

I picked up my book and read the title, “Not of My Making: Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Churches.”

“It was only after I read your back cover that I felt reassured,” the storeowner said.

“What if the subtitle was, ‘Bullying, Scapegoating and Misconduct in Schools’? Would you think I was bashing schools?” I asked.

“No,” she replied. “I would think you wanted to end bullying in schools.”

“Well, that is what I want to do in churches. I want to make them safer places for everyone.”

As I wrote some time ago, I love church. My faith in Jesus is important to me. That was what made my dechurching so devastating. Church ceased to be a safe place. I learned that there is a difference between churchianity and Christianity. I wrote my book not to bash religion but to draw attention to the problem of bullying. I want churches to create an ethos where bullying would not be tolerated and we would help each other grow in faith. I don’t want other people to be hurt the way I was. I want to help those who have been hurt by church to reclaim their faith, return to their churches and work to make them safer places.

I want connection with others. I want to grow in my faith and become a better Christian. I don’t think you can do that alone. You need to go to church. So I go every Sunday to All Saints Anglican where “real” Christianity is preached and where the majority of the congregation tries to live their faith 365 days a year.

I went skating early this morning along the Ten Mile River Bike Path in Pawtucket. The cool fall weather was perfect for skating and I felt strong. I skated up and down the hills back and forth between Paawtucket and East Providence. After an hour I turned around and started back towards my car. As I approached a small bridge that crosses a stream I thought, this would be a really bad place to fall. There are no guard rails to prevent you from going into the water.

As I skated through the dry leaves I watched a drake and its mate swim away from the bridge. On the other side of the bridge I set my left foot down and pushed through my heel accelerating as I approached the rising slope of the next hill. I glided. I was pleased with my ability to skate well. I set my right foot down. My wheels locked and I was propelled into the air. Before I could react my arms hit the pavement first and I skidded along the pavement toward a fence. Unable to support my weight against the force of the fall my face hit the ground. As I slid I felt my permanent crown and another tooth cave in. Oh, no, I thought, I have ruined my teeth.

I stopped just inches from rail fence sprawled on my stomach with dirt in my mouth. I laid there catching my breath. Slowly I sat up. Blood was dripping from my chin and lip onto my grey sweatshirt. Stunned I stood up as I tried to think what to do. I was at least a mile from my car. Do I wait until someone passes and ask for help? I looked in the direction I was traveling and saw an old man walking towards me. I waited. He looked at me, turned his eyes away and kept walking. Can’t stay here hoping someone will help, I thought. I tried to move off. My wheels wouldn’t move. I sat down again and examined my skates. That’s when I found the stem of an oak leave stuck between the brake and the rear wheel. I removed it and stood up again. I considered removing my skates and walking. No, better to skate, I thought. It will take too long walking in my stocking feet.

I started skating slowly. A couple approached. I looked at them. They kept talking to each other and walking passed me. I sighed. My face ached. I must get myself back to the car and check my face in the mirror. I could feel that one tooth was chipped and my crown was bent. There was a cut on my lip and chin.

I would have to make it back to my car on my own. I skated slowly down the path. I saw a man in an orange velour jacket jogging. When he saw me he stopped, “What happened? Are you okay?”

I stopped and told him what had happened to me.

“Should I call someone?” he asked.

“I’m on my way back to my car,” I replied as I started rolling off.

“I’ll go with you,” the man said as he turned around to jog along side of me. “Did you hurt your head?”

I hadn’t considered that. My head and neck ached. Lucky I didn’t break it, I thought.

“You should call someone,” he said.

“I will call my husband when I get back to the car.” I replied.

“Here take my phone and call him now,” the man said.

I looked at the phone in the man’s hand. “I have my own phone,” I said. “I will call him when I get back to the car.”

“Call him now,” the man said. The man held out his phone.

Confused I reached into my pocket and removed my slim silver phone. I pressed “3”.

“Hi,” my husband said. “How was your skate?”

“I fell,” I told him. “I cut my lip and broke my tooth. I think I broke my implant. A nice man is helping me. He is coming with me to the car.”

“Let me know what happens,” Lyndon said. I could hear the worry and distress in his voice.

“Have your husband meet you at your car,” the man suggested.

“He is an hour away in Worcester,” I replied as I put my phone away.

The nice man jogged along side of me telling me about the hazards along the trail and the accidents he has either seen or heard about. I try to smile but cannot. It hurts too much.

“Twigs can be worse than pebbles,” I tried to explain.

When we reached the turn off to my car he said he would wait until I got in the car. “What’s your name?” I asked as I turned left.

“Jesus,” he said.

“Jesus,” I said as I turned towards the car, “Thank you.”

When I reached my car I saw a man on a bike stop and talk to Jesus who was nodding and gesticulating towards me. I bent down to remove my skates. When I looked up both men were gone.

A friend when she saw my face and heard my story was dismayed that three people did not stop to help me. What was wrong with them, she asked in her blog, The Cookie Momster.

Social psychologists have studied helping behavior. Before bystanders offer assistance they must first recognize that help is needed. Since I didn’t ask for help the three people who passed me by may not have realized help was needed.

Once bystanders realize an emergency exists they have to figure out what kind of help is required and whether they have the necessary resources. Jesus perhaps because of previous training and/or experience recognized I should not be left alone until it was certain that I would not collapse from a more serious and undetected head injury. He also understood that a little emotional support would ease my fear.

As I recovered from my injuries I also thought about the story of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:29 – 37). “Who,” Jesus asked, “was the good neighbor? The one who passed the wounded man by or the one who stopped?”

If we are to be good neighbors to each other we must first want to be the person who offers help to a stranger. Then we must know how to do it. It is impossible to know if the three people who passed by wanted to do the right thing and didn’t know how or if they were indifferent. All we know for sure is that the man who stopped and walked with me was the good neighbor. Ironically, his name was Jesus.