The Inconvenience Of Being Good

We live in unfortunate times where it is inconvenient to be good

A few days I was on my way to a Catholic funeral in Goa. Those from Goa will appreciate that funerals of the gentry in Goa are very stiff, formal and almost social events. To suit the occasion, myself and those travelling with me in the air conditioned car were dressed in our mourning best. I was wearing an expensive white dress shirt, black corduroys, black suede shoes, gold watch, dark glasses and other accessories that are essentials of a gentleman's couture.

Somewhere along the route a speeding car overtook us and hit a scooter ahead. The lady riding the scooter and her son of around 12 years who was ridding pillion were thrown into the air and landed very heavily at the side of the road. There was a suddenly a traffic jam as vehicles on the busy route came to a halt. 

So here I was in the comfort of air conditioning wondering if I should rush out and assist the injured or if someone else would save me the discomfort.

Apparently everyone shared my hopes and none was forthcoming.

One of the sensible ladie in our car asked me to help. Driven both by my conscience, the prodding of chivalry and compassion for the little boy on the road I sprinted the short distance to help them.

The little boy was sitting on the road. His leg was badly broken. He was terrified, screaming and trying to tear his shoe off which might have caused him severe injury. I knelt on the road and held his hands to prevent this. Tried to comfort him with a few words, all the while watching my shirt to ensure no blood from his cuts and scratches got on it. I asked the people just watching the scene to help and get a splint. A young chap came to help and announced he was a doctor. He supported the foot and I lent him my immaculate white handkerchief to bind the wound. 

A seemingly poor woman, probably a peddler went and got him something to drink.

As I closed the little boys eyes while his foot was being bound, a drop of blood suddenly dripped onto my shirt sleeve. I was horrified. Would the stain wash off? Would I look silly at the funeral ? Would I be late for the funeral ? Do I look silly all dressed up in formals and dark glasses kneeling on a National Highway with an accident victim ? Since we witnessed the accident would we have to testify ? Would that waste much of the few days I had on holiday ?

Just then I heard the arrangements for the ambulance coming through to a clinic just across the road. I quietly walked off, got into the car and we drove off. 

At the funeral, I first rushed off to clean the blood on my hands and shirt sleeve, then buy tissues for myself and for one of the ladies who had lent me her her handkerchief when I got into the car and then walked into the church as the coffin was being placed on the bier.

God, His angels and His saints were being extolled by the priests and the congregation to receive the soul of the deceased. People came,wept at the coffin, placed flowers and said their goodbyes to the body in the casket. An eulogy was delivered and the people who had helped the person in his last few days were thanked profusely.

And then the shallowness of our nature seemed unveiled

When the little bleeding boy on the road needed my help I hesitated and offered it with restraint. I knew in my heart that helping and comforting that child was a noble deed pleasing to God above all things and yet I did not give willingly and generously. What stopped me?

Was it my expensive clothes, the perfection of my grooming?

Was it the discomfort of stepping out into the heat from the comfort of the air conditioned vehicle?

Was it the fact that I would be stepping on the road into a crowd of dirty people ?

Was it the fear of getting involved with the litigation of an accident case?

Was the funeral and being on time for it more important ?

Was it the same things that did not allow many of the people watching to even get out of their cars let alone help?

And yet here I was with a crowd of fashionable people lamenting the passing of a dear one when I had failed the living. Here I was listening to the virtues of goodness in the afterlife when I failed to practice it here. I prayed and praised a God and His saints at a stiff ritual, a God and His saints who only ask us to love one another. 

It took a humble poor woman had got that child something to drink with her meager earnings.

Truly this is why it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to attain Heaven. It is the 'Inconvenience' of being good that is his damnation