Kindness That Interrupts

Read

Luke 10:33 “Then a despised Samaritan came along, and when he saw the man, he felt compassion for him.”

Think

One of the clearest pictures of kindness in all of Scripture comes in a story Jesus told in response to a question: “Who is my neighbor?” Instead of offering a definition, he told a story—a man beaten and left for dead, ignored by religious leaders, and finally helped by someone no one expected. We call him the Good Samaritan. But there’s a detail in the story we sometimes skip past: the kindness cost him something. He was on a journey. He had somewhere to be. The road he was on was dangerous. Helping the wounded man wasn’t a convenient detour—it was an interruption. And yet, he stopped.

Luke 10:33 says, “When he saw the man, he felt compassion for him.” And that compassion didn’t stay internal. It turned into action. The Samaritan crossed social and ethnic barriers. He got his hands dirty. He gave his time, his resources, and his reputation to help someone who could never repay him. That’s not just kindness—it’s Spirit-led, gospel-shaped kindness that moves toward pain, not away from it.

The question is: would we stop? Or would we, like the priest and the Levite in the story, keep walking? Maybe not because we don’t care—but because we’re busy. Because we’re tired. Because we’re unsure what to do. Because stopping feels costly. We like the idea of being kind. But we often hope it will happen in ways that fit neatly into our schedule. The Samaritan’s story reminds us that true kindness is rarely convenient. It interrupts. And when it does, we have a choice—keep going, or stop and step in.

We live in a world where people are hurting all around us—some visibly, some silently. And we are so conditioned to move quickly, stay focused, and minimize disruption that we often miss the people lying right in front of us. Not physically, but emotionally, relationally, spiritually. And sometimes the most Christlike thing you can do is stop when the world says keep moving.

It’s easy to feel overwhelmed by all the need. You can’t fix every problem. But you can engage with the one in front of you. You can answer the nudge. You can listen longer than necessary. You can ask one more question. You can see the person others overlook. That’s the power of Spirit-grown kindness—it slows your pace so your heart can catch up. Kindness that interrupts doesn’t wait until you feel fully ready. It just makes space. It says, “I may not have a perfect solution, but I can show up.” It’s not driven by outcome. It’s driven by love. And often, it’s the interruption that becomes the ministry.

Maybe someone’s name or face comes to mind for you. Someone you’ve sensed God nudging you toward, but you’ve been unsure how to help—or unsure you have time. Maybe it’s not even a person yet, but a type of situation—someone different from you, someone you’re tempted to avoid, someone who might need more than a quick response. The Samaritan didn’t ask, “Is this my responsibility?” He asked, “What can I do?” That shift—from justification to compassion—is where kindness becomes action. And here’s what’s beautiful: the Spirit equips you for every interruption he leads you into. You don’t have to manufacture the energy, the words, or the solutions. You just have to show up. When kindness is rooted in the Spirit, it multiplies. What feels like a small interruption to you may become a life-altering experience for someone else.

Kindness won’t always come with fanfare. It won’t always feel heroic. But in a world that’s constantly walking past, the person who stops—even briefly—reflects the heart of Christ more than they’ll ever know.

Apply

Today, watch for an interruption. Not a distraction—but a divine detour. When someone or something pulls your attention, pause before brushing it off. Ask, “Is this someone God wants me to see right now?” If so, stop. Listen. Help. Follow the nudge instead of the schedule.

Pray

Jesus, help me slow down enough to notice the people in front of me. Give me eyes to see where you’re already moving and the courage to respond—even when it interrupts my plans. Make me willing to stop, to engage, to love in practical ways. Let my kindness reflect your compassion today. In Jesus’ name. Amen.