On the outskirts of Huntington this morning, I passed a hitchhiker. He was probably around 50, with a thick gray beard, and he seemed harmless. There I was, driving a pickup truck with an empty seat beside me, just a couple of miles from work. And yet, I drove right on by…feeling terribly guilty as I did. Guilty, but conflicted. I still recall from probably 25 years ago a Reader’s Digest article about a guy out west who picked up a nice-looking hitchhiker who went postal on him with a hunting knife. It was a very vivid article. You just never know.
So what would Jesus do? Would he drive by on the other side of the road? Was Graybeard, plodding down the road on a hot morning, an angel in disguise? The biggest part of me says people simply shouldn’t be hitchhiking, and that picking up a stranger isn’t much different from taking a stroll at midnight on East Pontiac Street. But nevertheless, every time I pass a hitchhiker, and I’m by myself, I feel a twinge of guilt as I pass by, trying to read the person’s face without making eye contact.
