The parable of the Good Samaritan conjures up images of the semi-desert road that to this day stretches from Jerusalem to Jericho. It was on that lonely stretch that charity became real at the hands of an enemy stranger. But I have my own Jericho road.

I live almost at the city limits of Kingston, a city with a history that stretches back to a Dutch settlement in the 17th century. My street is part of the Revolutionary War history since it was the escape route of the settlers when the British army burned Kingston. But more of that another time...

Since public transportation is almost non-existent, I have ample time to reflect on my predecessors as I set out on a road without sidewalks to do the errands that we all have in our days.

Late last winter I was on my to a Saturday evening mass in my parish church—about three miles away—when a car stopped and a woman driver offered me a lift. As we rode along I learned that she was from a nearby town and, with her two handicapped daughters, was on her way to a wedding reception. As she let me out across the street from my church she said, "Now what time is your service over? I'll come back and pick you up." I hurriedly assured her that I would most certainly find a congregant who would give me a ride home. She needed convincing before she accepted my protestations and gave me her cell phone number in case my plan did not work out.

I prayer for her in church, and I still pray for her. She was a perfect stranger who knew how to dispense charity with enormous good will.

And then last week it happened again. I was on my way to the bank and a light drizzle had begun. I had an umbrella in my bag, but decided to wait a little before pulling it out. Suddenly, a car stopped and a woman I did not know leaned out with an umbrella in her hand.

"I don't know how far you have to go," she said, "but I have this extra umbrella. Do take it." When I told her that I did have an umbrella and I was only heading a further half-mile to the bank, she insisted I get in and she would take me there. And she did, not to the nearest corner, a perfect drop-off spot, but to the very door of the bank. All I could do was to offer to pray for her that day.

I have had other rides down my street, but the incredible kindness of these two strangers still echoes in my heart. In a world where crime makes the headlines, they will never earn a column inch in a newspaper. But in God's book—?

"Whatever you do to the least of my brothers, that you do unto me."