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Years ago, when I was working at a conference in Orlando, Florida, the participants regularly warned each other not to cross the railway line. One day I went against the preferred advice, found the railway line and crossed it. In a few yards I moved from the affluent environment of fun loving holiday makers into a ghetto of people who were black, poor, and living in hovels. Later, when I mentioned to my fellow delegates where I had been, they sat open mouthed with disbelief that I had ventured there and come back untouched. That evening, I spoke to one of the hotel staff, a young black man who, I discovered, lived on the other side of the railway line. We had a long conversation about things of which I knew nothing – limited job prospects, the imperative to own a car because there was no public transport to take people to work, a reliance on charities for food and clothing to supplement a low income, a paucity of belief in the possibility of self improvement. Here in a sunspot favoured by many British citizens were two cities – a neighbourhood stuck in the mire of social deprivation, and a huge tourist village where the lifestyles of the relatively affluent were serviced by people who lived in poverty. This is not a phenomenon peculiar to the USA. Last year Oxfam indicated that 85 of the world's richest people own the same wealth as 3.5 billion of the poorest; and at this week's World Economic Forum at Davos, it will share the new information that half of all global wealth is owned by 1% of the world's population. Doubtless people will make the case that this obscene imbalance must be addressed, not only because it's bad for the poor, but also because it's a rot which can threaten the very future of capitalism. But I'm not sure that convincing arguments are sufficient to turn the tide. I think steps have to be taken to ensure that the privileged come into contact with the poverty of those who create their wealth, so that they may be touched physically and spiritually by the poor. Failing which, I hope that someone tells the offensive story of the Good Samaritan. For Jesus meant it to be offensive. It's not about a philanthropist with a troubled conscience who offers a handout. It's about a man who crosses the railway line not to photograph the victim, but to tend him, accompany him and, having heard his experience, to redistribute his own wealth. It has always challenged me, that story, because it exalts personal contact over platitudinous theory. It says; if you're not prepared to be touched by the poor, don't bother to talk about poverty.