15th Sunday in Ordinary Time
Luke 10: 25-27
July 11, 2010Not So Simple
Not only is the passage I just read the most familiar story in the Bible, it is also one of the most challenging. Not because it’s hard to understand. Because it’s hard to live.
It all starts with a question. A scholar of the scriptures – what the NRSV calls a “lawyer” – asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. At one level, I suppose, he really wants to know. At another, he’s testing Jesus to see if he’s the rabbi he’s cracked up to be.
“What is written in the law?” Jesus asks. “What do you read there?”
With lightening speed, and without performing a Google search on his Droid, the man responds. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”
“Bingo! Jesus responds (or words to that effect.) “Do this and you will live.”
“Ah, yes,” the man responds, “But that depends on the what the definition of “is” is. Exactly who is my neighbor?”
Jesus answers with a story – the story that supplies us Christians with two things: a working definition of who a neighbor is, and a warning never to foreclose on the gracious potentialities of the outsider.
Samaritans, as most of us know, were, of all people, the least likely to appear as positive role models in a story told by a rabbi. They had their own temple – not in Jerusalem – their own theological system, and their own territory. As much as the Jews of Jesus’ day hated Romans, they probably hated Samaritans even more. Romans were merely pagan bullies. Samaritans were heretics – corrupted Jews, you might say.
There were plenty of people in Jesus’ day who would rather have remained in that ditch by the roadside – beaten and bleeding and near death, than to be touched by a Samaritan.
In fact, one way of “getting into” this story, suggests Amy-Jill Levine, is to think of ourselves in that ditch, and to ask,
“Is there anyone, from any group, about whom we’d rather die than acknowledge, ‘She offered help’ or ‘He showed compassion’?” More, is there any group whose members might rather die than help us? If so, then we know how to find the modern equivalent of the Samaritan . . .”[1]
Perhaps you remember the story of Ahmad Khatib, a twelve-year-old Palestinian boy who was killed in 2002 by Israeli soldiers during the fighting near his house in Jenin, the West Bank. He had been holding a toy gun when the soldiers opened fire. He was taken to an Israeli hospital, where he lived for two more days. Then his parents were asked if they were willing to donate his organs.
Six people benefited from Ahmad’s parents’ decision. They received Ahmad’s heart, his lungs, and his kidneys. One of the beneficiaries was a two-month-old infant. Jenin is just a few miles north of another West Bank city, one that appears in this story -- the city called Jericho. And did I mention that the six people who benefited from the gift of Ahmad’s organs were all Israelis?
On the road to Jericho, and on the road from Jericho, we discover who our neighbor is. This story Jesus tells provides the unmistakable definition of neighbor -- unmistakable even to this lawyer who can’t bring himself to say the word “Samaritan” out loud.
“Which of these three (the priest, the Levite, or the Samaritan) was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”
“The S . . . S . . . The one who showed him mercy”
So, now that we know who our neighbor is, how do we go about loving him or her? This is where the story, which is so easy to understand, becomes so very hard to live.
I’ll give you an example. I chair the Community Relations Committee of the recently-renewed effort to end homelessness in our community. We call this effort “Homeward Bound.” Anybody can join my committee, and about twenty people have. Several of them have, let us say, strong opinions on what to do in order to love their neighbors.
On one side of the table are the advocates for the homeless – folks who serve meals at the Shelter, people who are themselves homeless, social workers, etc. They would like to see more services provided where homeless neighbors tend to congregate – in French Town, for instance. It’s not fair that homeless people should have to go all over town in search of services, they argue.
On the other side of the table are folks who own homes in Frenchtown, many of whom live in those lovely new homes built as affordable housing. They would like to see more services moved out of Frenchtown. It’s not fair that homeless services should be concentrated in a single area, they argue. Other neighborhoods should shoulder responsibility, too.
One of the participants brought along a photo of the Carolina Oaks Neighborhood Association. It’s a wonderful photo showing neighbors young and old, black and white. It looks a lot like the Kingdom of God to me.
“What’s going to happen to our neighborhood if you start housing even more homeless people in our backyard,” they want to know.
It’s a good question. The people who are asking it are not racist or xenophobic or unenlightened. They care about homeless neighbors, but they also care about the neighbors who live next door.
After our last committee meeting I wanted to go out and look for unconscious people lying in the ditch by the side of the road. This story tells me exactly what to do for them. You pick them up. You nurse their wounds. You buy them a few nights in the Prince Murat Motel.
But these others – these homeless neighbors whose needs cannot be met with first aid and a couple of day’s lodging. How do we show mercy to them without harming other neighbors whose needs are just as legitimate?
In this morning’s first reading the prophet Amos boldly calls for justice. He wants it to roll down like waters. The problem is, justice doesn’t often come that way. It flows in a trickle through the earnest efforts of those who want to be faithful, but don’t always know how.
Back in the 1980’s, the obvious thing to do to alleviate homelessness was to start homeless shelters, and that’s exactly what this church help to do. Twenty-plus years later, the Shelter is bulging at the seams, and the goal of ending homelessness has taken a back seat to more pressing matters such as the oil spill, the economy, and the call to rein in “big government.”
This leads us back to the question that prompted Jesus’ story in the first place. He and his inquisitor agreed that the law of Moses can be summed up in the dual commandment to love God with heart, soul, strength, and mind, and neighbor as self. It seems to me that in order to fulfill the second half of that command, one has to borrow something from the first half.
It takes the application of our whole self – heart, soul, strength, and mind – especially mind – to love our neighbors. Catch phrases won’t do. Arizona-style immigration laws won’t do. Campaign slogans aren’t enough. In fact, sloganeering makes matters worse.
We’ve got to use our heads. Compassion alone won’t cut it. Those who would show mercy also have to show they can use the brains God gave them.
The story of the Good Samaritan is a wonderful response to those who would limit God’s love for the outsider. It is also an invitation to use all the gifts God has given us to love our neighbors as ourselves.
[1]Amy-Jill Levine, The Misunderstood Jew (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 2006), 148-9.
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