When It’s Hard to be the Samaritan

Sermon preached Sunday, July 10, 2022, the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, at Lutheran Church of Our Saviour in Chesterfield, VA. 

The story of the Good Samaritan is a familiar one. It’s a Sunday School story, acted out in skits. It’s one that is known in the wider, secular discourse with things like “good Samaritan” laws that protect people who try to help others. Yes, it’s a story that most people at least vaguely know and one that church-inclined people know even better. …which can actually make it hard to learn from.

When we think we already know the story, we tend to think there’s nothing new to discover, or less value in diving deep into the text. There always is. That’s the beauty of scripture: no matter how many times we’ve read a verse or a passage, God can always reveal something new—a nuance, a word variation, a different contextual piece we’d been missing.

In the thirty-something years I’ve been reading this story, my understanding continues to evolve. Early on, it was black and white, with “good” characters and “bad” characters. Then, it shifted as the human realities sunk in. Now, when I read it, I am even more in awe of the Samaritan who chose to stop.

As he is walking along this road, he sees the man who was beaten laying there. The Samaritan took a risk. What if it was a trick to ambush someone like him who was moved to help? What if the man, because of the animosity between Israel and Samaria, refused help or accused him of being the one who robbed and beat him in the first place?

But no, the Samaritan calculates this risk and decides that helping this man is worth it. It’s the right thing to do.

I want to be like the Samaritan—don’t you? And most days, I think I would be, or at least, I could be.

Weighing compassion and risk and helping someone in need.

I can do that.

But right now, I’ll be honest with you. When I think about our world, our community, our country…I don’t know if there is one person laying by the side of the road.

I think there might be fifty. Or even a hundred.

The needs and concerns of our world seem to be coming in an unending wave: news story after news story, prices getting higher, wages stagnant, effects of climate change, war, poverty…it never seems to end.

Even this past week, as I breathed a sigh of relief that, while my sister, niece and brother-in-law live in Chicago, they do not live in Highland Park and were nowhere near that tragic shooting, I read the news that there was almost a shooting at a Fourth of July event in Richmond, only stopped because someone happened to overhear a conversation.

One thing after another. We struggle to communicate with one another, with our neighbors, with our families. Many of us worry about what might be coming next, what’s around the corner, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

And that means that even when we want to stand up, to contribute, to step in and help, it can be paralyzing. The compassion fatigue of wanting to show up for every cause and every person means that we’re left with little energy to show up for anything.

How can I begin caring for the person at the side of the road when I know there are fifty more behind them? Do I have that stamina? Maybe the risk is worth it for this one person, but what if the next person hurts me? And even if I do just help this one person, is it worth it? Will it make enough of a difference? Why bother with the work and the stress and effort if it’s not even going to matter in the long one?

Those are the questions I find myself asking when faced with these big issues in our world.

Where do I even start?

How do I start?

What if I can’t follow through and have to take a break before the work is done?

What difference can I make in the face of global, national, and institutional problems?

…it’s paralyzing.

Or at least, it can be.

These are the moments I need God the most. These are the moments I need God to remind me that the answers to these questions can be found in our faith, when we know where to look.

In this morning’s Gospel text, the lawyer asks Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus’ response is to not answer his question, but to point him in the right direction: “What is written in the law?” And so, we know that Jesus desires this lawyer to think beyond checking boxes on a “how to get to heaven” checklist and rather engage in a life that loves God and that loves his neighbor.

After he tells the story of the Samaritan, Jesus asks the lawyer, to see if he now gets it, “Which of these three was a neighbor to the man?” And the man replies, “The one who showed him mercy.”

Here, and all throughout the rest of the Bible, God reminds us that perfection or accomplishing a list of tasks is not the goal. God calls us to care for our neighbor, to the best of our abilities, recognizing that there will be times when we will fall short.

Yes, we are going to lose momentum.

Yes, we are going to make mistakes.

Yes, we are going to feel like we’re barely making a dent in all the hurt this world has to offer.

But when the lawyer tells Jesus that the neighbor was the one who showed mercy, Jesus said, “Go and do likewise,” giving us the sign and direction we need.

It doesn’t mean that it won’t still be really overwhelming. It doesn’t mean that sometimes it might feel like we’re only putting a small drop in a really big bucket.

What it does mean, is that we’re not in this work alone. God is with us every step of the way, encouraging us, strengthening us, and reminding us to rest when the work gets hard. And, thanks be to God, inspiring our neighbors and friends and siblings in the faith to join in the work, too, so that no one bears the load alone.

After all, the Samaritan doesn’t do it all himself, does he? No, he takes this injured man to an inn where they are able to provide food and a place to recuperate. It’s one more way that this story reminds us that we’re in it together and it’s not up to any one of us to do it all ourselves.

When I start to feel paralyzed or stuck, I remember this. I’m not in  it alone. And neither are you.

It doesn’t matter if we see one person on the side of the road or a hundred.

Jesus cares for that person through us, through our hands and feet and voices and actions.

And then helps us keep moving to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. Not paralyzed, but energized. And ready to love God with all our heart and soul and strength and mind and love each of these neighbors as ourselves.

Amen.

Who Is My Neighbor?

Sermon preached Sunday, July 14, 2019, at St. John’s Evangelical Lutheran Church in Littlestown, PA. Audio for recent sermons can be found here.

The story of the Good Samaritan is one that often makes us think. It’s one of the most popular of Jesus’ parables—and for good reason. It’s a story that turns societal expectations on their heads. One would expect that the religious leaders of the day (the Priest and the Levite) would be quick to respond to the needs of the person beaten by the side of the road, but neither of them do. Instead, it is the outsider, the despised person, the person considered “unclean” who shows compassion and care.

The lawyer who wants to test Jesus asks him, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus answers with this story about a man who acted as a neighbor, who recognized a neighbor in his midst and responded accordingly.

Who is our neighbor? I think this story tells us that our neighbor is the person most in need. Jesus could have replied to the question, “And who is my neighbor?” by saying, “Everyone is your neighbor”—but he doesn’t. I don’t think it’s because Jesus doesn’t think that—I believe God considers us all to be each other’s neighbors…but I think it’s because Jesus wants to highlight that the person in need, in particular, is our neighbor who needs our help and support now.

The love of God is for all. We are all created and claimed and valued equally by our gracious God…but sometimes we are called as followers of Christ to look at the person who is hurting the most and focus our attention in that direction. After all, our prayer requests are often for the needs we see around us. Our prayers are not always generalized.

We do not only pray for creation, but we pray for polluted waterways, endangered animals, and for our own ability to be good stewards. We do not only pray for people, but we pray for people who are ill, who are grieving, who are lost, we even pray for people by name. By saying, “We pray for Barbara,” we are not saying that no one else matters, but we are recognizing that Barbara, in particular needs our prayers at that given time. Our prayers are almost always specific and often for the things hurting the most.

In Martin Luther King, Jr.’s final speech, given the day before he was assassinated, this brother in Christ passionately retold the story of the Good Samaritan and called his listeners to a “kind of dangerous unselfishness.” Here are his words from that day:

“Now you know, we use our imagination a great deal to try to determine why the priest and the Levite didn’t stop. At times we say they were busy going to a church meeting, an ecclesiastical gathering, and they had to get on down to Jerusalem so they wouldn’t be late for their meeting. At other times we would speculate that there was a religious law that ‘One who was engaged in religious ceremonials was not to touch a human body twenty-four hours before the ceremony.’ And every now and then we begin to wonder whether maybe they were not going down to [Jericho] to organize a ‘Jericho Road Improvement Association.’

That’s a possibility. Maybe they felt that it was better to deal with the problem from the causal root, rather than to get bogged down with an individual effect.

But I’m going to tell you what my imagination tells me. It’s possible that those men were afraid. You see, the Jericho road is a dangerous road. I remember when Mrs. King and I were first in Jerusalem. We rented a car and drove from Jerusalem down to Jericho. And as soon as we got on that road, I said to my wife, “I can see why Jesus used this as the setting for his parable.” It’s a winding, meandering road. It’s really conducive for ambushing. You start out in Jerusalem, which is about 1200 miles — or rather 1200 feet above sea level. And by the time you get down to Jericho, fifteen or twenty minutes later, you’re about 2200 feet below sea level. That’s a dangerous road. In the days of Jesus it came to be known as the ‘Bloody Pass.’

And you know, it’s possible that the priest and the Levite looked over that man on the ground and wondered if the robbers were still around. Or it’s possible that they felt that the man on the ground was merely faking. And he was acting like he had been robbed and hurt, in order to seize them over there, lure them there for quick and easy seizure. And so the first question that the priest asked — the first question that the Levite asked was, ‘If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?’ But then the Good Samaritan came by. And he reversed the question: ‘If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?’” (Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., “I See the Promised Land,” A Testament of Hope :The Essential Writings and Speeches of Martin Luther King, Jr., pg. 284-285)

Think about that question: “If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?” This is what’s at stake: the safety, the very life of our neighbor. It is not theoretical. Lives, mental and physical health of fellow human beings is at stake. The way to care for our neighbor, for the person, or persons, in our communities who are hurting the most, is to stop and care for them.

There will come a time when we are the one who is hurting the most. There will be a time when we are the one by the side of the road, desperately hoping that someone will hear our cries and stop to help.

We are this one humanity and when part of us hurts, we all hurt. Acting as a neighbor to our siblings is what we were created to do. This is the work of the Holy Spirit in us and in the world. It gives life. It creates community. It finds grace in disagreements, peace in times of violence, and love in the midst of hate. Jesus seeks us out in our pain, shows us compassion and restores us to wholeness. Jesus is the truest neighbor there is and it is by his grace and example that we attempt to be neighbors to each other—especially the ones who need it the most.

The life of every person matters, but the truth of the matter is that all lives have not been understood to matter to the same extent. Our own nation’s history with slavery, segregation, Jim Crow, Japanese internment camps and “no Irish need apply” signs prove that to be true. And, even apart from race, our own class divisions can also prevent us from seeing the humanity of one another. So, is our neighbor now? Who is hurting? Who needs us to risk breaking societal rules and cultural conventions to help them?

Here these words, the poem, this prayer, written by a friend:

Kyrie Eleison
(A prayer based on Luke 10)

Lord, let mercy triumph.
When it does
because it must
will I kneel beside the broken body
on the pavement tattered
by every bullet and blow that tears
through the least of these?

Christ, let mercy triumph.
When I see my neighbors,
those foreign folk who have every bit of claim
to the name of this nation,
wrapping the wounds of your children
in the gauze of grace and mercy’s medicine
will I go and do likewise
or I will I confess that I,
caring only for me and mine
passed by on the other side?

Lord, let mercy triumph
over judgement
over roads that divide
over every shattered soul.

(Chad McKenna)

Amen.