Just then a lawyer stood up to test
Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do
to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to
him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “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.” And Jesus said to him, “You have given the
right answer; do this, and you will live.”
But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my
neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was
going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who
stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that
road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the
place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near
him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds,
having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought
him to an inn, and took care of him. The
next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take
care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you
spend.’ Which of these three, do you
think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The lawyer said, “The one who showed him
mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.” ~Luke 10:25-37
“Go and do
likewise.”
When Pastor Clint asked me to preach on
July 14th, I practically sprinted from his office to the Book of
Worship to read the lectionary for the day.
I would love to report that I did so like a child skipping toward his
presents on Christmas morning, full of glee and anticipation; however, to be
honest, since this is my first sermon, it felt a little more like going to the
dentist; you need to and you know you’ll be glad you did but still...
I read the scripture lessons and saw that
the gospel reading was the story of the “Good Samaritan.” Well, that’s easy enough, I said to myself
smiling. I mean, growing up in church, I
must have heard the Good Samaritan parable hundreds of times. And it does seem pretty obvious what Jesus is
trying to say to the lawyer who wonders about who his neighbor is, right? Everyone is your neighbor, the entire human
family is your neighbor. Sure, it may be
a rough pill to swallow sometimes, for we don’t generally like all people all
the time, especially those who are not like us and those who don’t live in our
neighborhood. But Jesus sternly says to
the lawyer and to us, “Go and do likewise.”
I’ve always heard that as, “Go and be like the Good Samaritan.” If you see someone hurting or in need, help
them, assist them, care for them, love them.
Anything less is simply sinful.
Be like the Good Samaritan. Be a
good Samaritan. Be a “good” Christian. Amen.
Sermon ended. Word has been given. May I sit down now?
But as I thought
about this, something troubled me.
You too have probably heard this
parable many times. You may have even
seen some dramatic interpretations via television or YouTube or in the
theatre. As a new teen, I remember one
Christian youth drama group coming to our church to perform, and one skit they
performed retold the story of the Good Samaritan in modern-day junior high melodrama. Just like a teen movie, up on the stage, a
group of bad guys with black t-shirts walked down what was an imagined school hall
of lockers and then shoved to the floor the stereotypical smaller, thin boy,
wearing glasses, knocking all the books out of his hands and yelling, “You nerd;
get out the way you wimp.” Then they walked away laughing. Surrounded by his scattered books, the boy
sat on the floor and hung his head frozen in sorrow, humiliation, and
shame. Before too long, a group of three
“mean” girls in cheerleader uniforms were talking and giggling as they
approached the boy. When one of them saw
him, she stopped the others and pointed, and they began whispering with one another. Then they walked past him in silence, making
a large arch around the boy and his books littered across the floor. As they walked past, one of the girls looked
back over her shoulder with disgust and they disappeared off-stage. Just
after them, a group of guys walked onto the stage acting “too cool for school”
in their sunglasses and popped-collars.
When they noticed the boy crumpled there before them, they looked around
to see if anyone was watching, then snickered together and bolted past the boy
without a second glance. Then a very
pretty girl walked onto stage. The cross
around her neck indicated her Christian faith, and she immediately noticed the
boy on the floor. Touching her cross,
she then walked over to the boy and lifted his head. She looked into his eyes, and pulled him to
his feet. Then she gathered his books
and gave them to him, patted him on the back and put her arm around his
shoulder. The boy smiled widely. This girl was beautiful inside and out. The Good Samaritan of Hard-Knocks Junior
High. A lesson had dramatically been
given: When you are a Christian, you
help people who are down and out, even while the rest of the world thinks they
are above such kindness.
As an impressionable young Christian, I
remember watching the skit and thinking, I want to be just like her – like the
Good Samaritan – the attractive one with the really good skin and the good,
shiny hair who helped that poor little boy with glasses bullied by those mean
guys. My own personal movie came into my
mind: “The Good Samaritan of Blytheville Junior High” starring Chad Gurley. Like the Man of Steel, I would help the
helpless, aid the distressed. I would be
a SUPER Christian.
But as I thought
about this, something troubled me.
My sister,
Dad, and I were at a gas-station getting gas not too long ago when a man walked
up and knocked on my sister’s window saying, “My wife and child and me are on
our way to my mother’s and are out of gas.” He pointed towards his car and passengers and
asked, “Could you happen to spare some
extra cash?” My dutiful sister reached
down into her purse to discover that she actually had no cash, only her debit
card, and told the man that she was really sorry that she couldn’t help. After he walked away, she looked back at me
and said, “Gosh, I feel like such a bad
Christian. Should I go to the ATM and
get some money for him?” I said no, no. A voice that sounded like my mother’s came into
my mind adding, “You don’t know what that money is really going to go for. He could be buying alcohol or drugs. By not giving him money, you might really be
helping him.” Then I told my sister that
someone else would likely help him and that she shouldn’t worry about it. Well, later, overthinking the way I often do,
I started worrying about that moment with my sister and my flippant response to
her. Did we miss an opportunity to be a
Good Samaritan and help those people?
Were they angels in disguise, as we have sometimes heard people claim,
testing us to see if we were good Christians?
Then, two weeks ago, at a gas station near where I am living this
summer, the same situation happened again.
A man walked up and knocked on my window and asked for money for gas
while pointing to his car where there was a child sitting in a car seat and a
woman in the front. I felt so guilty about
the situation with my sister that I pulled out a 5-dollar bill and handed it to
him. “God bless you,” he said as he
walked away towards another person pumping gas to ask for money again. Self-satisfied, I drove away patting myself
on my back and thinking what a Good Samaritan I had been. I believed I “went and did likewise.” Wasn’t
that so Christ-like of me?
Ahhh, but guess what? As I thought about it, something troubled me.
So what was it
about Jesus Christ’s Good Samaritan story that troubled me? - a parable we’ve
all heard countless times, watched demonstrated in plays and movies, and have
even attempted to emulate ourselves. Why,
when the parable’s meaning seems so cut and dry, so matter of fact, was God
troubling me about it? What was I
missing? Is it perhaps that I am,
perhaps WE are, in need of some “spiritual wisdom and understanding?”
Because you
are here attending worship today, because you have come to church without being
made to come here, well, most of you anyway, I’m willing to bet that many of
you really do try to be a Good Samaritan.
I’ll bet that some of you even stress your comfort zone by helping those
less fortunate than you, by aiding those who are extremely different from you, and
by assisting those who live outside your own neighborhoods. Some of you try really hard to be a Good
Samaritan, and there’s certainly nothing wrong with that. But I think the question with which God keeps
troubling me is WHY? WHY? WHY are you, why am I, trying to be that Good
Samaritan?
Is it because Jesus commanded us? Is it because we believe God will prosper us
if only we follow God’s commandments? Is
it because we desire to be “good?” Is it because our culture teaches us that
the star is the selfless hero of the movie, and we long to be stars? Is it because we think that if others see how
kind we are they will want to be kind too, that we’ll be a witness for
Christ? Is it because deep down we want
to affirm ourselves, give ourselves a pat on the back? Or is it because we believe we are better
than others, better off than others, and so we are able, perhaps entitled, to
give? If I’m to have integrity, I have
to ask myself these hard questions. We
have to ask ourselves these uncomfortable questions, troubling questions.
So you’re a Good Samaritan; that’s
great, but why? Why do you do what you
do?
Although
sometimes unsettling, I’ve learned that it’s actually productive to have these
questions, to “live the questions” as the poet Rilke wrote to a young aspiring
poet. The questions scratch at the
surface of our lives and grow meaning.
The questions sheer away superficiality and create depth and
intensity. Struggling with the questions
strengthens our faith, and can even grow our relationship with God, when we
ponder the answers in conversation with God prayerfully. They demand us to live fully, ironically by
never outgrowing the question so often uttered from mouths of children, “Why?”
Well, in this
instance, an answer begins to be found in the Samaritan, a much more complex
character than our title of “Good Samaritan” allows.
To illustrate,
let’s briefly look back at the play I saw as a teenager. Now, if the youth drama group had really
wanted to portray the Good Samaritan parable authentically as Jesus told it to
His listeners, especially the lawyer, yet still via a teen film genre, then the
stereotypes would be quite changed.
Instead of cheerleaders, it should have been the Bible Club teens
donning crosses that would have passed by the boy on the floor. Instead
of the cool dudes, it should have been the boy’s own friends out fear of
association that would have left him crumpled there –the one’s you do not expect
to leave the boy languishing. And the
Good Samaritan, well, if they really wanted to startle us like Jesus had shocked
and appalled his audience by using a Samaritan as the hero, a Samaritan who was
“outside the pale of orthodox Judaism,” they should have made the Good Samaritan the token African-American character who was the brunt of jokes yet watched with suspicion andapprehension; or perhaps the Good Samaritan should have been an effeminate, skinny boy with highlighted hair and a limp wrist who schoolmates attacked with homophobic slurs. If truly echoing Christ’s drama, the Good Samaritan would have been the one already on the margins of junior high society according to teen films, who helped the little boy because of seeing himself in the boy, and so he joins him on the ground, rescues him from his shame, and helps him to his feet, all the while doing so with sincerity and without a single thought, with absolutely nothing to gain, without a fantasy of an expectation of approval or reward, without ever being told to “go and do likewise.”
So then why does this parable have any
relevance for our lives as Christians if a teen movie can make the point? I believe it is because it profoundly
demonstrates our faith in Jesus Christ. Further,
our faith matures in Christ when He is the focus. Because for us, Christ is the true Good
Samaritan, our Good Samaritan. Our
ostracized, marginalized, crucified Savior daily, hourly, finds us upon this
road of life stripped of our dignity, beaten by the world’s circumstances,
situations, and injustices, robbed of our joys, our passions, our hopes, and
left for half-dead, soulless beings. And
every moment of our lives, Christ finds us and embraces us, passionately loves
us, and shows us immeasurable kindness.
Mercifully, he bandages our hurts, our wounds both self-inflicted and
otherwise, and anoints our imperfect loving with unwarranted forgiveness. Then upon the wings of His Grace, he carries
us to God’s Heavenly Banquet. Christ had
everything to lose and nothing to gain, but He loves us anyway.
Thus what I’m saying here today, what I
believe Christ really asks of us, is to truly engage our human family as we
engage Him, deeply, authentically, to be in real relationship with others
genuinely, and not out of a sense of duty, not superficially, not because Jesus
happened to say, “Go and do likewise.” In
echoing Luther, understand that we not do good works to establish our own
righteousness, to prove to others or ourselves our own good Christianship, but
instead because we live our faith in God’s love and mercy for us out-loud. Thus the transformative message of Christ,
the Love He offers us, the Grace He freely gives us, ignites love in our hearts
for others so that - we do - simply because we do – not because we’re told to. To truly love your neighbor as yourself, to
truly love your enemies, a love Jesus Christ perfectly embodied unto his
crucifixion and beyond, is a way of being, a way of living your faith. Faith.
So yes, even
after all the questioning, I still invite you as Christ invites you, do go and
do likewise.
Go and show unfathomable mercy to your human family.
Go and love each and every person you meet unconditionally.
Go and be Christ’s physical embrace of a broken and wounded world.
Go and show unfathomable mercy to your human family.
Go and love each and every person you meet unconditionally.
Go and be Christ’s physical embrace of a broken and wounded world.
But don’t do it to be good.
Don’t do it to be a hero.
And don’t do it because you were told to.
Go and do it because you live your faith,
the faith that Christ loves you so very much that He does it for you!
