7. Sunday after Pentecost, 07/11/2010

Sermon on Luke 10:25-37, by Hubert Beck

And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, "Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" He said to him, "What is written in the Law? How do you read it?" And 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 he said to him, "You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live."But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, 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, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.' Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?" He said, "The one who showed him mercy." And Jesus said to him, "You go, and do likewise." (English Standard Version)

TO WHOM ARE YOU A NEIGHBOR?

A number of years ago a thirty second TV ad was made asking for volunteers to serve the needs of those who had been adversely affected by terrible diseases in an area where medical services were virtually non-existent. A volunteer in a very primitive situation was shown going about the business of caring for people with terrible sores and angry lesions of various kinds. It was a horrifying scene from which one wanted to turn away. Although TV cannot convey smells, one could sense the stench in which she was working. For twenty-five seconds there was nothing but silence as the viewer watched the woman bandaging and assisting her patients. Suddenly a voice-over was heard: "I wouldn't do that for a million dollars!" The woman turned to the camera and with a slight smile said very quietly, "I wouldn't either!"

The Wounded of the Earth

That modern-day Good Samaritan was simply serving one of the multitudes who, upon going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, are waylaid by enemies who leave them lying helpless along the road. They have been found in every age in one form or another. There are helpless children suffering from abuses of many kinds. There are those who stand on street corners bushwhacked by unemployment, alcoholism, post-war traumas of various sorts - or simply lives caved in on themselves. There are those whose minds have become unbalanced by a variety of distressing and painful breakdowns in relationships or destructive collapses of a personal nature.

On larger levels there are multitudes of those wounded by natural disasters or national upheavals, by economic meltdowns or catastrophic tragedies far beyond human control.

Have you, yourself, not felt the woundedness of our human condition at times - possibly as you came to church today, in fact - or perhaps even in a perpetual round of stresses and distresses? Do you not, personally, understand the total helplessness of this man lying by the side of the road needing assistance? He doesn't need a band-aid. He needs total care. Alone he is doomed. Can you empathize with him?

The Could-be Helpers

Surely none of this woundedness has escaped your attention before that "catalog of need" was spread out before your eyes just now. There was purpose in laying it out, however. It is the place where we find it hard to "connect" with the parable, for Jesus spoke of one man who was in need of rescue. We can find it possible to think of helping one person - or perhaps even a few. But when we are confronted with the vast array of wounded we shrink back. We tend to withdraw into ourselves, asking questions such as may have crossed the minds of the priest and Levite who passed the man by.

The Levite, e.g., may have thought that this was nothing more than a scam ... a decoy for a band of thugs who would leap out once he got close to the man and do worse to him than appears to have been done to this man. (A modern day form: "The one who portrays need is just lazy. He has a sign that says he will work, but I know he will not really do so! How can I know if this is a genuine need or not?") Or, perhaps the priest thought to himself, "I have responsibilities down the way. People are depending on me to perform my duties. Although this road is not heavily traveled, surely someone will come along soon who will take care of this poor man." (A modern day form: "There are plenty of others who can help - people who are looking for such opportunities, in fact. And if none happen along, there are a number of public aid places specially designed for the homeless and hungry. He / she can get help if it is truly needed. After all, if I doled out a little to everyone standing on every corner I would help none of them significantly - and meanwhile it would soon run my charitable pocket dry.") Others may have passed by, tsk-tsking at the sad state of a man who had drunk too much. Or wondering why the man had not had the sense to travel with companions, for this way was renowned for its danger. (A modern day form: "I have heard any number of times that these people do not really want a place of shelter that will require responsible living. These people not only have made their own bed, but they have devised a way of life that intentionally steers clear of rules and regulations they would have to obey if they made use of the facilities available to them.")

Ah, yes. I know all these - and many other equally high-sounding such reasons for passing by the wounded who are found throughout our society. I use them all myself. Are they "excuses" or "rationalisms" or "worthwhile considerations" or "realistic appraisals" of uncomfortable situations? Maybe a little of each!

None of these, mind you, are necessarily lacking in compassion! Each one who passed on the other side may have felt extreme sympathy for the poor man. It may have occurred to them that, had they passed this way only a few minutes earlier they could have been that man - and they shuddered at the thought. Looking at the man they may have momentarily even made a move toward him, thinking it well to help out, but then turned away in recognition that it was too risky - and they knew little about first-aid - and even if they could revive him, what more would be required of them once he was able to function minimally again.

We to whom this parable is addressed in our day sense difficulties far beyond that, however, for the wounded of the world are so numerous, so distant, so extremely needy that we feel unable to even remotely be meaningful helpers. That is what incapacitates us so severely. We do feel compassion for them as their images cross our TV screen and when the stories are told in our newspapers. But what can we in our little corner of the world do about it?

Of course, when the wounded one is a child or a parent or a spouse - or even a neighbor or a close friend - we feel ready and willing to serve them. Had the wounded man been the priest's brother he would undoubtedly have reacted differently. But when the needy person was a stranger - or, in our instance, when the needy are at a distance and when our resources are stretched too thin already - when the needs are so extreme - when the wounded lie in multiple ditches around the world - we find this parable terribly difficult to apply to ourselves. We understand and sympathize with the priest and the Levite as they pass on the other side of the poor fellow. We walk with them.

The Samaritan To the Rescue!

The parable, of course, is not really about the wounded person even though the parable could not exist without him. Nor is the parable really about the priest and the Levite, although they lend dimension to the narrative. So have we spent too much time considering them since they are secondary? Without such considerations, however, the place of the Samaritan in this story would be reduced. And it should not be reduced. It should be enhanced, in fact, for he is the very crux of the story. Here we have a person who surely recognized all the same things the priest and the Levite had recognized, but disregarded them all. He, too, must have had business to tend to. He, too, knew the dangers of this path. He, too, had compassion. But for him, compassion turned from feelings of sympathy into action - and this is the first and foremost thing to recognize in the parable.

He was willing to be interrupted from his appointed rounds in order to do that which was necessary for the pitiable man in the ditch. Helmut Thielicke makes a major point of this in a sermon on this parable: "Anybody who loves must always be prepared to have his plans interrupted. We must be ready to be surprised by tasks which God sets for us today. God is always compelling us to improvise. For God's tasks always have about them something surprising and unexpected, and this imprisoned, wounded, distressed brother, in whom the Saviour meets us, is always turning up on our path just at the time when we are about to do something, just when we are occupied with altogether different duties. God is always a God of surprises." (from The Waiting Father, p. 168)

Remember the Reason for the Parable

We must stop to note, at this point, that the parable was not spoken in a vacuum. Jesus spoke it in response to a question by one who was "testing" Jesus, as the text says. Interpreters vary as to whether he was a "friendly inquirer" wanting to test the depth of Jesus' rabbinic wisdom or whether he was trying to trap him into saying troublesome things that would get Jesus into trouble with the religious authorities. The word "test" is a tricky word. But regardless of that, the man (a "lawyer," we are told, the title of one who was an intense student of the scripture to whom people would turn when they were uncertain about how to address religious questions that arose) had asked a basic question of Jesus. "Teacher (a title of respect from a "lawyer"!), what shall I do to inherit eternal life?"

The question, of course, is both fundamental in the sense that it is a "bottom line" question for people concerned about their eternal destiny and a strangely puzzling question all at the same time. There is an obvious contradiction within the question: "inheritances" are not bought - they are the free gift of the one making the will. Yet the lawyer asked what he should "do" to obtain the inheritance he earnestly desired. What price was required for the inheritance he sought? A strange question from one who surely knew better!

Nevertheless Jesus took it seriously. Since the lawyer was, by definition, well versed in scripture, Jesus turned the question back to him as though to say, "Why ask me for the answer to a question to which you, yourself, know the answer full well?" The lawyer responded in a way almost unique up to this point in the religious life of Israel. He combined two passages from the Torah, found quite far apart as entirely separate injunctions (in Deuteronomy and Leviticus) and in different contexts, to answer Jesus. In short, "Love God and love your neighbor." To "love God" was always the bottom line in Jewish theology, but joining it to the "love your neighbor" passage was not typical at the time.

Jesus affirmed his answer. He found it neither wrong nor antagonistic. "You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live." But apparently this throws the lawyer off a bit, for he needs to "justify himself," the text tells us. (Perhaps there was more antagonism in this "test" than meets the eye!) In a sense he challenges Jesus at this point. Having, himself, said that love of neighbor was part and parcel of loving God, he apparently falls back to an internal question of the time concerning whether love for neighbor meant merely Jewish neighbors or even religiously correct neighbors or if it had a broader intention. What, he asked, was Jesus' opinion on this matter. "And who is my neighbor?" The parable is a response to that question, and it shapes the way the parable was told.

The Surprising Samaritan

When Jesus introduced the Samaritan into the picture he gave it a strange twist. If he simply intended to say, "Anyone who stopped to help the man was a neighbor to him," he could have said it that simply and let it be. Various reasons are given for Jesus' introduction of a Samaritan at this point. But all are agreed, for it is a simple historic fact, that Jews had little use for Samaritans, who were considered a "mixed breed" of people with a twisted and unsavory version of Judaism for their religion. Samaritans, in their turn, had little use for Jews. The animosity between the two was marked.

So the first dimension introduced through the Samaritan was that even an enemy who does something good for one whom he would ordinarily scorn was a neighbor. A "good Samaritan" (small "g," note!) would very likely have looked at this wounded Jew and rejoiced that he had gotten what was coming to him - a very un-neighborly thought and act! This Samaritan, however, was a "Good Samaritan" (capital "G," note!) - one who held his genetic enmity at bay in order to help the wounded man.

The second dimension is revealed through this - and it is undoubtedly the one Jesus intended to emphasize. The Samaritan did not merely have compassion on the man. His compassion took on the form of action. He went out of his way to help him, to revive him, to take him to safe surroundings and even provide for his care when the Samaritan had to go on about his business. In short, as many note, the lawyer's original question, "Who is my neighbor?" was turned inside out by Jesus who essentially rephrased it through this parable to ask, "To whom am I a neighbor?" He put it this way: "Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?" The answer, of course, was both obvious and unavoidable - although, as is also commonly noticed, the lawyer could not bring himself to say, "the Samaritan." He could only bring himself to say, "The one who showed him mercy." To which Jesus, much as he had responded to the lawyer's earlier quotation of the scripture, said again, "You go, and do likewise."

But we are not through with that Samaritan yet! He was traveling deep in Jewish territory - on the road going down from Jerusalem to Jericho. He was out of his circle of safety! He was a "foreigner in an unwelcoming land." He ran the risk of being run out of the area simply by being there! He who helped the Jew was a complete "outsider" who proved to be a neighbor!

So -- Has Jesus Turned the Gospel Into Law at This Point?

Some of the earliest church fathers who interpreted this parable did some remarkable things with it, turning it into more of an allegory of salvation than a mere response to a lawyer who was testing Jesus. They were undoubtedly on to something, though. At least, it is not far-fetched to put all this together in a way that takes the parable seriously as a representation of the Gospel at just the point where it could sound most like Law!

One can never forget, first of all, who tells the parable! He who tells the parable is also in the parable! He is not interested in merely telling idle tales to entertain the lawyer or anybody else. After all, was Jesus not, from the time of his birth up to this time - and long after this time - a complete "surprise" to the earth? Was he not as "out of place" on earth as the Samaritan was in Judea? Had humans not made it quite clear that they were not too interested in having God poking around in their earthly affairs? That is what sin is - a going of one's own way with no interest or concern for God's accompaniment! He whose true place was at the right hand of the Father had come as a "foreigner," an "outsider," to this planet precisely to encounter the wounded of the earth lying in the ditches of the world. He it was who came to us mortally wounded humans, bound up our wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Those early fathers of the faith interpreted the inn to which the Samaritan took the half-dead man as the church where he would be nourished back to health. Maybe that wasn't so far-fetched!

This brings us back to our earliest reflections on who the wounded of the earth may be. Are we not among them? Has not sin ambushed us much like those robbers who stripped the man and left him helpless in the ditch? Indeed, we are the wounded - and we have been rescued by a most unlikely rescuer, one who, like the Samaritan, had no reason to be sympathetic to our cause, but who, nevertheless, remembered us as his children, created in his image. Twisted though that image had become and forlorn as we were in the grasp of our sinfulness, he was willing to restore us to that which we were intended to be. He gave us waters in which to be washed - waters within which he joined his name to ours as we died with him, were buried with him, and were raised again with him to new life. He poured the wine of his blood on our wounds, and then promised to join his body and blood to bread and wine for his children to eat and drink from that time to this.

What a surprising mercy has overtaken us in this one who, like the Samaritan, entered the world of our helplessness, restoring it to a promising future in which we become his hands and his feet, his voice and his presence among and for all the wounded we find around us. It is a monumental task at first glance - but, then, he doesn't ask us to bind the wounds of all whose lives have been torn in misery. He only asks that we see the wounded as he has seen us, not merely feeling compassion for them and then passing by on the other side, but stopping to care for them as we find it possible, binding up their wounds as best we can, pouring on oil and wine for their healing and providing what respite we can for them in their hour of need. As he has done for us, "go and do likewise."

Not only are they neighbors to us, but we are those who are neighbors to them! Love of God is joined to love of neighbor - and we see God in and through our neighbor just as our neighbor will see God in and through us.

In the name of the Father and of the + Son and of the Holy Spirit.

Retired Lutheran Pastor Hubert Beck
Austin, Texas
E-Mail: hbeck@austin.rr.com

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