Luke 10:25-37
Proper 10 / Year C
Gay Jennings, who this
weekend concludes her ten years of service as the President of the House of
Deputies of the Episcopal Church, tells the story of a time she witnessed a car
drive off the highway and skid down an embankment. She pulled over, rushed to vehicle, which was
billowing smoke, and helped the driver get out and get to safety. Once home, she told her family about her
harrowing experience. Her grade school
aged daughter said excitedly, “Let’s turn on the news. I want to see the video of it.” Gay explained it all happened so fast and
there was not a news crew there to film it.
“Well, isn’t that just like life,” the child said with disdain in her
voice. “You save a person’s life and no
one notices, but if you pick your nose the whole world sees it!”
What is the most
heroic thing you have ever done? Some
professions absolutely require heroism: police officers, fire fighters, and
emergency room workers come to mind.
These folks, whether on duty or off, instinctively run toward a person
in need. I think of two parishioners I
have known over the years whose lives literally were saved by a person who
tended to them in an emergency situation: a bicycle accident and cardiac
arrest. I suspect most of us here this
morning would do whatever we could to help a person in desperate need.
That being said, I
find Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan to be troubling. We may be capable of heroism, but what about
compassion? Like many of you, I fret
about how to respond to the person holding up a sign asking for money at a
traffic light. I know what it is to be
like the priest and the Levite in today’s parable because I typically turn my
head, look away, and drive on past when the light changes. I can think of at least a dozen reasons to
justify my not helping them, but I never seem to be able to let myself off the
hook.
I had an
interesting experience when I visited Portland, Oregon a couple of years ago. There are high-end retail stores in the
downtown area of the city. There is also
a huge homeless population. From what I
could tell it is a diverse group running the gambit from runaway teenagers to
the more traditional winos and bums.
Even though the shoppers and the homeless occupied the same space, the
two groups never interacted. No one
asked me for a handout. No shopper asked
a street person for directions.
Physically, we were only a few feet apart, but in reality we were worlds
away from one another.
I think what frustrates
me about this parable is how it sets an impossibly high standard to meet on a
consistent basis. Had Jesus told the
story of a motorist who pulled over to help the victim of an accident, I would
feel so much better about myself. Sure,
if and when I see a car crash, I will stop to help. Then I would be able to check my “good
neighbor” box and know I had done my Christian duty. But, as I said, Jesus’ story is not about
heroism, it is about compassion and indifference and it sets the bar very high.
Here are a couple
of things to notice about the story.
Jesus offers no reason why the priest and the Levite do not stop to help
the wounded victim. Perhaps they thought
he was already dead and didn’t want to make themselves ritually unclean by
touching him. Maybe they feared the
robbers were still in the area. Jesus offers
no insight as to why they pass by. They
just do.
The Samaritan is
the least likely person to stop and help.
There was such enmity between Jews and Samaritans you would expect one
to walk past the other and ignore the need.
It would be like a Ukrainian stopping to help a wounded Russian
soldier.
And finally, the
Samaritan did not offer a handout, but rather a hand up. He did what was necessary to get the victim
back on his feet again: bandaging his wounds, transporting him to shelter,
paying for his care, and promising to return to check on his condition. Jesus could have had the priest say a prayer
and the Levite give a shekel, but the Samaritan still would have been the true neighbor
of the story.
I took a philosophy
class in college and one day we were assigned to go the library, select an article
from one of several philosophy journals, read it, and write a paper on it. I picked an article about world hunger and
moral responsibility. It seems someone
had written a scholarly piece holding if you have food and someone anywhere in
the world dies of hunger, you are morally responsible for that death – all deaths. The author of the article I read argued we
have limited moral responsibility. Yes,
we have to make a serious effort to help, but as individuals we can’t possibly
prevent all starvation. This was the
perspective I embraced, which turned out to be a good thing because the article,
I came to discover, was written by none other than the professor of my
class.
The back-and-forth scholarly
debate highlighted for me a dilemma I have never been able fully to resolve for
myself: when and where does my obligation as a Christian to be a good neighbor
begin and when and where does it end? I
suspect many of you wrestle with this as I do.
I also suspect our struggling is a good sign because it indicates we are
trying to discern God’s will and God’s call.
That we don’t always get it right is why in a few moments we will ask
for forgiveness for things “done and left undone.” Then we will have a chance to make a fresh
start of this neighbor thing and perhaps do a little better at it.
