Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

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"He shouldn't have been walking alone on this notoriously dangerous road." "He should not have worn such expensive clothing and jewelry, making himself a target." "He shouldn't have started out before the sun was up." "He should have carried some kind of weapon." We look for reasons to explain how a person in trouble got himself there, and therefore has himself to blame, and therefore doesn't deserve our help. Reasons for passing by on the other side. It gets us off the hook. Besides, we're in a hurry. Besides, it might be a trap. Besides, somebody else will come along and help.. We invent a hundred such reasons -- a hundred excuses.

The commandment to love one's neighbor was not new with Jesus. It went way back into the Old Testament. So, when Jesus gave this lawyer such an elemental answer to his question ("How can you get to heaven?" "Love God and love your neighbor."), the man felt foolish, was embarrassed. It had to be more complicated than that! (Otherwise we wouldn't need lawyers!) He needed to save face, and (thank God!) he remembered his case law. He remembered that for centuries the scholars had squabbled over the boundaries of required neighborliness. Is a slave my neighbor? What about a Gentile? What about a convicted criminal? What about one of those disgusting Samaritans? Are we required to love all these? Where will it end? So the lawyer (hoping to side-track Jesus and embroil him in an ancient controversy) asked, "But who is my neighbor?" (A modern version of his question might be, "It depends on what you mean by neighbor.") And, it was in response to this disingenuous question that Jesus told a simple, little story - a story that has tweaked the conscience of the western world ever since. The Good Samaritan.

The parable of the Good Samaritan asks, "Where are the boundaries of our love?" We all have boundaries. Some love only those who love them. Jesus said that doesn't win any prizes. Even icky people do that! Some love only family.

Me, my wife,
Our son John, his wife,
Us four, no more.
' Nothing to write home about there, either. There's not much neighborliness in that. But let us be honest and admit that, beyond the usual boundaries (close friends and family) we have trouble loving. It's tough going trying to love people who are not like us. Social barriers get in the way, class barriers, racial barriers, life-style barriers, language barriers, gender barriers, age barriers, national barriers -- not to mention our own inhibitions and fears, and our innate selfishness. It's hard to love outside the box. And it is often very costly.

We must acknowledge, at least in passing, that (in the parable) the first person not to show compassion on the traveler who had been mugged was a priest. And the second was a Levite, another holy man. We would have expected better! (And yet, we've understood for a long time, I hope, that the world's never going to be saved by ordained clergy.) But, I mean - honestly -- where were their heads? What excuse could they possibly offer? Roads in those days were narrow. You could not have avoided someone lying there. You would almost have had to step around him, or over him. No way they didn't notice. So what did they say to themselves? Too important, I guess. Too clean to get their hands dirty. Too much into their books; not enough into life. Too much living by rules, not enough living from the heart. Too busy telling people about religion to actually practice it! We would have expected better, and Jesus' hearers, also, would have expected better. But, then, along comes one from whom they would have expected little, a Samaritan. And he helps. And not just with the bare necessities. He loves the injured man, Jesus wants us to see, in an extravagant way. For heaven's sake, he leaves his credit card with the innkeeper! What wonderful, generous, gracious love from a stranger to a stranger, from a sinner to a sinner!

The parable warms our hearts, but it also makes us squirm. Because it warns us against hypocrisy, especially from religious leaders who don't practice what they preach. It warns against racism - not expecting much of Samaritans, for example. (Low expectations represent the worst kind of racism in America today.) It puts the slick, big-city lawyer in his place, forcing him to answer his own question -- and (denying him the shield of the hypothetical) challenges him to put his answer into practice. "Go, and do likewise." It exposes the sin of omission. When it's not what we do, but what we don't do that's the offense. And these themes are perfectly right, even if they make us uncomfortable. And each is worthy of its own sermon.

But there is, also, a positive, and even deeper message in the parable of the Good Samaritan. This is a story about the Kingdom of God, where extravagant love is the rule, not the exception. The parable teaches that the closer we are to the Kingdom of God here on earth, the more it will change the way we live. Somehow the priest and the Levite were oblivious to the Kingdom of God, and therefore acted as they did, but the Samaritan (somehow) knew the Kingdom quite well. In this deeper understanding of the story, we are not the Samaritan. We are the injured traveler lying on the road, at death's door, and Jesus is the Good Samaritan who picks us up, heals our wounds, and provides for our every need.

When the theologian Ruben Alves was asked to define "hope" and "faith," he came up with these words, which I think are wonderful: "Hope," he said, "is hearing the melody of the future. Faith is dancing to that melody in the here and now." I wonder if we can we hear the melody of the future. Are we able to believe, even in affliction, that love will triumph? Could the early Christian martyrs, as they were dying (covered with tar, hung on crosses, set on fire to light the streets of Rome) - could they hear that melody? Could they see themselves in white robes, singing, front row center before the throne of God? I think they could. In fact, I think all the early Christian leaders heard (loud and clear) the melody of the future. It's what sustained them. Paul wrote to the Corinthians, who were suffering for Christ (as he, too, had suffered), "Our light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory." He heard the melody. And so did the Good Samaritan.

We listen to the future's melody often, in secular ways. It helps us endure. We get through our children's misbehaviors, for example, and all their "stages," because we hear the melodies of their futures. We imagine them grown up (righteous and good, men and women of character, of whom we will be proud). Because of that dream, we will endure a great deal when they are young. We do it at work. We'll learn to live with a tyrannical boss or with poor working conditions, because we hear the melody of the future: promotions, a better salary, things we want for ourselves and our families. But, if we think it is "a dead-end job," no future, we quit. This is not silly talk. What we believe about the future directly affects how we live today. And it scares me when I hear someone say, "There is no future. I'm not going anywhere. We just live, and die, and that's it." I'm always afraid that person will hurt himself, or someone else.

But, on the other hand, if we believe in the future, and if we believe that the future belongs to love, and justice, and righteousness, then we will dance to that tune today. We will live a life of faith. Which means, among other things, a life that is turned outward. One preacher said this about conversion, "As new men and women, we learn that the abundance Jesus promised is not a treasure trove for us to squander on ourselves, but a trust for us to invest in others."

Years ago Dwight Eisenhower noted that, in this world, there are do-gooders and good doers. The do-gooders have "goodness" as a preoccupation, but it never costs them very much. They talk of establishing a committee for travelers' safety. They write to the newspaper about the deplorable conditions on the Jericho road. They propose a new tax to cover the medical expenses of those who are injured there, with a prescription drug benefit. They love their neighbor on the other side of the world, but not their neighbor next door. Their "love" is cheap. Theirs a parody of love.

Good doers, on the other hand, pitch in and make a difference. They invest themselves. They know that love is an action verb. They put oil on the wounds of the world. They truly help people who are in a bad way. Help them to get to an inn where they can heal. They have educated hearts. They know that love is self-expenditure. It costs. And they willingly pay the price. As their Master did. The Samaritan was a good doer. As we should be. And the Samaritan is also Jesus, the ultimate good doer, from whom we receive help in our distress. What a wonderful story!