Pentecost 8 C: The God We Didn’t Expect
Dear Partner in Preaching,
Nine preachers out of ten, I’d wager, will preach this week’s parable of the Good Samaritan as a morality tale. And, frankly, I think that’s just fine. It does, after all, reflect a profound example of how we are to treat each other, regarding as “neighbor” not merely those who are close to us or look like us or believe like us, but rather anyone who is in need. Given the political and cultural impetus, just now, to perceive anyone as different as a threat, this is a timely message indeed.
If you move in this direction, I think there is an important pattern available to us in this parable to flesh out Jesus’ parting words to the lawyer, “Go and do likewise.” What does the Good Samaritan do? Three things, I’d suggest. First, he sees the man in need, when he was invisible to the priest and Levite who passed him by. Actually, they did see him, and then promptly ignored him. They saw him, but not as a neighbor, perceiving him instead to be a burden, and perhaps even a threat. How often, in conversations about refugees, have we been tempted not to see them as human beings and neighbors, but as burdens and potential threats?
Second, the Samaritan not only sees the man in need as a neighbor, but he draws near to him, coming over to help. The other two gave this man in need a wide berth, creating even more distance between them. But the Samaritan instead goes to him, and becomes vulnerable in that closeness. Vulnerable should it indeed be a trap, but even more so, vulnerable in opening himself to see his pain, misery, and need. Again, how often are we frightened to come close to others simply because we do not want to bear their pain, to be open to their need?
Third, after seeing him and coming close, the Samaritan has compassion on him, tending his wounds, transporting him to the inn, making sure he is taken care of. Seeing is vital, drawing near imperative, yet the final and meaningful gesture is that the Samaritan actually does something about it. Compassion, in this sense, is sympathy put into action. And these three inter-related moves – seeing, drawing near, and having compassion – offer us an example of what it is to be Christ-like, for God in Jesus saw our vulnerability and need, drew near in the Incarnation to embrace us, and in the cross took action by identifying with us to the very end, rising again so that death could no longer dominate us.
As I said, I think this is a fine, faithful, and timely sermon. But reading the passage this week, I was struck by something I’d never noticed before. Actually, that’s not quite accurate. I had noticed it, but it took on new meaning this time around. And that’s quite simply how odd and interesting it is that Jesus chose a Samaritan to be the protagonist and good example in his parable. What I’d always imagined was that Jesus chose a Samaritan to make his point painfully clear to the lawyer testing him: If even a Samaritan can act this way, certainly you who say you seek eternal life should be able to do likewise. And it is, indeed, a sharp lesson as, when asked who treated the beaten man like a neighbor, the lawyer cannot even name the Samaritan, but instead replies only, “The one who showed mercy.”
Which is true. The Samaritan did show mercy. Indeed, this is the third element of the Christ-like pattern and example we discerned earlier. And that’s what struck me: Jesus’ chooses a Samaritan to act like he would act in this parable. Jesus chooses an outcast to play his role in this short morality tale. Jesus identifies one as rejected by his audience to demonstrate God’s action in the world. And all this after a group of Samaritans rejected Jesus and refused to give him a place to stay in the verses from chapter nine we read two weeks ago.
All of which makes me wonder whether there is another lesson in this parable: that God often shows up where we least expect God to be. No one expected God to reveal God’s glory through the disgrace of the cross. And no one expected, or even wanted, God to reveal God’s power through vulnerability and suffering. But that’s what happened. Perhaps that’s why Jesus chose a Samaritan, to remind this self-justifying lawyer that there is no self-justification possible, because the moment we can justify ourselves we no longer need care about those around us. The consequence of justifying ourselves, it turns out, is to struggle to recognize the presence of God in our neighbors and, even harder, in our enemies. When we fail to see, draw near, and help those we mistrust or fear or just want to ignore, we risk missing the saving presence of God in our lives and in the world. So who, we might ask, do we have the hardest time imagining God working through? And then we should probably expect God to do just that.
But it is not simply a lesson; it is also a promise. God comes where we least expect God to be because God comes for all. The self-justifying lawyer and the outcast Samaritan; the refugees and those who want to keep them out; those in need, those who help them, and those who turn away. No one is beyond the pale of God’s mercy, grace, and redemption. And if we’re not sure, keep in mind that Jesus, as we heard two weeks ago, has set his face to go to Jerusalem, and there he will not only suffer and die on the cross to show us just how far God will go to demonstrate God’s love, but also forgive those who crucify him. No one is beyond the reach of God’s love. No one. And so Jesus brings this home by choosing the most unlikely of characters to serve as the instrument of God’s mercy and grace and exemplify Christ-like behavior. That’s what God does: God chooses people no one expects and does amazing things through them. Even a Samaritan. Even our people. Even me. Even you.
That was true two thousand years ago, Dear Partner, and it will be true this Sunday as well, as God works through our humble, even fragile words to do great things. Thanks for being an instrument of God’s grace, Dear Partner, this week and always.
Yours in Christ,
David
Compassion, in this sense, is sympathy put into action.
Not sympathy…but empathy.
God chose a samaritian…and then…Pushing your line of reasoning one step farther…samaritian ..icky horrible awful other outlander samaritian…shows compassion for suffering person….Jesus face is set toward Jerusalem, where HE becomes the sufferer left by the side of the road. Who shows him compassion? Who draws near? If we would be those who would claim that role through time, how can we “other” shudder and exclude? Soaked in the love the stories and the welcome of Christ How dare we cross the road?
P.s. Wow! Early! Thanks! And happy fourth!
Dear David,
Love your angle on this well known famous short story/parable.
Here is a reflection that extends your angle – the story from the point of view of the victim. Thanks, again, for your insights and partnership.
Robbed!
A twisted fisted hand,
A bleeding furrowed brow.
My eyes saw skies—dark, threatening.
Cries arise through the tree boughs.
Tossed in a ditch like garbage
From a recent traveler’s meal.
I had no breath to shout again.
My mind began to reel.
In a mindless stupor
My inner eye could see
Images of people
Who began to pass by me.
Out of the foggy coma
A dream-like man rode by.
A Priest with prayer shawl muttered:
“Unclean! Unclean!” he sighed.
My God! It seemed like days
Until my inner eye could see
A Levi dressed in Sabbath garb
Hovering over me.
His look of horror struck
Within my mind and heart.
The Sabbath Law must be obeyed
And so he did depart.
A twisted opened hand,
A face I dare not trust,
Thrusted hands now lifted me
And we were in a rush.
The sky was dark and gray.
Hands gently salved my wounds.
I found myself awake from sleep
Resting in a room.
A twisted opened hand
Passed silver across the door.
Speaking softly, left unknown:
“Tell me if you need more.”
I awakened from deep pain
And thought it was a dream.
Could comrades from my race
Have left me in such a scene?
Samaritan –a face of hate
–trash –a dirty dog!
Salved my wounds and brought me here?
My God, I’m in a fog!
A gentle voice, the innkeeper’s wife, sighed,
“No, God’s Word is very near.
In those we hate and despise
God’s promise is made clear.”
Kenn Storck
Copyright @ A Poem a Sunday
May be reproduced with permission
kennstorck@gmail.com
Kenn,
May I use this poem?? I have wanted to tell the story from the side of the victim and this fits beautifully!!!
Yes, please do!
Hope this message got back to you in time!
Lovely poem. Thanks for sharing. I’m retelling the story also from the POV of the unnamed man.
Thanks, glad it has been helpful.
May I use this poem? Thank you for sharing.
I would like to include this in my sermon tomorrow. I hope you get this to respond
I heard a sermon preached on this text a few years ago, and during it I realized something I had never thought about before. The Samaritan, of all those witnesses who passed through, was the only one likely to also find himself in the ditch. Perhaps he had been there before, but given the animosity between Jew and Samaritan, perhaps hearing the stories of those frequently ignored will help us remember just who, and whose, we are. Replace Samaritan with Palestinian, or Muslim, immigrant, or homosexual, or transgender, or Democrat or Republican for that matter, and understand the impact this lesson had, and still has for us.
David, I love this. But I heard another question this week that goes with your thoughts I think. What was a Samaritan doing on a Judean road? Does this imply that often when we encounter the “other” we are outside of our comfort zone. In this case the Samaritan would not only be outside his comfort zone but also offering care for someone he would rather not care for — to put it mildly. Just a thought that I think plays into our preaching.
I love that question, Julie. Everyone is in the wrong place, and that seems to be just the place God shows up.
“What must I do to inherit eternal life?”
I believe that our lawyer is asking Jesus for the minimum requirements to get his ticket punched to heaven. He wants rule 1, 2, 3 to follow faithfully. He even has a suggestion- Love God, love your neighbor. Jesus agrees! So far, so good.
The response of the priest and Levite fall safely on the legally correct side. They remain clean, touch no blood and so can go on to the Temple right away to worship (i.e. they demonstrate a high standard of ‘loving God’). They also define who they think a neighbor is- not that beaten up guy. He is a stranger and therefore does not fit the requirement of a neighbor to be loved. Legally, they are on good footing. So far, so good.
The Samaritan comes along. He shows compassion, touches a bloody body, helps the stranger. Legally, he is unclean (can’t worship so he can’t ‘love God’ right now), he helps someone he does not know (not his neighbor like the rule states) and is out a few days wages for his effort. He’s done it all wrong.
And, of course, the Samaritan is right.
Go and do likewise.
Dear David,
Thank you for your timely words. All of this is so powerful. So often we try to put ourselves in the role of “Good Samaritan” in this story. When I started thinking about Jesus as the Samaritan, the one who shows mercy and compassion, that got me to thinking about the inn-keeper. If Christ is the one who shows first compassion, then surely the Church is called to be the inn-keeper, the ones who continue Christ’s loving work of compassion and who are provided with everything they need to serve and care for the beaten and broken in this world.
Thanks so much for your ideas. I really like the “seeing, drawing near, compassion” view of this well-loved story. In this busy world, I think the “seeing” is a challenge.
Look forward to you insights each week — even if I am not preaching on the gospel.
Eric and I discussed something about this story on this week’s Pulpit Fiction Podcast. There is no setting break between the return of the 72 (last week’s lectionary reading) and the moment when the lawyer gets up to ask a question. It seems as if the lawyer may be one of the 72. I’ve never read anyone comment on this, which usually means it isn’t a valid comment or I haven’t done enough homework. So I’m curious what you think.
That’s a great question, Robb. I’d never noticed that, but you’re right – not only does this story fall on the heels of the return of the 70, but the story begins with “just then” after their return and Jesus’ private word to the disciples. My general rule is that when you note that kind of literary connection, you’re invited to explore that interpretive explanation. Is the lawyer definitely one of the 70 – who knows? Might the lawyer have been – why not? Have fund exploring that possibility!
After the devastating headlines of this week, your insight into this scripture was a gift. God in a roadside ditch – imagine!
I think you are correct that there are three inter-related moves – seeing, drawing near, and having compassion. But I see a fourth, the willingness to risk, which allows the Samaritan both to draw near and to act on his compassion. The Samaritan is willing to risk himself and his substance (money). It seems to me that without the willingness to risk the seeing, drawing near and compassion are wasted. Christ’s ministry among us would be but a pleasant philosophical footnote in history except for his willingness to risk all on the cross. It makes the difference between having pity and showing mercy, doing ministry.
There’s an almost unchosen part of the process in the text – splagchnizomai – guts wrenched – happens after the seeing. It’s translated ‘compassion,’ but it almost seems as though it’s never a choice or conscious decision (probably my Calvinist orientation). It happens to the Samaritan and, in other contexts, to Jesus. It emerges in a situation, or it doesn’t. And it’s a ‘normal’ reaction. Hardwired into us, when we let it happen (My Wesleyan heritage here). That being caught is part of being a human being. We see a toddler heading into disaster and our guts tense up. Refusing to get close (plēsion translates as ‘near’ as well as neighbor) is a denial of our own humanity. All of which is to say that we can’t respond to every human need or crisis. We know that. And we can’t justify ourselves thinking we’ve done what’s needed. We haven’t. We live in the very mercy we can only partially reflect.
I enjoy reading your thoughts every week
This Parable is always rich. It strikes me that the element of the Samaritan hearkens to the character of Jesus. Samaritans are a mix of people,what we might call “half breeds.” Jesus is indeed that as well… being both eterna and being mortal…something like a “half breed” who may be the object of low status and treatment. A few weeks ago in Luke 7 outside the town of Nain Jesus is present to watch a widow’s grief and does not “pass by on the other side of the road.” Compassion is central to his actions at Nain and for this despised Samaritan in the parable. Just some observations where the implication of being a life giver is within love of God that takes form in loving our neighbor as ourselves.
I am struck by the fact that Jesus treated the lawyer as neighbor. He engages the lawyer with kindness and balm, answering his question with a story about mercy. Yet, here he is, the visible likeness of an invisible God, not rejecting the one who wants to trick him, but listening and tending to the deeper need and perhaps hurt. The lawyer is living under a stiff law and is no longer free, perhaps he’s even been assaulted on the road to his “religiosity”. I am challenged by Jesus’ mercy generosity and openness to teach one who is seeking. Seems he sees the lawyer well.