The
road from Jerusalem down to Jericho was not an easy one. Eighteen
miles long with a 4000 foot drop, it began in the Old City, secure
inside its sandstone walls, skirted the Mount of Olives, and headed
east. At first the landscape was relatively domesticated, rolling
hills scattered with villages and olive groves. But as you travelled
south, the terrain became mountainous, bare, rocky slopes strewn with
dry desert foliage, the occasional nomads’ camp, and the canyon of
Wadi Qelt carving its way through to the Great Rift Valley that runs
from Syria to Mozambique. Jericho is there, at the intersection of
the wadi and the valley, an oasis of life.
There
are all sorts of theories about where the robbers may have lain in
wait. Behind the huge boulder that marks the halfway point; in one of
the caves or crevices of the wadi. Where it was makes no difference.
All that matters is to know what Jesus’ hearers would have known so
well; this road was a dangerous one. There was no shelter, no water,
no one to call if you got in trouble. You carried everything you
needed, avoided traveling alone, and prayed that you would arrive
safely.
Which
is why no one would be surprised if Jesus’ story had ended with the
man left for dead. A moral tale of the dangers of traveling
unprepared.
And
no one would have been too surprised if neither a priest nor a Levite
stopped. Why endanger yourself for someone who had been foolish, or
at the very least, unlucky?
But
when the Samaritan stopped, that was altogether more uncomfortable.
Because it was just a few days earlier, the way the gospel of Luke
tells it, that Jesus himself had travelled through a Samaritan
village, on the early stages of his journey to Jerusalem. And there,
Scripture tells us, the people turned their faces against him. He was
going the wrong way, to Jerusalem, the holy city that rejected them
as infidels. “Shall we ask God to bring down fire on them?” his
disciples asked. “No.” And Jesus turned, instead, rebuked the
disciples.
So
you would expect the Samaritan to behave just like the priest and
Levite. Or perhaps even to give the man a couple of extra kicks for
good measure. Instead...well, you know the rest of the story.
Now
remember what provoked this story. A lawyer wanted to know what to do
to inherit eternal life. And when Jesus asked him what the law said,
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.” But the lawyer
wanted more. “Who is my neighbor?”
At
the end of the story, Jesus asked him, “So, you tell me, which one
of these was a neighbor to the man who had been robbed?” The
answer looks easy. The Samaritan, of course. Except, it’s not.
Because in the original question, the neighbor wasn’t the one doing
good; the neighbor was the one you were to love.
Love
the Samaritan. The one who just a few days earlier had turned his
face against you as you passed through his village, the one who you
couldn’t trust, and vice versa. Love the one who has mercy on you.
Love him.
But
then Jesus twists it again. Do likewise. Be like the Samaritan. Be
the one who has mercy.
Give
mercy. Receive mercy. Love. Forgive.
I
remember hearing a sermon at General Convention many years ago. I was
sitting at a table of people who were staying in hotels and eating at
restaurants. I was staying in a twelve bed room with no
air-conditioning in ninety degree heat, and eating whatever was being
offered at exhibition booths - the popcorn was a definite bonus! The
preacher asked us to be more generous, to give more. I began to cry.
My
table companions were generous. They quietly took up a collection
and sent me a check to help with expenses. I was grateful, but also
ashamed. I didn’t belong.
Sometimes,
as Episcopalians, we assume that we are all on the side of the
powerful and the wealthy. We forget that numbered among us, brothers
and sisters in Christ, are both rich and poor, people who have money
left over at the end of the month and people who can’t pay their
mortgage, people who make decisions and people who are trapped in a
web of impossible decisions. Some of us are in the position of the
Samaritan. Some of us are in the position of the man who was robbed.
Often times, we switch between one and the other.
But
the key to it all is love. Because I don’t think Jesus’
intention was to send us all out to look for people who were robbed
and take them to an inn and pay for their recuperation - though that
wouldn't be a bad start. No, it was to invite us to love. To make
love the foundation of all our relationships. Love your neighbor.
Love the person who helps you and the person whom you help. Love a
stranger and love your enemy, love the person who rejects you and the
person who welcomes you. Love them gently, and quietly, love them by
asking what they need and what they dream of. Love them gratefully
and graciously. Love them with all your heart and soul and mind and
strength, just as you love God.
