Luke 10.25-37
Sunday 13 July
©Suzanne Grimmett
This week, Gen, Deian and I spent three days in training to use an approach called Godly Play for storytelling, spirituality and faith formation particularly, but not entirely, for children. I really enjoyed the approach to parables which introduced them as precious stories in old, gold boxes. The most interesting part of the gold story boxes was that they had a solid lid that was like a door. “Sometimes,” the storyteller will say to the children, “the door will not open. I don’t know why. But don’t be discouraged. Keep coming back to the parable and one day, the story will open for you. A parable is a precious story like a gift. And it’s for you.”
Today we have possibly the most famous of all parables- and certainly the one that has made its way into popular culture and understanding. We can still describe someone as “a good Samaritan” outside of the church setting and people will understand what you mean.
If you ask most people what the central message of the story is, you will likely be told, “Be kind to one another”, or, “Be a good neighbour by helping those in need.” And that would be true. These are some of the meanings of the story.
But like a precious gold box with treasure, there is more to be found here.
When we are saying, “Be a good neighbour by helping those in need” we can be motivated to do good things that the world desperately needs. We might help out our literal neighbour with their household work, or assist someone we notice in the street who needs a hand. Or we might volunteer for Thread Together or Street Care and make such a difference to people’s lives when they receive both practical help and respect and kindness. Or we might use a portion of our funds to give to the Al-Ahli hospital in Gaza or the Anglicare Youth Homelessness project. All these things offer kindness and provide practical help, just as that Good Samaritan in the parable did. These might be the outcomes as we allow this parable to work in us.
What a nice story!
But like a precious gem that every way you turn offers a different colour and refraction of light, parables are a gift that keeps offering new meaning and old wisdom. What else might we see here?
We might begin by noticing ‘the lawyer’ asking the questions who prompts Jesus to tell this story; questions designed to justify and pin down what is needed for a heavenly inheritance, and perhaps, exactly where we might know the requirements have been adequately met without needing to go any further. He seems to be needing to define who would deserve his effort and care. We might recognise that need for legalistic self-justification as problematic when we know ourselves to be inheritors of the free gift of God’s grace.
Then we might notice the players in the story Jesus tells. As usual, the ones Jesus singles out for judgement are the religious folks. (Do notice that pattern in Jesus’ teaching- that his harshest words were always for hypocritical religious leaders). The Priest and the Levite, perhaps conscious of religious taboos or recalling important duties or just fearful of getting involved, walk on by, leaving the near-dead man by the side of the road. The Samaritan, moved with pity, does more than the essentials of care. He takes responsibility for the wounded man himself, and expends not only time, but his own money to ensure he is comfortable and cared for until healed and able to manage for himself. We might be reminded by this story to not just do the basics of what is required, but determine what is the truly loving response.
What a nice story!
We might also look again at those religious leaders and see ourselves there. That is really uncomfortable. We might see the Priest or the Levite in ourselves whenever we have ignored someone, given into fear and avoided responding, or judged someone unworthy of giving our time or our money. We might recognise the way religion can divide us into the insiders and the others and lead us to worship the rules or the roles instead of the living God who, by the Spirit, calls us to create new families of belonging and love without counting the cost.
This is difficult, but as it prompts us to see ourselves in new ways and return to the Christ who offers forgiveness and new life, this story might even be healing.
It is challenging, but it is still a nice story.
We must remember that the road from Jerusalem to Jericho was a difficult and dangerous road. If we are to travel that road, perhaps we should be prepared for the way to become far more confronting and the landscape more challenging. Perhaps instead of seeing ourselves as the actors, making good or bad choices, perhaps we should see ourselves as acted upon. Perhaps we have been waylaid by the darkness of a difficult journey and the evil actions of bandits who have ambushed us. Perhaps we are in need of compassionate aid. Perhaps we are in need of the fathomless love which is not measured out with a teaspoon according to our worthiness.
All those belonging to our own tradition, upholders of religious and social expectations and norms, have passed us by. Everyone we felt was one of our own tribe, those who would be there for us- have all crossed to the other side. And then someone else turns up. Someone who sees us and acts to help us.
In the story as Jesus tells it, this someone is a Samaritan, and the injured man is a Jew. To most Jews in Jesus’ time, this man represents the enemy. The Samaritan-Jew conflict was old and enduring. There could be several historical reasons for this, but it is interesting to note the religious commonalities of these groups. Both worshipped the ancient God of the Hebrews, but each group had their own Scripture, Temple and religious practices.[1] Often, our greatest hostilities are reserved for those who are most like us, sharing some of our traditions and yet… are different.
How might we find a modern-day equivalent for the Samaritan in our own lives? Amy-Jill Levine suggests we ask ourselves;
Is there anyone, from any group, about whom we’d rather die than acknowledge, ‘She offered help’ or ‘He showed compassion.’ More, is there any group whose members might rather die than help us?[2]
If there is someone or a group of someones you can think of, then you have found your Samaritan. You will notice in the story when Jesus asks the central question, “Which one of the three was a neighbour to the injured man?” the lawyer cannot even bring himself to identify the compassionate stranger. Instead of giving the most obvious answer, “The Samaritan”, the lawyer answers, “the one who showed him mercy.” Feeling the full weight of this story, the lawyer cannot take the step of naming his enemy as the compassionate hero. Asking a question of the man from Nazareth has become the means through which his spirit is exposed by the parable’s narrative power and the piercing light of Jesus’ gaze.
This is not a nice story.
It is a story that speaks not just to our prejudices and notions of worth and belonging, but also to the great conflicts and calamities of our time. Amy-Jill Levine suggests that as a Jew, the Samaritan might instead take the form of a leader from Hamas. This story then is going to test the limits of our kindness and demolish the walls of our pride. Acknowledging our need of mercy then has all the darkness and danger of the leap into the abyss of divine love. We are forced to find ourselves not only in the pious religious leaders who turn the other way, but in the achingly vulnerable role of the wounded one left for dead on the road, needing to accept the most despised person as our neighbour.
A final story from Biblical commentator, James A Wallace.
A year or two ago I read about a twelve-year-old Palestinian boy, Ahmad Khatib, who had been shot and killed by Israeli soldiers during street fighting near his house in Jenin, the West Bank. The boy had been holding a toy gun. He was taken to an Israeli hospital, where he died after two days. His parents made the decision to allow his organs to be harvested for transplant to Israelis. Six people received his heart, lungs, and kidneys, including a two-month-old infant. His mother, Abla, said, “My son has died. Maybe he can give life to others.”[3]
May we have the courage to allow the ancient gift of this parable to lead us down the difficult path of self-knowledge and the dangerous way of being known by the God whose compassionate mercy knows no limits and no division.
+Amen
[1] Matthew L. Skinner, Feasting on the Word- Year C, Volume 3, Pentecost and the Season after Pentecost, Presbyterian Publishing Corporation. Kindle Edition
[2] Amy-Jill Levine, The Misunderstood Jew, (San Francisco: Harper Collins, 2006) 148-149
[3] Bartlett, David L.; Barbara Brown Taylor. Feasting on the Word: Year C, Volume 3: Pentecost and Season after Pentecost 1 (Propers 3-16) (p. 611). (Function). Kindle Edition