Luke 10.25-37
I
once had a Spiritual Director who didn't tell me what to do: instead he kept
asking me questions. At first it was frustrating, as I didn't see the gift of
it. He was helping me to journey more deeply into my spiritual life. "I'm
not doing your deep diving" he would say. As such, by not giving me the
easy answers, I learned to be more intentional about exploring how God was
speaking to me through my thoughts, prayers, and ministry.
This
is not a new technique: in fact, it's what Jesus uses here. Ever the teacher,
he is not quizzing the lawyer for an easy answer, but inviting him to a more
thorough reflection on the individual implications connected to that easy
answer, and the subsequent call to action.
By
reciting the Shema (love the Lord with all your heart, mind, soul, and
strength, and love your neighbour as yourself) we see that the lawyer and Jesus
are both educated in the tradition. But when the lawyer asks "Who Is My
Neighbour?," things go deep. It would have been easy for Jesus to say
"everyone. Love everyone; no exceptions." But, then it's not a
personalized faith experience for the lawyer. So instead, Jesus offers the
parable of the Good Samaritan.
At
the surface, this is one of those feel-good stories, where we easily assign
roles to characters. Hurt man in ditch: victim; priest and Levite: secondary
characters who are there for negative example; Samaritan, good guy. Great!
That's easy. Be like the good Samaritan, and it will all be lovely.
And
yet... we need to go deeper, beyond the simplified Sunday School version we
know. We are being called to reflect more fully on the meaning of the parable
to us today. This is where that self-reflection and contemplation come in -
when we realise that we're not always the Good Samaritan in our own story. At
times, we are - both individually and collectively - everyone else in the
narrative.
Let's
first consider the priest and the Levite - the men who walk on by. Some may
explain their actions due to ritual impurity or law, etc., yet... this does not
fit with their own teachings. The Torah had taught them to care for the
vulnerable - and they chose not to. Interestingly, as theologian Amanda
Brobst-Renaud describes, the rationale for their choice is not explained by
Jesus or Luke... and the lawyer doesn't ask; he merely accepts it as normal.
We
also consider the injured man, lying in the ditch. He has been assaulted and
robbed; he is the victim of a crime. Now, his entire life he's been taught that
'those people' from Samaria are to be avoided at all costs. They are, after
all, the bad guys. So, this man, despite needing help and having nothing to
offer in return, could have refused the help of the Samaritan. He has been hurt
and ignored; passed by as unworthy of basic care and compassion, and it's
probable he would be expecting additional harm to come to him.
The
Samaritan - well, he's the good guy - it's right in the title! Compassionate,
kind, Good. This man puts aside his own needs for health and safety, and risks ritual
defilement and damaged reputation, to stop and help the injured man.
There's
someone else who is often overlooked - the innkeeper. This man is charged with
caring for this injured man. He's given a bit of money and a promise that the
Samaritan will be back. We don't know where his tribal affiliation lies; does
he support the Samaritan or the injured man? Is he honest, or will he
overinflate the bill at the end? Is he competent to be tending to the wounds?
We simply don't know; but we trust that he will do what is right.
And
to this, Jesus asks, who was the neighbour?
A
complex and simple question. Simple, as it was obviously the merciful one;
complex when the lawyer is told to Go and Do Likewise. Show mercy. Offer care.
Love one another, even if society tells you it's okay not to love one another.
So
where does that leave us?
Well,
it leaves us in all of it, I think. Especially this Sunday, as we've just been
hearing the full impact of the motions of General Synod that impact our church,
our community, our neighbours. Specifically, I refer to the Marriage Canon
amendment, Canon XXI, which though strongly supported by both clergy and laity,
was not passed by an incredibly small margin in the House of Bishops.
As
a result of this, there has been much pain and grieving across the church. We
are heartbroken and divided; we are numb, angry, and confused. We don't know what
will happen next. We are in need of mercy and compassion.
And
so: we are the Samaritan, who is called to put aside our differences, our
justifications, our excuses, that we might share of what we have: we have
grace, we have love, we have the opportunity to be welcoming. We are invited to
help in the healing of our beloved church; and in doing so receive the mercy of
one another.
We
are also the priest and the Levite: choosing sides and justifications to defend
our positions rather than finding the most loving way to respond to those who
are suffering. We are invited not to point fingers or make presumptions about
'the other' and their lot in life. We are invited to put aside our perceptions
of differences of language, skin colour, country of origin, gender, etc.
We
are the innkeeper: receiving those who are hurting, without asking what they
can offer in return. We don't put up pre-conditions, but work to meet the needs
as they present them. We see everyone who comes into our doors as the neighbour
to encounter, to welcome, to embrace, to assist, to love.
And,
we are the injured ones. We are hurt; we are in need of help. Yet we continue
in faith, and in community: being supported by one another, receiving kindness,
and striving for health.
Because:
the injured man is just that: injured. His story is not over. Our story is not
over. While we are in pain now, we will recover; we will heal. We will overcome
and transcend the boundaries that divide us. It will take time, as all healing
does; but if we commit to the journey of health, we can recover. And we can
learn from our experience of suffering to be more compassionate to those around
us who come in their grief and sorrow.
Friends,
I do not know what the days ahead will look like. I do not know what the
General Synod will do, or what decisions will be made for our Diocese. I do
know that this community is one of resilience and love; and I trust we will
continue to work to be a safe and inclusive place for all who come through our
doors.
We
have the choice to decide - as individuals and as the church - what will shape
our future, if it will be our wounds, or our hope. In this place, I expect it
will be hope.
May
God grant us the power to be good neighbours to each other and the world -
through our pain, and in our healing.
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