http://www.box.net/shared/ujtxzsd53t
The manuscript I used follows below:
The Fifteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time; July 11, 2010
Park Avenue Presbyterian Church; Des Moines, Iowa
Texts: Amos 7: 7-17
Psalm 82
Colossians 1: 1-14
Luke 10: 25-37
“Measuring: ‘Who Is My Neighbor’?”
--} One of the unanticipated experiences I had on my pilgrimage to the Holy Land last fall was getting to stop along the highway between Jericho and Jerusalem, and stand near what is being billed as the “Good Samaritan Inn.” Now before you get all excited, it certainly IS NOT the historical “location” of Jesus story, along the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. And if we’re honest, Jesus tells us a story that may or may not have been historically true; and there is no way of telling “where” that spot would have been along the road. Any relationship to today’s modern highway that spans the distance between Jerusalem and Jericho is tenuous at best. But when our bus stopped at the driveway to the “Good Samaritan Inn,” we naturally grew excited. We only got as far as the approach drive that would have led to the building site for a hotel; but we were greeted by a locked fence with no view of the hotel. Failing to get to the so-called “Good Samaritan Inn,” we stood along the drive next to the modern, interstate-like highway and marveled—not at where we were, but the mustard weeds growing in the ditch next to the drive.
For the first time my group-mates and I were face to flower with the infamous “mustard seed plant.” Finally, all the “book-sense” about how ugly a mustard plant was, made sense. Here it was in the ditch alongside the road, clearly an unwelcome, unwanted, undesirable pest. Now that “other” story Jesus tells about a mustard plant growing large enough where birds might nest in it, made more sense. What an atrocious example!
It was in this rather non-descript, yet picturesque spot along the road between Jericho and Jerusalem that our group shared evening worship at the end of the day when we were returning from the historical places of Masada, Qumran, and the Dead Sea. And it was here, that our group spent time together talking about what it meant to be a “neighbor.” And as you might guess, we shared stories with one another about the people on the trip who had helped us on our journey, from sharing medicine or drinks, to mealtimes and assistance; from places we showed our true colors and acts of kindness and mercy we had received from one another. And, as you can imagine, it was a nice moment in the glowing sunset.
But I don’t believe this is the kind of thing Jesus had in mind when he told the story of the Good Samaritan.
What we don’t often acknowledge about Luke’s story is that Jesus’ point seems to be getting the lawyer to identify his “neighbor.” But when he does, it’s a surprise ending. We often think the “neighbor” must be the guy left for dead in the ditch; but we arrive at that conclusion by not listening to the lawyer who identifies the “Samaritan” instead. When Jesus asks, “which one was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” the lawyer identifies, “the one who showed him mercy.” The “one who showed mercy” was the neighbor; so that “loving one’s neighbor,” means loving the one who shows mercy. And in Jesus’ story, this is a scandalous conclusion—a surprise, much like that mustard seed plant.
What Jesus seems to be saying is that loving one’s neighbor—IS—loving the Samaritan. Which is sort of like being told to love one’s enemies. The point of the story isn’t just to “go and do likewise;” or simply, going and helping those in need—as good as that might sound. The scandal here isn’t that someone is left for dead while people walk by and then someone gets commended for finally helping the victim; the scandal is that the Jewish believer—the lawyer—must come to “love his neighbor”—the dreaded Samaritan. And if that weren’t enough, to go and do likewise. What Jesus finds necessary is not just doing the deed of mercy; but instead, the loving of the one who is merciful.
Now as we know, Jews and Samaritans were long-divided peoples. They disagreed over religious practices, the importance of the Temple in Jerusalem, and generally didn’t care for one another. Their disagreements were significant and notorious. They spoke disdainfully of one another, and often acted out of fear and hatred. They viewed one another like many people might think of illegal immigrants coming into our country to take American jobs; or even like some people perceive homosexuality and same-sex marriage. Simply put, asking the lawyer to consider “loving the Samaritan” is much akin to asking the rich man to sell his possessions and give the money to the poor. Neither one is likely to be happy about the necessities. It’s easier, you see, for Jews in Jesus day to contemplate having to break religious laws in order to help someone left for dead in the ditch than having to admit the demand of the Kingdom of God was to “love the neighbor. Loving a despicable so-in-so, because he’s the one who helped a man left for dead in the ditch, and having to “go and do likewise”—that’s hard. And that’s exactly Jesus’ point.
To be “justified,” the lawyer has to contemplate what would never occur for him to do on his own. To be “justified,” he must somehow entertain how God sees the world. And that doesn’t leave room for any kind of self-interested-ness. Loving neighbor is suddenly transformed. A “neighbor” isn’t just someone in need, but instead is the one who shows mercy. Careful followers of Jesus are invited to love the show-ers of mercy—their neighbors—and to live like them!
Now one of the people I got to see in Minneapolis at General Assembly was one of my Israel trip-mates—a friend, and a neighbor. Over dinner one evening we were reflecting on our journey from Jericho to Jerusalem on what was a fine, modern, interstate-like, limited access highway. We never noticed at the time, but my friend had learned since our visit, that the super-highway was an Israeli-only road—meaning only Israeli citizens were permitted to use it. Recalling our journey, we remembered that there were few access points along the highway; and that clearly, the road was meant to be used by people who got on in Jerusalem or Jericho, without stopping in-between. As modern and convenient as it was to travel quickly and easily, I can’t help but see that road as a visible division between peoples. A reminder of the staunch disagreements between Jews and Samaritans.
Today, perhaps the so-called “Good Samaritan” wouldn’t be allowed on that road at all! Today, maybe even Jesus couldn’t travel that highway! And as I thought about it, perhaps even in the first-century, it would have been likely the Samaritan wouldn’t have been accepted kindly along the Jericho to Jerusalem road. Maybe, Jesus, neither—especially if the Romans knew that he was a subversive. For the lawyer, “loving one’s neighbor as one’s self must mean loving people like the Samaritan and Jesus—subversives, unattractive folks, people who were “different” from the lawyer. So maybe, times haven’t changed!
Rather than the lesson being about helping those who have been beaten, robbed, and left for dead, Jesus is asking us to “love the neighbor” instead. To love the one or ones rendering aid. To love the one or ones who are daring to make a difference. To love the one or ones who are taking up for others—“others” whom you and I might regularly walk past on our way to more important things. “Others,” with whom we might disagree, or even disapprove. To “love,” the mercy show-ers, and going forth to show mercy ourselves.
One of the actions of General Assembly this week, was to recommend to our denomination’s 173 Presbyteries the adoption of a new Form of Government. This new Form of Government, if voted in the affirmative by a majority of Presbyteries would restore the language for ordained church officers to be—ruling elders, teaching elders, and deacons. Ruling Elders are Session members; Teaching Elders are ministers of Word and Sacrament. Like the “plumb line,” “Ruling Elders” are called—not as “rulers” whose majority vote garners their way to “rule” and lord it over others; but instead are “measurers.” Ruling Elders are supposed to participate in the “measurement” of the fidelity of the church to the gospel of Jesus Christ. In other words, Ruling Elders are the measurers, the “plumb line” whereby they determine how well or how far the church is from keeping God’s intentions.
Jesus’ point in today’s gospel story it would seem, “measures” that that the lawyer who would justify himself, still has a ways to go. And how might Jesus’ story “measure” us and our congregation? Do we love the ones who show mercy? Do we do likewise? What walls of division do we still maintain? How often do we deny others access to the Kingdom of God and its values because we’re convinced they’re lesser or undeserving?
So what it means for Ruling Elders, to “measure” is for us to seek the ways of being pointed in new, more faithful directions—like the lawyer in Jesus’ story. And Jesus’ expectation—it seems to me—is that careful followers will notice that loving the neighbor is more than tending to the man in the ditch. Loving the neighbor calls us beyond ourselves—not just in acts of mercy, but learning to be merciful. And being merciful begs for an investment on behalf of those in need—time, talents, resources. Or isn’t that how Jesus’ story turns?
I believe Jesus is asking us to measure the ways we have divided and conquered—seeking instead for us to build up and restore. Or isn’t that how Jesus’ story turns? I believe that if we are interested in the life God promises through the Kingdom, we have to measure better and trust in Jesus and the ways he LIVED. It means investing ourselves in the care of others, and learning to love those who do mercy—and do likewise.
--+ Friends, God sent his son, the Christ, to show us how to live; the Holy Spirit has come that we might trust in new life. So let us measure ourselves in our fidelity to the gospel of Jesus’ life and witness and trust that we can live in new ways. AMEN.
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