On the Road

Luke 10:29-37

July 26, 2015 • Mount Pleasant UMC

It is an quickly changing world; that is a truth that, I would assume, we can all agree on. We might disagree on whether the changes are generally good or not, but we can’t deny the rapid pace of the change that surrounds us. Dr. Bob Morehead, a retired pastor in Seattle, put it this way: “We have taller buildings but shorter tempers; wider freeways but narrower viewpoints; we spend more but have less; we buy more but enjoy it less; we have bigger houses and smaller families; more conveniences, yet less time; we have more degrees but less sense; more knowledge but less judgment; more experts, yet more problems; we have more gadgets but less satisfaction; more medicine, yet less wellness; we take more vitamins but see fewer results…We talk too much; love too seldom, and lie too often. We’ve learned how to make a living, but not a life; we’ve added years to life, not life to years” (qtd. in Yancey, Vanishing Grace, pgs. 153-154). Dr. Morehead has it right, I think—and so do the majority of Americans. Contrary to what you might guess by watching the evening news, a majority of Americans today (73%) believe moral values are worsening. In the last few decades, divorce rates have doubled, teen suicide and violent crime rates have tripled, and with less than five percent of the world’s population, our nation has almost 25% of the world’s prisoners. We have about the same number of prisoners as Russia and China combined. In a world that seems to believe the primary goal of life is to be happy all the time, our leading causes of death are self-inflicted. And the politicians, who are supposed to make change, argue more and pass fewer bills today than at any other point in history (cf. Yancey 154). Something is wrong. Something is broken. Doesn’t anyone know the answer?

Well, despite the fact that the church’s image has fallen on hard times in these days, due in part to our own missteps, I still believe that the church of Jesus Christ has the answer to our world’s challenges. But if we’re going to be able to meet these challenges, in our own community and in our world, we’re going to have to rethink church—we need to begin seeing church as a verb and not a noun. Last week, we talked about what that looks like in terms of two of our values here: worship and growth. If we’re going to make a difference, we have to be people who first and foremost love God with all that we are. But it doesn’t stop there. It’s not enough to have a private relationship with Jesus; Christianity, it has been said, is personal but never private. We are called to reach beyond ourselves, and that’s why one of our values here at Mount Pleasant is “embrace.” Jesus describes it in terms of loving others—even those we don't like all that much. In one of his most famous parables, Jesus vividly describes what that means for each of us.

You’ll remember from the first part of this passage, which we read last week, that this story came out of a question Jesus was asked by an expert in the religious law. Do you remember his question from last week? “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (10:25). It’s the same thing we might ask: how do I get into heaven? And Jesus puts the question back on him, asking him what the Scriptures say. You remember, then, how the lawyer gave Jesus a textbook answer: “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 love your neighbor as yourself” (10:27). Jesus affirmed that answer, and told the lawyer if he would do this, he would live. Those two actions are the key, Jesus said, to eternal life. Love God, first, and then love others. Worship and grow first, then embrace. But the lawyer wasn’t satisfied with that answer, and so he pushes Jesus just a bit more. Luke says he wanted to “justify” himself (10:29), which means he wanted to clear himself. He wanted to make sure he had not broken any religious law. In other words, he’s checking his understanding of what this all means against what Jesus says. So, to do that, he asks Jesus a question: “Who is my neighbor?”

It’s a good question. We use the word “neighbor” today to refer primarily to those who live next to us, or at least in our neighborhood. We’ve just moved into a new neighborhood ourselves and have made somewhat of an effort to get to know our new neighbors. Honestly, it’s been so wet and then hot that people have not been outside very much. But when we were gone to Washington, DC we were thankful for one of our neighbors who knew where the sound was coming from when an alarm went off on our septic pump. Without that neighbor’s kindness and knowledge, we might still be searching for the source of the problem—and have a huge mess! Of course, in many neighborhoods today, we don’t even know the people who live on each side of us, let alone in the larger neighborhood. I heard one person describe it this way: we get up in the morning, get into our car in our garage, open the door, drive to work, spend time in our business building, get back into our car, drive home, close the garage door and go inside. We’ve insulated ourselves so much that we don’t have to pay attention to or get to know the people who live around us. And what if this idea of “neighbor” is something other than just the people who live on each side of us? That’s what the lawyer seems to be sensing, that Jesus is talking about more than just a couple of people who live near him. Who is my neighbor?

When the lawyer asks the question, Jesus doesn’t answer it directly—like usual. Instead, Jesus tells a story, and it’s one of those stories of Jesus that even people who never enter a church building probably know. The name “good Samaritan” has entered into folklore; it’s part of our cultural consciousness. But, for those in the first century, there was no such thing as a “good” Samaritan. You may be aware that there was a long-standing hatred between Jews and Samaritans, a hatred that still exists today in the ongoing hostilities between Israelis and Palestinians (Wright, Luke for Everyone, pg. 127). By Jesus’ time, that hatred had been simmering for hundreds of years. They actually were related, but Jews considered Samaritans half-breeds because their ancestors had intermarried with other cultures. Both sides claimed to be the true inheritors of the promises made to Moses and Abraham, and both sides claimed to be the only ones who worshipped God correctly. Come to think of it, we don’t have to look to Israel and Palestine to see that kind of conflict; it happens even between denominations and churches in our own culture. But in the Israel of Jesus’ day, it was so deeply ingrained that good Jews would not travel through Samaritan territory. They would rather go the long way around than walk through what they considered to be tainted soil.

And so all of that is in the background as Jesus tells this famous story. There was a man, he says, who was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho. That means he was leaving Jerusalem and heading toward Jericho, downhill; whatever business he had in Jerusalem was concluded. That’s an important detail to keep in mind as the story moves along. The road from Jericho down to Jerusalem was a dangerous, winding road. When I was in Israel last fall, I learned they have built a new superhighway that bypasses the old road, but in 1995, we took a bus up the long, winding, dangerous road that roughly follows the route of the first-century road. This picture is from that trip, when we stopped above what is known as the “valley of the shadow of death,” a dark place. All along this road there were many places where robbers, or, as Luke puts it, “men of violence” (Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 138), can hide and attack unsuspecting travelers. Most folks would travel in groups because of that, but for some reason the people in Jesus’ parable are all traveling alone. And the first man down the path gets beat up, robbed, and left “half dead.” Now, I’ve felt “half dead” before, but I’ve never been in the situation this man is in. Literally, unless someone helps him, he will lose his life. The Judean desert is unforgiving, hot and sometimes unbearable. This man needs help, and he needs it quickly.

If you were in a similar situation, facing a life or death situation, who would you call? Who could you count on to rescue you from certain death? As Jesus’ story goes on, there are two people who come by that you would expect would stop and help. A priest is first, followed by a Levite. The priest is the main official at the Temple, and the Levite is a Temple assistant. I guess you could sort of cast me in the role of the priest and Pastor Rick in the role of the Levite if we were doing a modern rendition of this parable here this morning. These are people you would expect to help. Hopefully, they’re people you would think you could count on. And yet they don’t. Both of them do the same thing when they see the half-dead man: they pass by on the other side of the road. Now, I’ve heard sermons and Bible studies (you probably have, too) that give the priest and the Levite an excuse. They were, some say, religious officials and could not be defiled or made ritually unclean by touching a dead body—or a body they thought might be dead. They go to the other side of the road, some say, so that there is no danger of their touching the body. But here’s the problem with that theory. Do you remember that detail I told you was important? Luke says they are going down from Jerusalem to Jericho; they are leaving Jerusalem and the Temple. In other words, their time of service to the Temple is done and over. Being ritually clean is not a concern anymore. These two men who should have helped but didn’t (cf. Card 139) are left without excuse (Liefled, “Luke,” Expositor’s Bible Commentary, Vol. 8, pg. 943)—and that’s exactly part of Jesus’ point. They failed to see the half-dead man as a neighbor.

Those in the crowd must be thinking, at this point, that if these good, religious, holy men will not help the man, who will? There must be no hope for the man beaten and left for dead. Poor guy. Wow, that’s not much of a story, Jesus. And that’s when Jesus turns the tables on them, because the next person coming down the road is a Samaritan. A half-breed. A hated individual, and someone who should have hated the half-dead man by the road. Someone that, normally, those in the crowd would have gone out of the way to avoid—that is the one who sees the wounded person and stops. He takes pity on the half-dead man. “Pity” here is related to a quality of God that the Bible describes as hesed—“when the one who owes you nothing gives you everything” (cf. Card 139). The hated Samaritan owes the half-dead man nothing. In fact, the crowd would understand if he passed by on the other side, because that’s largely what they would have done if they had seen a Samaritan laying half-dead on the side of the road. And yet, this one who owes nothing gives the half-dead man what he doesn’t expect and probably doesn’t deserve. He offers him healing. He tears strips off of his own clothing to make bandages (Liefeld 943). He uses his own oil and wine—his own provisions—as a disinfectant and a soothing lotion. He uses his own donkey to transport the man to an inn where he uses his own money to pay for his care. He even promises to pay more if it is needed. This Samaritan goes far above and beyond in order to embrace the man, to love him and to bring healing to his life.

So Jesus finishes his story, and he turns back to the lawyer. “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor?” (10:36). And do you notice that the lawyer can’t even bring himself to speak the word “Samaritan”? He simply says, “The one who had mercy on him” (10:37). The one who was most like God to him—that’s what he basically says here, which is why Jesus says, “Go and do likewise” (10:37). And then there is silence. At least, Luke doesn’t tell us about any further reaction from the crowd, but I picture those gathered there, including the lawyer, stunned by what Jesus has just taught. Those who should help don’t, and the one who didn’t have to was the one who became the hero, the neighbor. Strange things happen out on the road.

It’s interesting to me that Jesus sets this story out in the wilderness, in the “empty, dangerous space” between Jerusalem and Jericho. As I said, it’s an unforgiving environment, a harsh place, a setting lacking in water and food and basic necessities. To survive there, you need neighbors. You need others. In fact, it struck me this week that the place in which this story happens is a lot like our world. Unforgiving. Harsh. Dangerous. And sometimes we may feel like we've been beat up by the thugs and robbers that populate our world. Not literally, of course. But there are times when cancer or unexpected illness comes into our lives, beating us up emotionally and very often physically. Financial crises and storms wait just around the corner and we find ourselves with too much month at the end of our money. Jobs can beat us up. Sometimes it happens when we are in a demanding job and we begin to sense that we can never be good enough, work hard enough or produce product enough. The job begins to suck the life out of us. Other times it happens when we suddenly find ourselves without a job, and no matter what euphemism is used to describe our being let go (“downsizing” or “reassignment” or any number of other words), it still beats us up. It leaves us half-dead along the road. Our rugged American individualism tells us we should just suck it up and deal with it. Move on. Don’t let it get to you. But the reality is, when we find ourselves on the road, beat up, we desperately need someone who will give of themselves to put bandages on, bring healing to the wounds, and stay with us until we are whole again. We need to be embraced. We need others because we were not created to go it alone.

This parable is not just a call for us to be the “good Samaritan.” It’s a call for us to heighten our awareness of the brokenness of our world, to be aware of the people who are beaten up and left for dead on the road. Jesus says our neighbor, the ones we are to love, is not just the persons who happens to live in the house next to us. Our neighbor is whomever is hurting, whomever life has beaten up, whomever we meet on the road. That person is our neighbor, and we are called to love our neighbor as ourselves.

I’ve learned over the years to become aware of and comfortable with the promptings of the Holy Spirit when he’s nudging or bugging me about someone. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve gotten someone in my mind and, when I responded, found out that was just when they needed someone to walk alongside them. One day, several years ago, a woman named Barbara who was a member of my congregation, had been admitted to the hospital with an illness that they had difficulty diagnosing. I knew she was in the hospital, and I planned to visit her later that day, but God kept bringing Barb to my mind. Yes, yes, I will visit her later…but the nudging kept up until I finally gave up and got in the car and drove the thirty minutes or so to the hospital. As I was approaching Barb’s room, the nurse was just coming out and, doing what she probably shouldn’t have done in today’s legal environment, she looked at my clergy badge and said, “I’m so glad you’re here. Barb has just gotten some bad news and her family isn’t around and can’t be reached.” I went right in to the room and learned Barb had been told she had inoperable cancer. She cried, we talked and prayed together, and that was, in fact, the last time I saw Barb. She died just a couple of weeks after that and wouldn’t let anyone come see her in those weeks. But I have often thanked God for the nudging and for the grace that enabled me to respond. Barb was my neighbor; she was someone who needed embraced and loved. Barb was on the road, and I was privileged that day to meet her there.

Of course, the real scandal of this story is the call to love those who we don’t really like all that much. Jesus is putting a radical call before those who were there that day, and it’s a call that echoes all the way down to our time. I don’t know that we’ve ever lived in a more polarized time—certainly not in my lifetime. The practice today is to label anyone with whom you disagree as a hate-monger or a bigot or as someone who doesn’t know what they are talking about. Kirsten Powers, in her book The Silencing, has documented well the way certain areas in our nation are busy doing just that—shouting down those who disagree with them or those they don’t like rather than having a civil discussion. She calls it the “death of free speech,” and believes we are increasingly in a culture where people are afraid to express their beliefs because of the unkind retaliation that will come. Jesus might tell this story today about the “good Democrat” or the “good Republican.” He might tell it as the “good Muslim.” Or the “good terrorist.” The one who rescues the half-dead man today might be fundamentalist or liberal, the drug addict or the pornographer, or, as the children’s song says, red, yellow, black or white. Jesus’ radical call in this parable is to love the one you like the least. Now he’s gone to meddling.

When we use the word “embrace” to describe part of our mission, though, that’s what we are, in essence, saying. Everyone is welcome, and everyone is worthy of and welcome to God’s love. Author Philip Yancey tells about a friend of his who worked in the inner city of Chicago and would meet the down and out, the ones no one else wanted, the ones no one was willing to help. One day he was speaking with a prostitute who had, she admitted in tears, even sold her daughter for the most heinous acts just to have money to put food on the table. The man listened to this woman describe every sin in the book, and after a time, he asked her if she’d ever considered finding a church and trying to get her life back on track. “Church?” she asked with shock in her voice. “Why would I want to go there? They’d just make me feel worse.” Sadly, in many places in our world, she is right. But that’s not the church described by the Bible. Truly loving others the way this parable directs means we don’t discriminate; we welcome and embrace each person the way God would. And this church has such a wonderful history of doing just that. Last Sunday afternoon, I was privileged to participate in the baptism of eight people, some from our church and others who have come here because of Celebrate Recovery. I thought you might like to see a little bit of what took place last Sunday afternoon, courtesy of some footage shot by Jenny Kocher. Take a look.

VIDEO: Baptism

Now, there will be a longer version of that video posted on Facebook and on YouTube this week, because what you didn’t get to hear or see in this video (for the sake of time) are the words of witness. One of the things that struck me so much was the way the folks who gathered there came broken, beat up, left half-dead on the road by the things of this world. And they wandered into this church, some through Sunday mornings and some through Celebrate Recovery, and each and every one of them found love and acceptance here. That speaks volumes as to the ways this place has already been rethinking church. The call to embrace is the call to love others in the same way we love ourselves, the way Jesus loves them.

But it’s not enough to just say we love someone, to claim that we love others. Jesus doesn’t tell the lawyer to just go and dig up some warm feelings toward those in need. No, he tells him to go do what the Samaritan did. Can you imagine that? Jesus is setting up this man’s mortal enemy as his example. “Go and do likewise.” Do love. Do what the Samaritan did. Bind up the wounds. Soothe the hurts. Care for those who have been beat up on the road. In another place, Jesus says that everyone will know that we are his disciples if we love one another (John 13:35). If we care for others the way Jesus did—to the point of giving his life for us—then the world will sit up and take notice. Inspired by that passage, one of the church fathers, Tertullian, imagined a day when the world would look at the church and their first thought would be, “Look how they love one another.” The early church sought to live that in radical ways. The Roman culture was not the pristine, clean place that it’s often pictured on television and in movies. Riots, floods, earthquakes, fires, military attacks and plagues were often the order of the day. Many people lived in small apartments, dumping their sewage in the streets, which caused disease to run rampant. Soap was not in regular usage yet, so when a disease began to break out, the wealthy would leave the city and wait it out in their country estates. The poor did not have that option, and many of them, when the disease was evident, found that even their families turned them out. But the Christians would take them in, care for them, and do whatever they could on limited resources to nurse them back to health. It’s estimated that the Christians’ care for those who were sick increased the survival rate as much as two thirds. Look how they love one another, indeed—even those they didn’t know or necessarily like. Because of their love for others, because of their kind embrace, the faith grew. Against all expectations, the Christian faith grew from a small sect to the dominant cultural group—all because the Christians loved others (cf. Colson, The Faith, pgs. 15-17).

And maybe, just maybe, that’s what the world is waiting to see today. When we hear the statistics I started with this morning, or we read articles saying how Christianity is dying, or we hear the description of our world’s condition, the question I have to ask is this: where is the church? Why isn’t the church making a bigger difference than we seem to be making? Is it possible that the world is waiting to see genuine, Christ-like love directed toward our hurting world, love that will turn the world upside down? Could it be, Mount Pleasant, that loving others just that way will turn Terre Haute upside down? Is it possible that the world is waiting for Christians to take seriously our call to love God by loving others—not just so that we can “inherit eternal life,” but because such actions are, at their very heart, the call of Jesus on our lives.

I will tell you that sometimes we have to act outside of our feelings. I don’t know if the Samaritan felt good about his service or if he did it happily; Jesus doesn’t include that detail and, after all, it’s only a story. But in our own stories, sometimes we have to act and wait for the feeling to follow. A few years ago, someone I hadn’t seen in a while but had done me some harm ended up at an event with me, and when I saw them, my gut just clenched up. You know the feeling—like where’s the exit and how quickly can I get there? Then, they approached me, and put their arms out to offer a hug. Everything within me wanted to run, and in that moment, I had a choice. Would I act out of fear or out of love? Probably more on instinct than actual choice, I allowed them to hug me, but I sure didn’t feel like it. It wasn’t my first choice. And then I realized that’s the kind of love Jesus calls us to. Go…and do likewise. Do what he did, whether you feel like it or not. Give our lives for the sake of all, even those who mistreat us, harm us, who don’t like us or whom we don’t trust. That’s a lesson I’m still working on learning as I travel on the road. Love others…embrace all. And that, Jesus says, is the way to eternal life. Let’s pray.