A man was going down from Jerusalem

Luke 10:25-37

The Samaritans rejected Jesus. That’s what I wanted you to remember from last Wednesday if you were here for the Ash Wednesday service. The Samaritans rejected Jesus. So, when Jesus is asked “Who is my neighbor?” you might be surprised at the answer he gives. “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho” he began, a classic-storytelling trope. Who is the man? It doesn’t matter. What matters is this: “He fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead”—which, as we know from The Princess Bride, is not completely dead but it’s on the way there. Two holy figures pass him by—a priest and a Levite, who was a temple elder. These are the religious guys; the guys who should know what it means to be a neighbor. Hint: They don’t score well here.

            So it is that a Samaritan passed by and the rest is history. The funny thing is that Jesus is just telling a story, right? It’s a parable. He could be using anyone as an example; it could have been the priest who stopped, or it could have been a different sort of outsider who was righteous—a tax collector might seem a likely choice. But no, Jesus told the story of the “good” Samaritan; a member of the tribe who just rejected him. It’s not just that the Samaritans were disliked by everyone—by Romans for being too Jewish and by Jews for being not Jewish enough—they also made a choice to not receive Jesus in their town. If it’s not their heritage that matters and not their choices either, then what does matter?

            All that matters is the present actions of the Samaritan; not his antecedents, not his relatives, and not his past either. You’ll notice that Jesus’ commands are present-tense. Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind; and love your neighbor as yourself. There is no past that will disqualify you from doing this in the present; there is no status, like that of being a priest, which will excuse you from the obligation right now. We are judged not by our past or our future but by our right now.

Jesus’ answer to the question, “Who is my neighbor?” levels the playing field, breaks every barrier, and lays the same obligation at all of our feet. Even the one who rejected Jesus can be the example of neighborliness. Categories fail. Divisions no longer matter. In Christ, as Paul says in Romans, there is no longer “Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female.” We are neighbors to all of them, or, more to the point according to what the Good Samaritan says, they are neighbors to us.

We all have excuses for not being a good Samaritan ourselves. Some of us blame our past; we weren’t treated with respect by others, so why should we go out of our way for anyone else? Aren’t people out there just trying to take advantage of us anyway? Some of us are suspicious of the man on the road. Maybe he deserved it? Maybe it’s a trap. Some of us are just too busy to help. Sure, we know people who are down and out, but we have big plans for the day. Moreover, we have family and work obligations that are pressing in on us and we’d love to help but we just can’t swing it this time. We’ll send in a check instead. Lastly, some of us just don’t see the needs around us. We walk by all sorts of people in need of help on a daily basis and don’t even realize they are there. They put on a brave face and we see what we want to see.

The great thing about Jesus’ parable is its simplicity. He doesn’t care about the background of the priest and the Levite, or the Samaritan, for that matter. The priest and the Levite may have had very tough pasts and they may have been running late for worship at the temple, but it doesn’t matter. The Samaritan may have been one who directly rejected Jesus or he may have been an ardent follower of Jesus even amidst relatives who weren’t. Again, it doesn’t matter. We are big into context in our own lives. We know our own story, which means we have all sorts of excuses or all sorts of guilt. Some of us have both. We can make excuses and feel guilty at the same time.

The parable has none of that—just a simple choice—be a good Samaritan or not. It’s not enough to say “I would do that.” You have to do it. And the stakes are huge. Do this and you will inherit eternal life! That feels suspiciously anti-grace, but in fact it is the precursor we need to say, “Dear God, I can’t do it!” I need some help.

            So where does grace come in? The exact moment when we realize you just can’t do that. That’s where grace comes. Grace is all we have, because none of us can do what Jesus is demanding. However, and this is where good Lutherans sometimes get lost, that’s no excuse not to do it. In fact, grace demands action. When you know how much you have been given how can you help but give everything in return? The Samaritan wasn’t stopping to earn a reward. We don’t really know why he stopped. I suppose we could say he stopped because it was the right thing to do. But what does that mean—that it is the right thing to do? Does it mean he was able to empathize and put himself in that other man’s shoes? Perhaps he was able to see that it could be him on that road.

But even that is not enough. “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you” is a really good start, but the Samaritan may also have realized something just a little deeper. He may have realized not only that it could be him on that road, but that it was him on that road. That every man, distinct though he may appear, was his brother, every woman was his sister, and so every person was bone of his bone, flesh of his flesh. The man was connected to him as a brother or a son. I firmly believe this is why Jesus begins the story this way: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho.” Every man. Adam. Jesus. The homeless guy down the street. A Christian. A Muslim. An atheist. The man begs us to understand not only that this could be anyone walking down the road but that it is everyone who is walking that road. We are all the man or the woman—the person—beaten on the road. Who is going to stop for us? It’s not just the golden rule; it’s that we affirm or deny our common humanity with the choices we make.

This is what charity is about; not just helping someone who is less fortunate than you, but it is about understanding that you are brothers and sisters to all people. You are not so different, one from another. Again, Paul says, “There is no longer Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female.” We are one. So, there is a simple moral to the story: Stop for the man. Be the Good Samaritan. And there is also a second level to it: You are the man. You are brother to all, sister of all; neighbor to all. So what comes next?