Here is an interesting game that we might all play. What if sometime later today—if you are not watching the World Cup—or at least can hear others over the sounds of the constant horns blaring at the World Cup finals—those vuvuzelas—what if you ask those around you to name one story about Jesus in the Bible? What if tomorrow at work, or sometime this week, you ask someone: “Quick, name a story of Jesus in the Bible.”

I bet many answers would include the story of the Good Samaritan—the story about the man who showed compassion and mercy to the hurting man beside the road. 

This is a well-known story. You might have even heard me reading it this morning and thought to yourself, “Oh, I know this one. Nothing new here.” Did you do that?

Sure, we have all heard it. But let's think about it a bit differently today, especially since it remains so familiar.

Where are you in this story? Which character best represents you, and where do you find yourself in these days?

Maybe you are the lawyer in the story. Maybe you are a lawyer and that puts you near this lawyer. Or, maybe you, like this man, have some serious questions for Jesus, like this lawyer had, and you want answers. You have been trained in interrogations, or you have burning questions on your heart; there are lots of things that need answers. 

“Hey Jesus—why is it that such bad things happen to good people. Or maybe worse in our way of thinking, why do good things happen to bad people?  Can you help me with that?” Why does a beautiful, 25 year old teacher from Richmond die in a boat crash? Or why does someone shoot someone else and the police know who it is but no charges are filed? We have questions, and a few answers would be helpful.

“Why is it that some are born with extreme privilege and waste it away, and others are born with nothing and yet live with gratitude and amazing generosity?” That might be a burning question for Jesus.

Or “Why, Jesus, do some people find religion and that makes them worse—more arrogant, more rude, more self-righteous, exclusive, more angry? And then other people do not seem to have any religion, but they are pretty nice folk? Can you help me with that?”  

Or, “Why do some people seem to have so much hardship dumped upon them—health issues, children in trouble, deep pain and heartache, problem after problem? And others seem to have it so easy? Why is that?”  

Or maybe we are like the lawyer, and this week with Helen Rolfe dying unexpectedly in her sleep, we actually have the same question: “Teacher, what must I do to have eternal life?” Because we get a fresh dose of the news that life is short, that we do not know how much time, and then Helen dies peacefully in her sleep. It might raise questions for us about our own lives. Are things in order? Am I living as if I might die tomorrow? We do not always have time to get things in order. Maybe we should take this question of eternal life seriously.  “Teacher, how do I inherit eternal life?”

Wouldn't it be great if Jesus could answer our heartfelt questions. We got questions for him, the Savior of the world!

But Jesus tells a story. 

There are other people in this passage that we might identify with today. A man was going down the road. This road was not a back alley, where we might get into trouble. This is not one of the many dimly lit places in our city, or dark alleys behind some of our houses. The man was going down the main road from Jerusalem, the biggest city, to Jericho, a big town. He is on I-95, basically. But the man fell into the hands of robbers, was stripped, beat up and left for dead.

Maybe some of us feel like that man today. We identify with him. Now, I hope that none of us have been beaten and robbed, but there are days when we might feel like we have been left for dead. The darkness of depression can make you feel beat up and unable to get up. The weight of grief, of living without your loved one—that might feel like being left by the side of the road. The loneliness of some nights, the anxiety of some days, might feel like we have been stripped. There are other heavy burdens that beat us up—maybe some wrongs done to us that we are having a hard time getting over, maybe worries about our children, about not having enough money, about uncertain futures, about a complex world that can feel overwhelming. And we can certainly go through seasons of life when we feel laid out by the side of the road—fighting addictions, trying to wade through some major trauma, trying to find our way from darkness to light. Maybe today some of us do identify with the man by the side of the road.

Perhaps, when we are honest, we are a bit like the priest. “Now, by chance a priest was going down the road....” Priests were associated with the temple. Priests were respected people, because they were trained in religious things. We are religious people, or at least we want to be. Many of us have training in religious things; and in this city with a Presbyterian seminary, we even have people around here who do the training of priestly people. 

Scholars speculate that this priest was likely going to the temple, and if he messed with an unclean man, he would be unclean. So, he passed by on the other side. When we have religion on our minds, we might often miss  out on how all great religions call us to act – with compassion, with mercy, with care. This priest passed by. So often we have places to go and other things on our mind: “Will I get beaten and stripped if I stop? Should I, could I really be helpful? Someone else will help.” Maybe this is how we think. Maybe we are like the priest. 

Or maybe the Levite. He is also a religious person. Maybe he could not take blood and wounds. He had a weak stomach. His life involved the temple cult, not first response to a trauma scene. He had no affinity for open wounds and did not know what to do with a man in such a state. Maybe we connect with him. We say, “Cannot get involved in that. I know nothing about that!” Moreover, we have places to go, maybe even to the church or synagogue. 

Or, maybe we are the animal in this story. It says animal. It is probably a donkey. The Samaritan put the wounded man “on his own animal” and brought him to the inn. The animal just might be thinking. “Great, his good intentions but I have to carry the messy, wounded man.”  

Or maybe we feel like the innkeeper. He is the one left to care for the wounded man. Sure, he gets money, and the promise of being re-paid for other costs, but he is left with the work, the responsibility. Is this where we connect in this story? Sometimes we feel put upon because other people want to do well. Maybe we feel stuck with the duty, left with the care and details of someone else's good intentions and kind acts of compassion. 

With whom do you really connect in this familiar story?

Maybe it is indeed the Samaritan. The story says, “When he saw the man, he had compassion on him. He was moved to pity. He went to him, bandaged his wounds, lifted him to his animal, brought him to an inn and took care of him.” Notice all those “active verbs.”

Jesus asks the lawyer, “Which of these, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The lawyer answered, “The one who showed mercy.” And Jesus said, “Go and do likewise.”

I really like that crisp, direct, succinct phrase of Jesus. We often think “what would Jesus do?” (WWJD?) And maybe we have paralysis by analysis. Those four words—there is not much room for analysis or paralysis. We might identify with the lawyer or the man in the ditch or the priest, or someone else. But Jesus cuts straight to the issue. The Samaritan—“Go and do likewise.” G-A-D-L! That is what Jesus says. And all of us, wherever we are, need to hear it. G-A-D-L! We are called to show compassion and mercy in all of life.

There is something else really interesting to me in this passage beyond those simple, succinct, crisp four words: G-A-D-L, “Go and do likewise.” 

After Jesus tells this familiar and brief story, Jesus’ manner of asking the question is striking to me. He does not say after the story “who is your neighbor?” Jesus’ question back to the lawyer turns the focus from the “my” and “I” to “the other”: “which of these three was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” 

It is pretty clear that Jesus is always trying to change our focus from the self to service, from the “I” to “the other,” from defining ourselves and our lives by what is in it for me, to what we can do for others, for the world. It is not “which man found eternal life?” or “which man succeeded?” or “which man is the best?” Those are all about the individual. Jesus wants us “other-directed:” “Which of these three was a neighbor?” Which of these three was appropriately focused, was turned outward to care and concern, offering compassion and mercy, geared not toward self, but others? That is how we find life. That is where joy comes from. That is where we find home. Jesus' point about being a neighbor really and truly means that what we want, what we think we need, what we want to do are not primary, not first. No, his point is that others come first: others’ needs, others’ concerns, others’ interests. It is a godly and faithful way of living—from self to service, from the “I” to “the other,” from defining our lives according to what is good for me and mine, to defining our lives by what is good for others, for the world. And he says, “G-A-D-L.” Go and do likewise.

Here is my specific question for you: where are you going to do that this week? How can you really begin, or keep altering your life, to be so other directed, so full of compassion and mercy?

Theologian Karl Barth puts it very well: we are who we are in encounter. We are created to give and receive help to and from our neighbor; to be human is to be in community. Our mandate as God’s people is not to withdraw into a cocoon of safety; rather it is to be out and alive in the world in concrete acts and policies that connect us, that keep extending us so that love casts out fear, community generates wholeness, and we find life.

We do not just want to talk about it. Jesus says, “G-A-D-L.” Go and do likewise. And to God be the glory! Amen