IN A DITCH
Sunday, July 10, 2022
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Luke 10:25-37
Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall 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 your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
It was Christmastime, 1966. I had just seen a commercial about Santa Claus appearing at a local shopping center, and determined to go, I pestered my parents until my father finally relented. That same night, my dad and I got into the car and started off to see Santa. We were traveling down a two-lane road in rural Louisiana when all of a sudden, there were headlights coming right toward us. My dad swerved wildly as he shouted “Hold on, Jimmy!” and threw his arm over me, a sort of human seatbelt. There was the tremendous sound of breaking glass and grinding metal, and then absolute stillness. My next memory is of my dad’s heavy body pressing against mine, and my body pressing against the passenger door. Our car was upright, resting on its right side, in a deep ditch.
My dad climbed out of the driver’s door and then reached back in to pull me out. The ditch was in front of a small, simple house. We knocked on the door and an elderly couple answered. We asked if we could use the phone to call the police and my mother. And then the old lady, in an attempt to comfort a shaken child, went into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of Circus Peanuts, those marvelous spongy, neon orange candies in the shape of oversized peanuts. I was delighted. They delight me still!
My father and I were very lucky to have walked away from an accident that totaled our car. A drunk, hit-and-run driver, the son of a local judge who was never prosecuted for this incident, had literally knocked us into a ditch and then left us for dead. But some Good Samaritans with Circus Peanuts and some basic human kindness tended to us in our distress.
One day, a young hot-shot lawyer approached Jesus and asked: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” It was actually a trick question meant to put the peasant Jesus in his place and to demonstrate his ignorance of Jewish law. But Jesus wasn’t ignorant of the law at all, and so he turned the tables and asked: “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” And the lawyer rattled off the answer that any good Jew would have known: “Love God and love your neighbor as yourself.” “That’s it,” said Jesus. “Do that and you will live.” But this lawyer was not about to be shown up by a peasant. And so, he asked a more probing follow-up question: “So just who is my neighbor?”
And Jesus replied: Once upon a time there was a man, who against the wise warnings of his wife, walked the dangerous Jericho Road all alone. He was rounding a corner when suddenly robbers jumped out from behind a boulder, stole everything he had, and beat him half to death. For the next few hours he lay there, in and out of consciousness, under the brutal sun, wondering if he would ever see his wife and children again.
After a while, a priest happened by, but he pretended not to see the man and passed by on the other side of the road. Then along came a Levite, another professional religious person, who also caught sight of him and feigned being in a bigger hurry than he actually was. Finally, a Samaritan came along and when he saw the bloody man, he was moved with pity. He knelt down, cradled the man’s head and whispered that everything was going to be OK, even though he wasn’t sure it would be. And then he cleaned and bandaged the man’s wounds, gave him some cool water, put him on his donkey and took him to an inn, where he sat by the man’s bed all night, as a fever rattled his body. The next day, when the man was a little better, the Samaritan paid the innkeeper for two more days of lodging and said, “Take care of him. And when I come back through, I will pay you anything else that is owed.”
We know this story as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. And we think of it as a morality tale about our responsibility to those in need. And there is truth in that. How much better this world would be if we all remembered that we are our sister’s and brother’s keepers. It’s just that this is not the whole truth of this tale.
First of all, you have to understand the characters to understand the story. It’s hard to overstate just how hated the Samaritans were in first century Palestine. They were half-breeds and traitors, who practiced a perverted form of Judaism. They had refused to participate in the rebuilding of Jerusalem after the exile. They had helped the Syrians wage war against the Jews. By the time Jesus told this tale, the hatred between Jews and Samaritans was 1000 years old. To anybody listening to Jesus that day, there was no such thing as a “good Samaritan.” It was an oxymoron.
Secondly, in telling this story, Jesus is underscoring something we Americans seem to have forgotten in 2022. And that is simply this: that people and kindness and decency are always, always, always more important than political opinion. Despite the ancient misunderstandings between Jews and Samaritans, Jesus doesn’t address it at allHe doesn’t use his very powerful platform to engage in historical analysis. He doesn’t argue about who’s right and who’s wrong. There is no time for that because this is the story of human crisis. As theologian Debie Thomas writes: “… all tribalisms fall away on a broken road. All divisions of ‘us’ and ‘them’ disappear of necessity. When you’re lying bloody in a ditch… what matters most is whether or not anyone will stop and show you mercy before you die.”
Thirdly, there is good reason to believe that this is one of Jesus’s famous role reversal stories that Luke is so fond of - you know, one of those tales where the first are last and the last are first. Maybe Jesus isn’t simply suggesting that the lawyer act like a Good Samaritan and give help to those in need. Maybe, and far more provocatively, Jesus is suggesting that the one in need of help is the lawyer. He’s in the ditch, bruised and bloodied by his pride and privilege. Maybe the shocker of this tale is that for Jesus, the ones in the world who need the help are the ones who think they don’t. They’re in a ditch and the ones who can help them are the “others” they so often ignore or… despise.
There was a 12-year-old Palestinian boy named Ahmad who was tragically shot and killed by Israeli soldiers during street fighting near his home in Jenin, the West Bank. He had been playing in the street with a toy gun, and you can imagine... Still alive at first, Ahmad was rushed to an Israeli hospital, where he died after two days. His heart-broken parents could have turned the whole sad spectacle into a political moment. It would have been very powerful. But instead, they made the decision to allow Ahmad’s organs to be harvested for transplant to Israeli people. A total of six Israelis received Ahmad’s organs. Ahmad’s mother later said, "My son has died. But maybe he can give life to others."
Ahmad’s mother could have been the one in a ditch of grief and bitterness. That’s the role we expect her to play – the victim; the supplicant; the weak one. But how this story changes when we see Ahmad’s mother as the strong woman she is, who reaches into the ditch and pulls others to safety, perhaps even some who would have despised her because she is a Palestinian.
The last shall be first and the first shall be last. Maybe we’re the ones in the ditch, bruised and battered by our willful ignorance and dearly guarded privilege and our unyielding opinions about everything. Maybe our life-blood is draining away and we don’t even know it. Maybe our help is close at hand, but from the very people we hold at arm’s length and silently despise. Maybe we’re in the ditch.
But thank God that is not how this story ends.
Sunday, July 10, 2022
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Luke 10:25-37
Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “You shall 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 your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
It was Christmastime, 1966. I had just seen a commercial about Santa Claus appearing at a local shopping center, and determined to go, I pestered my parents until my father finally relented. That same night, my dad and I got into the car and started off to see Santa. We were traveling down a two-lane road in rural Louisiana when all of a sudden, there were headlights coming right toward us. My dad swerved wildly as he shouted “Hold on, Jimmy!” and threw his arm over me, a sort of human seatbelt. There was the tremendous sound of breaking glass and grinding metal, and then absolute stillness. My next memory is of my dad’s heavy body pressing against mine, and my body pressing against the passenger door. Our car was upright, resting on its right side, in a deep ditch.
My dad climbed out of the driver’s door and then reached back in to pull me out. The ditch was in front of a small, simple house. We knocked on the door and an elderly couple answered. We asked if we could use the phone to call the police and my mother. And then the old lady, in an attempt to comfort a shaken child, went into the kitchen and came back with a bowl of Circus Peanuts, those marvelous spongy, neon orange candies in the shape of oversized peanuts. I was delighted. They delight me still!
My father and I were very lucky to have walked away from an accident that totaled our car. A drunk, hit-and-run driver, the son of a local judge who was never prosecuted for this incident, had literally knocked us into a ditch and then left us for dead. But some Good Samaritans with Circus Peanuts and some basic human kindness tended to us in our distress.
One day, a young hot-shot lawyer approached Jesus and asked: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” It was actually a trick question meant to put the peasant Jesus in his place and to demonstrate his ignorance of Jewish law. But Jesus wasn’t ignorant of the law at all, and so he turned the tables and asked: “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” And the lawyer rattled off the answer that any good Jew would have known: “Love God and love your neighbor as yourself.” “That’s it,” said Jesus. “Do that and you will live.” But this lawyer was not about to be shown up by a peasant. And so, he asked a more probing follow-up question: “So just who is my neighbor?”
And Jesus replied: Once upon a time there was a man, who against the wise warnings of his wife, walked the dangerous Jericho Road all alone. He was rounding a corner when suddenly robbers jumped out from behind a boulder, stole everything he had, and beat him half to death. For the next few hours he lay there, in and out of consciousness, under the brutal sun, wondering if he would ever see his wife and children again.
After a while, a priest happened by, but he pretended not to see the man and passed by on the other side of the road. Then along came a Levite, another professional religious person, who also caught sight of him and feigned being in a bigger hurry than he actually was. Finally, a Samaritan came along and when he saw the bloody man, he was moved with pity. He knelt down, cradled the man’s head and whispered that everything was going to be OK, even though he wasn’t sure it would be. And then he cleaned and bandaged the man’s wounds, gave him some cool water, put him on his donkey and took him to an inn, where he sat by the man’s bed all night, as a fever rattled his body. The next day, when the man was a little better, the Samaritan paid the innkeeper for two more days of lodging and said, “Take care of him. And when I come back through, I will pay you anything else that is owed.”
We know this story as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. And we think of it as a morality tale about our responsibility to those in need. And there is truth in that. How much better this world would be if we all remembered that we are our sister’s and brother’s keepers. It’s just that this is not the whole truth of this tale.
First of all, you have to understand the characters to understand the story. It’s hard to overstate just how hated the Samaritans were in first century Palestine. They were half-breeds and traitors, who practiced a perverted form of Judaism. They had refused to participate in the rebuilding of Jerusalem after the exile. They had helped the Syrians wage war against the Jews. By the time Jesus told this tale, the hatred between Jews and Samaritans was 1000 years old. To anybody listening to Jesus that day, there was no such thing as a “good Samaritan.” It was an oxymoron.
Secondly, in telling this story, Jesus is underscoring something we Americans seem to have forgotten in 2022. And that is simply this: that people and kindness and decency are always, always, always more important than political opinion. Despite the ancient misunderstandings between Jews and Samaritans, Jesus doesn’t address it at allHe doesn’t use his very powerful platform to engage in historical analysis. He doesn’t argue about who’s right and who’s wrong. There is no time for that because this is the story of human crisis. As theologian Debie Thomas writes: “… all tribalisms fall away on a broken road. All divisions of ‘us’ and ‘them’ disappear of necessity. When you’re lying bloody in a ditch… what matters most is whether or not anyone will stop and show you mercy before you die.”
Thirdly, there is good reason to believe that this is one of Jesus’s famous role reversal stories that Luke is so fond of - you know, one of those tales where the first are last and the last are first. Maybe Jesus isn’t simply suggesting that the lawyer act like a Good Samaritan and give help to those in need. Maybe, and far more provocatively, Jesus is suggesting that the one in need of help is the lawyer. He’s in the ditch, bruised and bloodied by his pride and privilege. Maybe the shocker of this tale is that for Jesus, the ones in the world who need the help are the ones who think they don’t. They’re in a ditch and the ones who can help them are the “others” they so often ignore or… despise.
There was a 12-year-old Palestinian boy named Ahmad who was tragically shot and killed by Israeli soldiers during street fighting near his home in Jenin, the West Bank. He had been playing in the street with a toy gun, and you can imagine... Still alive at first, Ahmad was rushed to an Israeli hospital, where he died after two days. His heart-broken parents could have turned the whole sad spectacle into a political moment. It would have been very powerful. But instead, they made the decision to allow Ahmad’s organs to be harvested for transplant to Israeli people. A total of six Israelis received Ahmad’s organs. Ahmad’s mother later said, "My son has died. But maybe he can give life to others."
Ahmad’s mother could have been the one in a ditch of grief and bitterness. That’s the role we expect her to play – the victim; the supplicant; the weak one. But how this story changes when we see Ahmad’s mother as the strong woman she is, who reaches into the ditch and pulls others to safety, perhaps even some who would have despised her because she is a Palestinian.
The last shall be first and the first shall be last. Maybe we’re the ones in the ditch, bruised and battered by our willful ignorance and dearly guarded privilege and our unyielding opinions about everything. Maybe our life-blood is draining away and we don’t even know it. Maybe our help is close at hand, but from the very people we hold at arm’s length and silently despise. Maybe we’re in the ditch.
But thank God that is not how this story ends.
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