Sunday, July 13, 2025
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Luke 10:25-37
An expert in the law 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 vindicate 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 took off, 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 upon him, and when he saw him he was moved with compassion. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, treating them with oil and wine. 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.”
Perspective is everything. And the practice of empathy, mercy, and kindness is always a matter of perspective. We learn these things by needing these things and receiving these things. It’s a perspective from below.
One day, while still living in New York, I was rushing some place… because in New York, one is always rushing some place. And in that mad dash to get to wherever I needed to be, my fellow New Yorkers were nothing more than obstacles to be avoided. And so, I practiced what I had learned early on: never make eye contact with anyone because it will only slow you down. And if anyone tries to speak to you, walk even faster as if you didn’t hear them.
That’s what I was doing on the subway platform that day, when I heard a voice call out: “Mister! Mister!” Of course, I just kept walking as if I didn’t hear. But the voice followed me. “Mister!” it insisted. Finally, a hand tugged on the back of my shirt while the voice pleaded, “Mister!” And this really made me angry. So, I whirled around and growled: “What?!”
I expected to see a panhandler or some kind of religious nut. But the person behind me was a child. He was with his siblings and his mother, who was dressed in a sari and seemed to depend upon her children to speak the local language. Still, I was still suspicious, expecting to be asked for money. “Mister” the child said again, “is this the train to Times Square.” That was all they wanted – some directions. And I was covered with shame.
You see, I had forgotten what it was like to be new in New York and to not understand how the trains worked. I had forgotten how intimidating that pulsing city could be. I had forgotten what if felt like to not be able to speak the local language. I had forgotten how much courage it can take to ask for help. In other words, I had forgotten the view from below.
Perspective is everything. And the practice of empathy, mercy, and kindness is always a matter of perspective. We learn these things by needing these things and then receiving these things. And that idea is powerfully expressed in the Parable of the Good Samaritan.
One day, a prize-winning rabbinical student, asked Jesus, “Rabbi, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” It’s a good question, with a surprisingly simply answer. Jesus asked the man: “What does the Law say?” And the prize-winning student 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.”
“That’s it!” Jesus replied with a smile. “Do that and you will live. Do that and eternal life is already yours.” But the young man wanted more of an intellectual challenge. And so, he countered: “But who then is my neighbor?” And Jesus, the master storyteller, told a story that the world has never forgotten.
A man was traveling on the dangerous Jericho Road. It was well-known as a place where robbers hid, waiting to jump out from a shadow or a rock or a bush. And that is exactly what happened that day. The robbers jumped out, attacked the man, stripped of his clothing, beat him senseless, and left him for dead.
A little while later, a priest was traveling that same dangerous road, but when he saw this bloody mess, he passed by quickly on the other side. Then a Levite, someone who worked in the Temple, also passed by. But the Levite likewise crossed to the other side, with a hurried step.
It is often said that the priest and the Levite hurried by on the other side because of their religion; because they were both concerned with ritual purity. What if the man was already dead and they were made unclean by touching a corpse and the unable to fulfill their religious duties? But that idea is not mentioned at all in this story. And that idea implies a heartlessness in Judaism. And that idea plants the seeds of some anti-Semitic thinking.
But maybe religion had nothing to do with their actions that day. Maybe, because of the road they were on, they were afraid too. Maybe, they thought, the robbers were still there. Maybe the man in the ditch was just a decoy, a way to make them stop so that they too could be robbed and beaten.
In any event, the next person to appear was a Samaritan. And if you don’t remember anything else about Samaritans, remember this: everyone hated them. They lived in the wrong place and practiced the wrong religion and had the wrong customs. But that Samaritan – that no-good, dirty, foreigner – is the only one who stopped to show mercy. He is the only one who saw the need and was deeply, viscerally moved wih compassion.
What he did next was shocking. He crawled into the ditch with the man, his own clothes becoming soaked with the blood of a stranger. And he bandaged the man and treated his wounds, and put him on his donkey, and took him to an inn, and sat up with him all night, and paid the innkeeper for two more days, so the man could rest and recover and live. And then he promised to come back and see how the man was doing.
And then Jesus asked the rabbinical student: “So which one of these was the neighbor to the man?” “The one who showed him mercy,” the student answered. And Jesus said: “Go and do likewise.”
And we know that. We know that we are supposed to go and do likewise. We understand it intellectually. But perspective is everything. And the practice of empathy, mercy, and kindness is always a matter of perspective. We learn these things by needing these things and then receiving these things.
Which makes me wonder where we locate ourselves in this story. Are we the religious folks so concerned with going to church that we fail to be the church? Are we the Samaritan, doing the right thing, even when no one else is? Or is it possible that the power of this parable in found in seeing ourselves as someone else?
Amy Jill Levine, the brilliant New Testament scholar who is also a practicing Jew, says that the only way to really understand this parable is from the perspective from the ditch. Dr. Levine writes that this story is transformative when we see ourselves as the ones who need to be saved – and that the one who comes to save us is our so-called enemy.
And that, she says, is what made and makes this parable such a scandal. Jesus dared to remind us that we learn mercy by receiving it – and receiving it from those we call enemies.
A modern-day retelling might go something like this: a far-left Democrat is robbed and a Republican saves her life. A racist cop is robbed and left to die, and an African American teenager saves his life. A transgender woman is stripped and beaten half to death, and an anti LGBTQ activist saves her life. An outspoken atheist is attacked, and a Bible-thumping fundamentalist saves his life. As theologian Debie Thomas puts it: “When you’re lying bloody in a ditch, what matters is not whose help you’d prefer… What matters is whether or not anyone will stop to show you mercy before you die.”
“Mister, is this the train to Grand Central?” The boy was simply asking for help. But I was the one who needed it, lost and battered as I was that day, in a ditch of self-importance and arrogance. And I might have died there had that little boy not lifted me up.
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Luke 10:25-37
An expert in the law 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 vindicate 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 took off, 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 upon him, and when he saw him he was moved with compassion. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, treating them with oil and wine. 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.”
Perspective is everything. And the practice of empathy, mercy, and kindness is always a matter of perspective. We learn these things by needing these things and receiving these things. It’s a perspective from below.
One day, while still living in New York, I was rushing some place… because in New York, one is always rushing some place. And in that mad dash to get to wherever I needed to be, my fellow New Yorkers were nothing more than obstacles to be avoided. And so, I practiced what I had learned early on: never make eye contact with anyone because it will only slow you down. And if anyone tries to speak to you, walk even faster as if you didn’t hear them.
That’s what I was doing on the subway platform that day, when I heard a voice call out: “Mister! Mister!” Of course, I just kept walking as if I didn’t hear. But the voice followed me. “Mister!” it insisted. Finally, a hand tugged on the back of my shirt while the voice pleaded, “Mister!” And this really made me angry. So, I whirled around and growled: “What?!”
I expected to see a panhandler or some kind of religious nut. But the person behind me was a child. He was with his siblings and his mother, who was dressed in a sari and seemed to depend upon her children to speak the local language. Still, I was still suspicious, expecting to be asked for money. “Mister” the child said again, “is this the train to Times Square.” That was all they wanted – some directions. And I was covered with shame.
You see, I had forgotten what it was like to be new in New York and to not understand how the trains worked. I had forgotten how intimidating that pulsing city could be. I had forgotten what if felt like to not be able to speak the local language. I had forgotten how much courage it can take to ask for help. In other words, I had forgotten the view from below.
Perspective is everything. And the practice of empathy, mercy, and kindness is always a matter of perspective. We learn these things by needing these things and then receiving these things. And that idea is powerfully expressed in the Parable of the Good Samaritan.
One day, a prize-winning rabbinical student, asked Jesus, “Rabbi, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” It’s a good question, with a surprisingly simply answer. Jesus asked the man: “What does the Law say?” And the prize-winning student 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.”
“That’s it!” Jesus replied with a smile. “Do that and you will live. Do that and eternal life is already yours.” But the young man wanted more of an intellectual challenge. And so, he countered: “But who then is my neighbor?” And Jesus, the master storyteller, told a story that the world has never forgotten.
A man was traveling on the dangerous Jericho Road. It was well-known as a place where robbers hid, waiting to jump out from a shadow or a rock or a bush. And that is exactly what happened that day. The robbers jumped out, attacked the man, stripped of his clothing, beat him senseless, and left him for dead.
A little while later, a priest was traveling that same dangerous road, but when he saw this bloody mess, he passed by quickly on the other side. Then a Levite, someone who worked in the Temple, also passed by. But the Levite likewise crossed to the other side, with a hurried step.
It is often said that the priest and the Levite hurried by on the other side because of their religion; because they were both concerned with ritual purity. What if the man was already dead and they were made unclean by touching a corpse and the unable to fulfill their religious duties? But that idea is not mentioned at all in this story. And that idea implies a heartlessness in Judaism. And that idea plants the seeds of some anti-Semitic thinking.
But maybe religion had nothing to do with their actions that day. Maybe, because of the road they were on, they were afraid too. Maybe, they thought, the robbers were still there. Maybe the man in the ditch was just a decoy, a way to make them stop so that they too could be robbed and beaten.
In any event, the next person to appear was a Samaritan. And if you don’t remember anything else about Samaritans, remember this: everyone hated them. They lived in the wrong place and practiced the wrong religion and had the wrong customs. But that Samaritan – that no-good, dirty, foreigner – is the only one who stopped to show mercy. He is the only one who saw the need and was deeply, viscerally moved wih compassion.
What he did next was shocking. He crawled into the ditch with the man, his own clothes becoming soaked with the blood of a stranger. And he bandaged the man and treated his wounds, and put him on his donkey, and took him to an inn, and sat up with him all night, and paid the innkeeper for two more days, so the man could rest and recover and live. And then he promised to come back and see how the man was doing.
And then Jesus asked the rabbinical student: “So which one of these was the neighbor to the man?” “The one who showed him mercy,” the student answered. And Jesus said: “Go and do likewise.”
And we know that. We know that we are supposed to go and do likewise. We understand it intellectually. But perspective is everything. And the practice of empathy, mercy, and kindness is always a matter of perspective. We learn these things by needing these things and then receiving these things.
Which makes me wonder where we locate ourselves in this story. Are we the religious folks so concerned with going to church that we fail to be the church? Are we the Samaritan, doing the right thing, even when no one else is? Or is it possible that the power of this parable in found in seeing ourselves as someone else?
Amy Jill Levine, the brilliant New Testament scholar who is also a practicing Jew, says that the only way to really understand this parable is from the perspective from the ditch. Dr. Levine writes that this story is transformative when we see ourselves as the ones who need to be saved – and that the one who comes to save us is our so-called enemy.
And that, she says, is what made and makes this parable such a scandal. Jesus dared to remind us that we learn mercy by receiving it – and receiving it from those we call enemies.
A modern-day retelling might go something like this: a far-left Democrat is robbed and a Republican saves her life. A racist cop is robbed and left to die, and an African American teenager saves his life. A transgender woman is stripped and beaten half to death, and an anti LGBTQ activist saves her life. An outspoken atheist is attacked, and a Bible-thumping fundamentalist saves his life. As theologian Debie Thomas puts it: “When you’re lying bloody in a ditch, what matters is not whose help you’d prefer… What matters is whether or not anyone will stop to show you mercy before you die.”
“Mister, is this the train to Grand Central?” The boy was simply asking for help. But I was the one who needed it, lost and battered as I was that day, in a ditch of self-importance and arrogance. And I might have died there had that little boy not lifted me up.
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