July 14 2013
Deut 30:10-14; Col 1:15-20; Luke10:25-37
We all know the story of the Good Samaritan. The challenge with such familiar gospel stories is to hear them fresh, as if for the first time. So let me tell the story as we might hear it in our lifetimes.
First of all, we have to realize who the Samaritans were. They were the remnant of the former kingdom of Israel when it separated from Judah, whose capital was Jerusalem. They shared the beliefs of Judeans, but they did not share the tradition of worship in the temple in Jerusalem. Instead they worshipped God on mount Gerazim in Samaria. Basically, the Judeans and the Samaritans felt about each other the way Protestants and Catholics felt about each other when I was growing up. Remember those days? The Samaritans were heretics.
And we have to understand why the priest and the Levite crossed to the other side of the road when they passed the injured man. It was not because they were bad people or uncaring. It was because he was bloody and possibly dead. And if not dead, he might die. But the priest and the Levite were on their way to Jerusalem to participate in temple worship, and biblical law required them to observe certain purity rules—which meant they dare not come in contact with blood or dead bodies. So they were being faithful to their religious obligations.
When I was young, before Vatican II, my update of the Good Samaritan story might have gone like this. A Catholic priest is on his way to say mass for a remote congregation and anoint a dying woman; if he is late, they will miss out on the sacraments, because he has several communities to visit in a short time. On the way, he sees an automobile accident, but he doesn’t stop, because that will prevent him from bringing the sacraments to that community. Then a Protestant comes by and gives what help he can to the accident victim until an ambulance arrives. Who was neighbor to the accident victim—the priest with his concern about the sacraments or the Protestant?
But today, I’d tell that story still differently. Today the Catholic passing by might be me, on my way to do this communion service. Or it might be someone on his way to address a major rally against abortion or for gun control, the speaker who is important to the cause and can’t be late. And the person who comes along later and helps the accident victim might be a Muslim or an atheist.
In fact, I met the Good Samaritan a few weeks ago at my 50th college reunion. One of my classmates, I think an atheist from a Jewish family, founded a charity called YouthBuild. Already in college, she noticed that our cities have two problems: young men hanging out with nothing to do but get in trouble, and abandoned buildings that contribute to neighborhood decay. Her idea was to train the young men—and later women—in carpentry and other skills, and put them to work fixing up the buildings. That’s what she has done with her life. At the reunion, she invited some of us who had contributed small sums to her efforts to hear the stories of “graduates” of her program.
Now these young men started off as the sort of people—if I had seen them on the street, I would have crossed to the other side of the road. They took drugs; they dealt drugs; they expected to die young by murder. They were good for nothing. But Dorothy Stoneman didn’t cross to the other side of the street. She crossed to their side of the street and got to know them. She trained counselors to work with them where they were. She promised jobs and education to young people who wanted to change their lives. And it worked. She has a success rate of something like 85%, which is pretty amazing. Her counselors truly care about the young people and are very good at helping them to take the right next step in life. Now those young men have jobs and pay taxes; they are married and are raising children.
So I’ve met the Good Samaritan. Not a religious person, but someone who went out of her way to help people who needed help. And I hear Jesus asking me, “Who was neighbor to these kids from the slums?” And, “Go and do likewise.”
Obviously none of us is about to march into the slums and teach young drug dealers how to do carpentry. But Jesus’ words are still a challenge. Can we be as much of a neighbor as my atheist classmate?