Sermon
Text – Luke 10: 25-37
I have an internal conflict every Sunday when I sit up
here during worship, looking out at all of you. My absolute favorite thing
about worshiping with you here in this place is that I get to look out and see
all of you. I watch you come and go. I see you share a hug or a smile. I see kids
being snuggled. I see people gazing out the windows. I see God in your faces.
It is an honor and privilege to encounter God in this way.
My conflict, of course, is that most of you don’t get the
same view. You can’t really see each other very well from the rows of pews and
I really do believe that our sanctuary would better open itself for an
encounter with the Holy if we could find a way to arrange it so we could all
see each other. It’s not fair that Jack and I get the best seats in the house.
Until we find a way to rearrange things, though, I guess
the best I can do is offer for some of you to join us up here. If you sign up
to read scripture, feel free to join us on the bench for the service. Or if
reading scripture isn’t your gig, but you just want the view, that’s okay, too.
Seriously, we would love to have company up here from time to time. I guess we
can’t all fit at once because then there’d be nothing to look at, but maybe if
we took turns one or two of us could enjoy this Holy view week by week.
As clergy, my vantage point is sometimes markedly
different from others. When people find out I’m a minister, they often say, “Oh,
so you have to do funerals and be with people when they die? I could never do
that. That sounds awful.” I can see where they’re coming from. We preacher
types hate to say goodbye to those we love just as much as the next person. But
it’s also such a privilege and honor to be with people in those most intimate
of moments. I’ll never forget the sheer weight of the mantle I felt when, as a
hospital chaplain, I was allowed to comfort families during sickness and loss
and be with people during their last moments on this earth…not because of
anything I had done to earn such a gift, but simply because my nametag said
“chaplain.”
We clergy folk have a different vantage point sometimes.
It’s not for everyone, I suppose, but I certainly love it because I find God within
it.
As one of your ministers, I also have the honor of being
with you as you all cycle through the very human cycle of giving and
taking. My heart is warmed and my
bond with God deepened when I see the things you do to care for each other and
the world. Big things – like deciding, together, to give a giant chunk of money
away. Small things – like warmly welcoming little children – noise and all! –
into our community of faith. And I love watching you take care of each other’s
needs: picking up someone who needs a ride from the airport, sending an email
to say “I’m thinking of you on Mother’s Day” to a woman who recently lost her
mother to cancer, coming by faithfully every single week to take the kitchen
laundry away and wash it. I could go on and on. And I want to also say thank
you for the ways you have cared for me, and for my family. Every single time
one of my kids is sick – which is, of course, often these days – I can always
count on at least two or three people to ask, “Now how is your son doing? Is he
recovered from his ear infection?” That means a lot. It really does. This is an
amazingly caring group of people.
Of course, giving is only half of the equation. Without
needy folks among us, there would be no one to shower with our gifts – big and
small. And I have had the privilege of seeing many of you in your “taking
times,” too. Even though I’ve come to expect it, I always feel a little sad
when a person having a difficult time apologizes for being “needy.” I mean, I
do it too, don’t get me wrong. I think it’s just a natural part of living in
this culture. We are taught to value independence and take care of ourselves.
It is incredibly difficult to ask for help. Even more so to ask for help
without apologizing for your need – am I right?
But the thing is: we really shouldn’t be apologizing. We
are all a part of the human cycle of giving and taking. One cannot exist
without the other. Some of us may cycle back and forth – giving to taking –
several times over the course of a day or week. Others of us may find ourselves
in a long rut – constantly taking and taking for a long period of weeks or
months or years. Illness, depression, poverty, life-transitions, exhaustion – I
know these are all things that have made me needy for long periods of time. And
then we may cycle into a long period of relative prosperity and stability – a
time where we can give and give of ourselves and never seem to tire. Neither
one of these ways of living is good or bad. They just are what they are and
each and every one of us is going to cycle through them again and again in the
course of time.
Today’s passage from Luke is certainly one of the most
well-known stories in all of scripture. So well known that we even have laws on
the books that are named for this unnamed Good Samaritan. In fact, there are
even parallel stories in other faith traditions. For example, there is an
Islamic Hadith (or teaching) about a prostitute – a “child of Israel” no less –
who had compassion on a thirsty dog by a well and drew water for the dog to
drink.[1]
Allah forgave her sins because she acted with compassion towards the dog. As in
the story of the Good Samaritan we have a very unexpected hero, lifted up
because of her ability to access her compassion and take care of a neighbor in
need.
It’s easy to look at today’s passage and say, “Okay, the
moral of the story is this: everyone is your neighbor and we should all take
care of each other – even those yucky ‘other’ types that we don’t much want to
be around.” It’s a short and sweet takeaway and a good one.
After all, the faithful academic who posed the question to
Jesus in the beginning basically wanted to know the meaning of life. “Teacher,
what must I do to inherit eternal life?” What must I do to find aionios zoe? Zoe is Greek for life. Aionios
means without beginning or end. Beyond the alpha and omega. Beyond
having a start or finish. Before creation and after the end of the world.
Limitless.
It’s a big question, so we expect Jesus to come
up with a big answer. Except, of course, he does what all great teachers do so
well. He doesn’t answer the question – at least not initially. He throws it
back to the academic. “Well, you’ve certainly studied the Torah. What does it
say?” And this academic knows his stuff. He gives the right answer. “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."
Jesus affirms his answer, but this man of
letters presses on, “Ah, yes. But who exactly is my neighbor?” And our dear
friend and teacher, Jesus, knowing that a good story is worth a thousand
lectures, tells a whopper of a good story.
I think many of us naturally want to identify
ourselves with the Samaritan. I mean, I know I do. He’s the hero, the good guy,
the save-the-day type. I want to be that person. I want to be the person who
drops everything, conquers my own fears, and helps a stranger (and an enemy
stranger at that!). On my best days, I am able to get there. One my more
average days, I fail. Regardless, it’s a great ideal to hold. To be the
Samaritan. To be the ones who cross boundaries – living outside of who society
says we can and can’t love; living outside of the constraints of the clock –
the ones who cross boundaries and generously give ourselves away again and
again. We could live our entire lives just trying to do this. Just trying to be
neighborly in this way, and it would be enough. More than enough, probably.
Except, not. There is more to life than trying
to be the Good Samaritan. Because the way Jesus tells it, there are two
neighbors in this story. You can’t be a neighbor without having one. It’s a
two-way street. And the other neighbor in this story is lying in a ditch, left
for dead. He has been attacked, beaten, stripped, and left half-dead. If there
were ever a person in need, it is this person. And we are called to be this person
in the ditch, too. We are called to be the neighbor in need. We are called to
recognize the needs within ourselves, welcome them as a natural part of the
life cycle of give and take, and call out for help. Because when we call out
for help, we allow another person to enter into relationship with us and
provide for our needs. When we call out for help, we cease being alone in that
ditch, and pull ourselves back out to re-enter the world of neighborliness
around us.
There are two neighbors in this story. One with
so very much to give and one who has so very much need. The path to eternal
life lies in recognizing that we are all going to be one of those neighbors at
some point or another. And that is okay.
God lies within the connections. God beckons to
us from this story, inviting us into the cycle of give and take. God knows that
it is through our relationships with the other that God is most clearly seen
and experienced. When we take the time to notice those around us who are in
need – and then take the additional, difficult step of giving a part of
ourselves away to meet that need – we enter into eternal life. A life without
limits.
And when we find ourselves in a ditch and call
out for help – we invite someone else into holy communion with us as our
neighbor – and we likewise enter into eternal life. A life without limits.
I have to admit, I often find this story
overwhelming in its demands. I wish Jesus would tone it down, dial it back just
a bit. It’s too much for me, this demand to love my neighbor as myself. I mean,
if we’re going to define neighbor as essentially everyone in the world who has
a need or has something to offer, then that is a whole lot of people I’m
supposed to be loving, you know?
But then I remember, there are two neighbors in
this story. And all I am being asked to do is love both of them on any given
day. Love the ones who have needs. Love the ones who are giving themselves
away. Remembering, always, that on any given day, I could be either or both of
those people. And I am to love myself – whether I am needy or giving – knowing
that God loves me both ways and God is sending people to be in communion with
me both ways. God invites us into the cycle of giving and taking. I don’t think
God demands it. I think God offers it to us as a gift. The gift of realizing we
already have eternal life right here with us – a life without limits.
1 comment:
Beautifully done, Caela!
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