"Go and Do Likewise"

Sermon on Luke 10:25-37

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS 

February 21, 2021

We’ve got Bible stories we love. Bible stories we hate. 

Bible stories we don’t understand. 

Bible stories we don’t remember ever hearing before (remember that time in Acts where Paul preached a sermon that was way too long and a young man fell asleep and tumbled out of the window he was sitting in and died and then Paul resurrected him? I digress.)

And then we’ve got Bible stories we know. Like this one. If you’ve spent much time learning about the Bible, you know the story of the Good Samaritan. (And if you don’t know it, no worries, you will soon.)

It’s the knowing that makes this story hard. Not hard because we don’t understand. Hard because we DO understand. This is a story that’s easy to understand but hard to live. We see what Jesus is trying to teach us. We know this story. But can we live it? 

Everywhere he went, Jesus ran into people with questions. Some were genuinely curious. Others wanted to trip him up. Like all good teachers, Jesus often answered these questions with other questions.

“Teacher,” the lawyer says, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

It feels like an awkward way to begin a conversation. It’s not a small question. I feel like you should exchange some niceties about the weather or your favorite sports team before asking someone a question like that, but, hey, I guess if you’ve got time with Jesus you want to get right to it. 

Jesus isn’t put off by the immensity of this question. He knows the questioner is a smart guy and asks him, in return, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” In other words, “What do you see? What do you know to be true?”

And this lawyer is smart. He does know the answer. He probably first learned it as wee one. I can imagine him sitting up on the steps during the Word for Children. He knows that the right answer to any question posed there is probably “love.” 

And it’s the right answer this time, too. “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 min; and your neighbor as yourself.” 

Jesus responds, “Yep. That’s it. Do that and you’ll live.” 

“But wanting to justify himself,” the man continues on. Whoooo boy. “Wanting to justify himself.” 

There’s a whole sermon there on how we get ourselves into trouble when we won’t leave well-enough alone and “wanting to justify ourselves” just keep on going. Which is exactly what this guy does. 

He has the answer to his question. It’s an answer he already knew, in fact. But I suppose he finds the command to love God and love our neighbors as ourselves a bit too challenging, so he’s looking for a loophole. Can we honestly blame him for this? It’s a tall order, all this loving.

The man wonders, “Who is my neighbor?” And Jesus responds, “They’re the people that you meet, when you’re walking down the street, they’re the people that you meet each day!” Just kidding. Sort of. 

Seeing that he’s unlikely to wrap up this conversation with another question, Jesus reaches into his bag for one of his other favorite rhetorical tools….and pulls out….a story. 

The story has only unnamed characters: “A priest,” “A Levite,” “A man left half dead on the side of the road,” “A Samaritan,” “An innkeeper.” The lack of details about each of these characters makes it especially easy for us to step into the story. If you’re looking for an excellent way to study the Bible, try sitting down with a story like this one and reading it several times through, putting yourself into a different character’s shoes each time. This story hits very differently if you’re the priest, the man left for dead, the Samaritan, the innkeeper, right?

Those who initially gathered around Jesus and heard this story would have quickly recognized its formula. Two characters come along and make poor decisions. They both occupy revered spaces in society. The listeners are primed and ready because they know from hearing lots of other stories that a third character is about to come along and is going to be EVEN MORE revered and is going to be the HERO. 

So when Jesus introduces the third character and it’s a Samaritan, there may have been an audible gasp in the audience. If you asked those gathered to list 100 people who might play the part of the hero in their minds, my guess is “a Samaritan” would never have made the list. And yet here he is. And, goodness, is he ever a hero. 

The first thing we should know about Our Hero is that he was paying attention. He SAW the man who had been beaten and robbed. He saw his need. This may not seem like a big deal, but we fail to see one another all the time. We rush into the dentist’s office and fail to greet the receptionist by name. We sit next to a coworker all day and don’t notice they’re on the verge of tears. We walk past the person on the street asking for money without even a glance. We do this all the time. We know better, and yet we fail to see each other time and again. 

But Our Hero doesn’t fail. He sees. And seeing the man’s need, he is moved with compassion. He draws near and takes care of his immediate physical needs, bandaging up his wounds. I assume he also offers words of comfort and care. “What’s your name? What happened to you? Can I call a family member or friend to help?”

He uses his own wine to clean his cuts and then Our Hero puts him on his own horse and takes him to a local inn and watches over him throughout the night. Didn’t this guy have somewhere else to be? Something else to do today? I’m sure he did. But he stays, regardless. 

The next morning, Our Hero stops down at the front desk and settles up his bill with the innkeeper. Jesus says he gives the innkeeper two denarii. Our little Bible footnotes tell us that’s the equivalent of two day’s wages for the average laborer. Google tells me that the average wage for a general laborer is about $15/hour, so some quick math reveals this to be $240. He didn’t give the guy loose change from his pocket. He gave him a big fistfull of cash. And then - and then! - he gives the equivalent of a blank check. “Take care of him,” Our Hero says, “And when I come back, I’ll repay any other expenses you have.” 

And as we’re sitting here with our mouths agape, marveling over the utter generosity of this nameless Samaritan, Jesus gently picks our jaws up off the floor and says, “Now which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man beaten and left half dead on the side of the road?”

It was either so quiet you could hear a pin drop OR there was a loud thump as Jesus dropped the mic and the lawyer responds, “The one who showed him mercy.” 

Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

“This is what it looks like to love God and love your neighbor as yourself,” Jesus says. 

We do this when we see our neighbors, have compassion for them, care for them. We do this when we know that every other person we encounter is made in God’s image, worthy of love and care. AND we do this when we remember that it takes a neighbor to be a neighbor. We are also the neighbor when we are the beaten one laying in the ditch. We are the neighbor when we have needs and allow someone else to see our vulnerability, bandage our wounds, care for us when we are hurting. That’s being a neighbor, too. It’s the give-and-take, ebb-and-flow of living in community. And this neighborly love knows no caste or creed, no race or gender or political affiliation or anything else. It turns out Mr. Rogers was right when he said our neighbors are, quite simply, the people that we meet each day. 

What Jesus is asking here is significant. It’s no small thing. I’d like to find a way to maybe tone it down a bit, make it easier for us. But Jesus says “go and do likewise.” He doesn’t mince words.

Even with the intense demands of this teaching, though, good news abounds. Jesus draws us into community and promises neighbors to care for us along all of life’s ups and downs. Though it’s demanding to know we really are our siblings’ keepers, it’s also a relief to know that if we all actually took this to heart and lived this way, we would ALL be cared for. What a beautiful image, right? 

The simplicity of this story can be a welcome reprieve in a world where it is often challenging to wade through difficult ethical decisions. We often want to do the right thing, but we aren’t sure where to start. Jesus tell us: start with what you see in front of you. Look around. See your neighbors. Really see them. Get to know them. And then be a neighbor to them. Offer and accept hospitality. Care for one another. Be kind. Be kind. Be kind. 

It may not be hard to understand, but it can be hard to “go and do likewise.” And so we give thanks that we don’t travel this road alone. We give thanks for those who have gone before as examples. We give thanks for fellow travelers on the journey who inspire and encourage us. We give thanks for the grace and love of God that enables us to wake up each day and keep trying even when we know we sometimes fall short. We give thanks for the Spirit that sustains us when we are weary. And we give thanks for Jesus who shows us how to live. 

“Go and do likewise,” he says. 

May our response be “We will, with God’s help.” 

"Just say the word,"

Sermon on Luke 7: 1-17

Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS 

February 7, 2021

I don’t know if this story happened just like this, but I do know there’s truth here for us:

Once upon a time, a roving prophet went into a town called Nain and as he entered the town he saw a funeral procession, with a crowd gathered ‘round. A widow was there, weeping and mourning because her only son had died. The prophet, consumed with compassion for the woman, reached out and touched the stretcher with her son’s body on it and the prophet said, “Young man, rise up!” And the widow’s son did just that. The prophet reunited mother and son and all the people around were shocked by what they had seen.

Just a little while before this all happened, the prophet was in another nearby town and another healing took place. Now, you and I might not be too surprised by a story of a great Jewish prophet having compassion on a widow who has lost her only son. Because we’ve done our homework and we know that Jesus stood in a long line of prophets who proclaimed compassion and care for society’s most vulnerable. And a widow who’s lost her only son is very vulnerable. So it’s not a surprise Jesus helps her, right?

But this other story. The one in Capernaum. It may surprise us a bit. Because in this story Jesus heals to help someone not on the outskirts, but an insider. This Roman military officer was a member of the elite. A powerful member of an occupying army. He asks Jesus to heal his doulos - his servant or someone he enslaved. (We don’t know, incidentally, which one of those is correct because our concepts of servant vs enslaved person don’t translate to directly to Jesus’s culture and time.) 

The officer appeals to Jesus as an insider. “Look,” the officer says, “I get you. You’re a powerful dude. I’m a powerful dude. We say ‘jump’ and people jump. I know that you can heal my doulos. You don’t even have to trouble yourself to come all the way to my house. Just say the word and it’ll be done.”

Knowing Jesus as we do, we might expect him to challenge this powerful Roman. Perhaps he’ll ask him a hard question or encourage him to re-evaluate his life in some way. 

But Jesus doesn’t do anything like that here. Instead, he commends the officer for his faithfulness. Jesus says the word. And it is done. The doulos is healed. 

I’m troubled, incidentally, that Jesus didn’t check on the healed man in any way. Shouldn’t he have freed him? Or at least ensured he was being treated well while in servitude? This story is very similar to one in the Gospel of John where Jesus heals the SON of an official from Capernaum - so maybe something got lost in translation and the doulos isn’t a doulos at all. We just don’t know for certain. 

But what we do see in this story is Jesus as a powerful dude chummying up with another powerful dude. It’s not the version we think of most often when we think of our favorite prophet, is it? We like the Jesus who stands in solidarity with the oppressed. We cheer for the Jesus who heals the outsider. We sometimes don’t remember these stories of the Jesus who ALSO has compassion for the privileged, the powerful, the oppressor. But here he is in the Gospel of Luke doing just that - loving everyone, absolutely EVERYONE, indiscriminately. That’s good news for us since we all fall into the category of EVERYONE, yes?

The other thing I can’t help but notice as you and I sit here together in different places this morning is that Jesus heals this man remotely. “Just say the word,” the officer says, “And it will be done.” And so Jesus never even sees the man he heals. Never walks into the house. Never touches the man. Never even meets him. He’s a remote healer. 

In these two stories, then, held here side-by-side in Luke’s Gospel we have an incredibly comprehensive prophet. He has compassion on the outcast and the elite. He listens to powerful men and disempowered women. He ministers in front of a crowd and when no one is around. He cares for those who have accomplished important things like building synoguges and those who don’t have their own Wikipedia articles. He is here for Jews and Gentiles alike. He is a prophet in word and deed - healing by simply saying the word or by laying a hand on the widow’s son’s stretcher. Jesus is here for all of it and for all of us. No exceptions. 

“Just say the word,” the Roman officer says. And we are reminded that Jesus not only says the word but IS the word. 

“In the beginning, was the logos,” remember? “And the logos was with God, and the logos was God.” Logos in Greek is a more expansive concept that our English “word.” It’s not just words we say but also doctrine, theology, reasoning, understanding. And in the Christian tradition, it’s one of the names we have for Christ. The logos. The Word. 

“Just say the word,” the Roman officer says. 

Words have power, don’t they? That’s why that silly little saying about sticks and stones has never made any sense to me. Because we know words can hurt and they can heal. Not just the words we say out loud, either. Even the logos inside our heads - the insistent voices that play on a loop in our heads. If we’re lucky those voices encourage us, but, all too often, they are voices of doubt or even shame. 

Words have power. Can you think of a story - perhaps in your own life - when words had great power? Perhaps it was a positive word that lifted you up. Or perhaps it was a hurtful word that brought you low. A healing word, a word of comfort. A fierce, burning word of inspiration in your heart. We’d love it if you shared your story in the chat so we can hear it. 

The story coming to my mind is one I recently heard on The Michelle Obama Podcast. [1] She was talking with her friend and mentor Valerie Jarrett about when they first worked together in Chicago, decades ago now. At the time, Jarrett’s daughter, Laura, was maybe five years old. Obama recalls how Jarrett could instantly switch from “boss mode” to “mom mode” if the phone rang. Obama says she could be in an intense meeting with Jarrett and they’d be working on a huge project and if Jarrett’s secretary patched Laura through, everything changed. Jarrett would turn away from the meeting slightly and answer the call with a mother’s enthusiasm and joy, “Hi, baby. How are you?” She never rushed her daughter or sounded impatient in any way. For those moments Laura was on the phone, she was the only person in the world who mattered.

Jarrett chose her words and tone carefully for Laura, of course. But she didn’t realize at the time that her words were also impacting others. Obama, not yet a parent, was watching and learning. Pondering how she might one day, too, balance the demands of paid work and parenting. The words of a leader like Jarrett created a culture there where children mattered, parents felt supported, and everyone was invited to think about their own words and tone the next time they took a phone call from a child, spouse, parent, friend, stranger. 

Words create worlds. 

Words heal. Words open up new possibilities. Words connect. Words invite. I mean, I may be biased cause y’all know I love words, but isn’t it lovely that we call Jesus “The Word”? 

The Word of God’s love that takes on flesh and dwells among us. The Word that arrives with compassion for everyone - insiders, outsiders; people of all faiths or none at all; those we understand and those we don’t; those who are accomplished and those who’ve never done anything much.

When we call Jesus, I imagine him like Valerie Jarrett. Switching from “boss mode” to “mom mode” in an instant. “Hi, baby. How are you?” And just like that, with those words, you’re the only person that matters. 

When was the last time you let the Word change you? Have you ever just basked, really basked, in the presence of Christ’s love and allowed it to hover over you like a mother hen’s protective wing? 

If we allowed ourselves to turn to this presence - to be shaped by this Word - more often, how might it change our lives? How might it heal the world? 

“Just say the word,” the Roman officer says. And Jesus heals.

The prophet heals. 

NOTES:

[1] Michelle Obama Podcast. Episode 7, Part 1: Valerie Jarrett and the Importance of Mentorship