Preacher: Rev. Nate Hosler

Scripture: Deuteronomy 30:9-14, Colossians 1:1-14, Luke 10:25-37

In 2003, after a year and a half of volunteer service and feeling a call to ministry, I boarded a train to Chicago from Pennsylvania. I was headed to college and the school was in the center of the city.  A ministry training program, it included a weekly requirement of what they called “practical Christian ministry”—what we called PCM. My first year was serving food at a soup kitchen run by the Jesus People in Uptown. The Jesus People had (and still have) a 10 story building where they live as an intentional community with ministries and “mission businesses” they operate.

 My second year was spent with a ministry called “flowers for Jesus.” A group of students would take flowers and food out into the streets and meet people who were in need and often unhoused. We often went down to Michigan Avenue—a strip known as the “Magnificent Mile.” Talking with people, often sitting with them, amidst the throngs of tourists and extravagant shops sharpened my understanding of what I began to describe as “systemic violence.” It also built relationships with people I would see every week and sometimes at other times as I traversed the neighborhood near campus. 

One older woman, Elvira, would ask us to bring a hymnal so what we could sing with her. On occasion, she would share food with us that someone had given her. 

In our Gospel text, an “expert in the law”—a lawyer, policy wonk, or perhaps theologian—asks Jesus a question. Many times, when such folks ask Jesus a question they are trying to trap or trick him. Such does not seem to be the case this time. They ask, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” 

Jesus turns the question back to them—What do you think?  

“What is written in the law? What do you read there?”

The questioner now the questioned answers:

 “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 this answer saying:

 “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

do this, and you will live

This expert, in classic move asks: and who is my neighbor? 

One can read all manner of tone and intent into this question. And who is my neighbor?

How do you hear it? I’ll pause and invite you into your drama class imagination for a few moments. How is he asking this: And who is my neighbor?

• Is he trying to get out of an obligation? 
• Is he clarifying out of curiosity?
• Is this a dispassionate academic or intellectual exercise? 

How do you hear it?

To answer, Jesus tells a joke. A priest, a Levite, and a Samaritan walk into a bar… 

Actually, there was a man going down from Jerusalem to Jericho. Jesus, a Jew, talking to a Jewish legal expert describing someone leaving Jerusalem—presumably this man who ends up beaten, robbed, and almost dead is Jewish. While he is lying there, teetering between life and death, two people pass by and avoid him. 

The text does not say that those who passed by didn’t care or weren’t concerned. We only know their social and religious identity. Of all the people that could be part of this story, these were the characters that should have helped. They were the people who were “the serious” religious folk. Not only were they observant but they were “professionals.” 

Jesus uses this story, a parable for illustration and teaching to make a point. We are to feel critical of those who pass by. However, what are some reasons why they may have passed by?

Perhaps if the beaten person was dead or appeared to be possibly dead, there may have been religious purity requirements that they felt compelled to uphold. Perhaps their religious duties were calling and time sensitive. Perhaps there was someone else in the community better equipped to provide the care needed. Maybe they were rushing ahead to call this medical care provider to come back. We don’t know motivation or rationale, we just know what they did. 

What are other possible reasons that we can imagine?

What are the reasons that I or you might pass by someone? 

[I invite you to list a few]

Think of people immediately near us. Physically in our neighborhood or on our way home.

Think of people far off—Sudan, Palestine, Texas.

(I thought of biking through DC with our child and coming upon someone who is having some form of mental health crisis or bad trip. Out of concern for safety I might not stop)

(I thought Palestine and often feeling hopeless that we can change anything)

What if I’m on my way to some sort of action for Palestine that starts in 5 minutes and I see someone on the road who looks injured and in need of help? Which neighbor might I pass by?

Enter the third character. A Samaritan person—the typical religious, political, ethnic villain, comes along and acts as a neighbor. The person that the hearers would expect to act maliciously or callously. Perhaps this person would check to see if the bandits missed any money or might kick the wounded man while he’s down. 

This is the one that stops to care for him and funds his recovery, promising to come back and cover any additional cost. 

Jesus ends: 

^“Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”  The expert answered, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

While some of Jesus’ teachings are opaque or unclear, this one seems pretty straight forward. It is also well-known. It is also immensely difficult. It is also quite straightforward. 

However, in a world of seemingly endless need that is both immediate and near as well as long-term and far away, how do we decide what to do and when?

Somehow acting like a good neighbor may not mean doing all the things, all the time.

How does this challenge you?

How do you need to be challenged or move beyond what is comfortable?

What resources or skills would help you not to pass by on the other side of the road?

How can the community help us discern the leading of God?

Take 2

What if we look at this from the perspective of the one beaten and left for dead. What if we are this person and not the person with all the agency in the story?

We were walking along the road. Perhaps coming back from a work trip. Perhaps we attended a religious event. We were alone and were a target. Having been attacked, beaten, and drifting in and out of consciousness we dimly see someone pass by. Surely, they will help. We can see their markers of religious identity or maybe even recognize them. However, they pass without stopping. Our physical pain is now paired with emotional pain of abandonment. 

And then…someone, entirely unexpected stops. Does fear or discomfort register through the pain? 

When have you been the one in need of help?

Are there ways that we resist getting help? 

(This past week I had a conversation with someone from the denomination. He works in a program set up to support pastors who work as multi-vocational pastors—that is, pastors who do pastoral work as well as some other job or jobs. I have been this type of pastor from more than a decade. I personally know almost everyone who runs this program. The program has existed for many years—and yet, I had never taken the simple step at ask for support. 

When have you been the one in need of help?

Are there ways that we resist getting help? 

How do you need God, the community, or a stranger to show up for you?

I’m going to jump back to Elvira, the unhoused woman I got to know in Chicago. Sometime during that year my mom, back in Pennsylvania, was having some serious health problems. It wasn’t life threatening but serious enough that I must have told Elvira about it one week. Sometime on a weekend or evening, while browsing through a Barnes and Noble bookshop I met up with Elvira. It was winter and cold, so she was inside for warmth while the store was open. Though I hadn’t seen her for a few weeks, I distinctly remember her asking how my mom was and telling me that she had been praying for her. This person, different from my in almost every way, sheltering in a bookstore from the cold, turned the tables and asked about my mother. 

The parable of the Good Samaritan is a pointed challenge, inviting us to wrestle with the question and who our neighbor? and how we are to love them. It can also invite us to notice that these acts of love and care are not one directional, as if we are the sole source. God is the source and this love and care may reach even us through people who we don’t expect.