The Seventh Sunday after Pentecost, 11 July 201
The Reverend Allen LaMontagne
A sermon based on Proper 10, Revised Common Lectionary, Year C: Amos 7.7-17; Psalm 82; Colossians 1.1-14; Luke 10.25-37
Summer is a growing season in God’s garden of creation, a potentially fruitful time of spiritual growth. The color of this season after Pentecost is green, befitting the sense of things alive. In light of the lessons and Gospel, a question for us is, what we ought to do in order to hasten the process of our becoming the people God would have us be, in order to do that which God calls us to do as the most gifted people of all, those who bear the Gospel of Christ in our lives, in our words but more importantly, in our deeds. For what we say and do as members of the Church is what people come to believe about Jesus Christ, because we profess to be his followers. What, then, ought we to do to be better witnesses of Christ?
For one thing, we can cultivate a faithful and realistic appreciation for the manure of our lives. We all have “stuff” to deal with–various hardships, some difficult living circumstances, illnesses, loss, conflicts. Without a grace-filled sense of gratitude to get us through a rough patch or two, the stuff of our lives becomes a stinking mess. But in God’s eyes, it is that which God uses to grow us. It’s all good. You may argue theologically whether God gives it to us, the stuff we feel surrounded by at times, but that’s a blame game and not profitable. Suffice it to say, we create our own stuff and give it to one another. God omnisciently allows it in the spirit of free will, and uses what we make for purposes divinely designed and faithfully fulfilled. Moreover, Christ is faithful to grace us with his presence in all manner of circumstances. He knows the sweaty smell of spiritual exertion. He knows human life only too well; his time in the flesh has our lingering fragrance still about him, even or especially in heaven.
The lawyer has a nose full of it in the story today. He wants to come out clean. He wants the upper hand in his conversation with the itinerant preacher and healer who captures the imagination of many, but is not known for playing by the rules. To leave Jesus in the dust in the game of life, the lawyer sets a tripwire. Teacher, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus directs him to the written law; dutifully, the lawyer recites chapter and verse and takes his place at the head of the class. Essentially, as we know, the lesson is: love God and your neighbor as yourself. Unsaid, but implied, is that it is easier to say that than it is to do it. Do this, Jesus says, and you will live.
Do this, meaning, love God, and your neighbor. The lawyer is no dummy. He knows this is a tall order. Some neighbors, no problem! That couple next door—she’s so nice, and he keeps the yard so carefully groomed. The kids are above average… But those people farther down, around the corner in the “other” part of town, well… Let’s see if Jesus knows the right kind of neighbors to love. “Who is my neighbor?” the lawyer lobs the bomb into Jesus’ court. Does Jesus see it coming? Seems he does. But the lawyer can’t see what comes next. To comprehend better the dynamic between the Jewish Jesus and the Jewish lawyer, here’s a contemporary parable that serves as a parallel to the story of the Good Samaritan:
An American serviceman separated from his platoon between Fallujah and Baghdad fell among insurgents who shamefully stripped him, beat him, and left him for dead in the gutter. A western news reporter going down that road noticed him and passed him by on the other side of the street. In the same way, when a high ranking politician came to the place, more pressing matters impelled him to pass by, too, leaving the situation for others more suitable to the task. But an Iraqi detainee just making his escape from Abu Graib came near him and when he saw him he was moved with compassion. He took him to a western style hotel, paid for his room and secretly gave the concierge money to feed him, protect him, and get him medical help until he was well enough to return to his outfit. (Adaptation of a story by James Ward in Synthesis, Proper 10, 11 July 2010).
The lawyer is not unique. He expects the Jewish Jesus to know that Samaritans are not our kind. But in God’s eyes, Jews and Samaritans are kin. Yet they have become violently antagonistic members of God’s chosen people. To suggest to a law-abiding Jew that a Samaritan can be or do “good” is odious. Like the lawyer, everyone wants to manage neighbors to some extent. Christians congregate according to certain profiles. But the point of the story is that people live among lots of people. It’s a small world. Some may sequester themselves to keep certain ones in and others out. Protestants and Catholics, Muslim people, so many of us have similar tactics, maintained in the name of religious principle. Let’s face it, prejudice shrouded in religious trappings stinks to high heaven. Paradoxically, with Christ among us, there emanates a sweet scent, an opportunity to grow, even in the midst of such putrefying hatred.
A young man yearns to be a charitable person, to live to do good deeds. When he shares this dream with his mentor, the Mentor asks, “When are you going to make this happen?” Enthusiastically, he responds, “As soon as opportunity presents itself.” The Mentor replies, “Opportunity never comes. It’s already here” (paraphrase of a story told by H. King Oehmig, ibid.).
We don’t have to wait for a “right moment” to show mercy. And we needn’t only look as far as the Middle East to be quick to love and make haste to be kind. Opportunity is here and now; God’s garden is where other’s needs for help are met by what we’ve been given to share. At issue here is not who our neighbor are, but do we act as neighbors. The context for our response isn’t some hypothetical situation. It has to do with relations among all of us at St. Paul’s–your rector and staff, the Officers and Vestry of this parish, the parish leaders who regularly exercise power. We can build trust, or more walls between us; each of us makes choices. In the nitty-gritty of daily life, the God of the Good Samaritan is with us–in our parish stuff. In the church office, in the parish hall, this is where the action is.
Before we can lead others to follow in the ways of Christ, we need to put our own house in order—let the Lord’s plumb line set the standard for godly conversation among us in this place. May God hold each of us to a standard of decency and compassion in all our communication; and when we fall short, compel us to seek and offer forgiveness, that we may be examples in our relations with one another, to love others as ourselves, today, and always, in the name of the merciful God of all people, nations and families…Amen.