Sermon #56 (20th March 2022 at Essex Church / Kensington Unitarians)
The Good Samaritan, as I mentioned at the start of the service today, is one of those parables that has transcended its origins. If you speak of a ‘Good Samaritan’ most people will probably have at least an approximate sense of what you might mean by that phrase – perhaps someone who unselfishly acts to help another person who is in distress – who shows an unusual degree of compassion and generosity – maybe in a situation where it is a bit surprising for them to do so.
Rachel, in her reflection earlier, hinted at the added dimension of the Samaritan being someone who’s ‘not like us’ – a stranger, someone from a different social group, perhaps a ‘foreigner’ – the story in its original context very much plays on (and upends) notions of respectability too. The Priest and the Levite – the ones who are supposed to be all holy and righteous – they ignore the broken, naked, man, and leave him lying on the ground. But the Samaritan – at that time people from Samaria were looked down on by those would have been listening to Jesus – the Samaritan is the only one who acts in the spirit of the commandment ‘love your neighbour as yourself’.
Arguably, Jesus told the story in such a way as to cut across the racist or xenophobic attitudes of that time and place, and to jolt his listeners awake. The one who might have been stereotyped as a ‘baddie’ showed compassion, and to an extraordinary degree, while the pious ones who were supposed to be the ‘good guys’ just walked on by. And so it underlines another aspect of what it means to be a ‘Good Samaritan’, perhaps, by reminding us that we should be open and ready to help those who are ‘not like us’ (and, for that matter, be ready to receive help from those who are ‘not like us’). None of this is particularly controversial to a modern Unitarian congregation, I hope.
It strikes me that with any teaching story, but especially one that’s taken on an almost archetypal status, like the Good Samaritan has, we have a certain amount of freedom to play with it, to turn it this way and that, to derive our own meaning from it and enable it to speak to our time and context. Each and every one of us will latch on to different aspects of the story, and perhaps it will ‘land’ differently on us each time we hear it, like an ‘inkblot test’ revealing our inner landscape, as we notice what leaps out at us this time, and what it makes it think/feel about ourselves and our lives.
So what do I hear in it – this time around at least? Well, in response to his questioner, Jesus endorses the great commandments, ‘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 ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’. These are the most central pillars of the Law and as such should be our guiding principles for life. Jesus is asked ‘who is my neighbour?’ and this story is his answer. We might interpret it in various ways. Maybe the most direct interpretation is to say: Your neighbour is the person right in front of you. Your neighbour is the person within reach, the person it is within your power to help, regardless of their status, race, religion, nationality, social group, reputation, identity, or any other factors that might make them seem ‘not like you’. Any person in need has inherent worth and dignity, and if you happen to be in a position to help them today, just do it. Right?
There are other nuances we could draw out of the story, though, as we try to apply it to our own times. If the main point is that our neighbour is any person within our reach who we could help – well, what it means for someone to be ‘in reach’ is a bit different these days – we are constantly, painfully, aware of sufferings of all sorts going on around the globe. I hope none of us would argue that, by Jesus’ way of thinking, we only need to care about those who are in literal, physical, reach – those we meet by the roadside along life’s journey – or those who are our next-door neighbours. Nowadays we can reach out in compassion to those suffering, worldwide, in various ways – most obviously by donating, campaigning, or speaking out in support and solidarity. But given the scale and complexity of the world’s need, and our unprecedented levels of awareness, that can feel like a bit of an overwhelming ask. In some sense there are nearly 8 billion people ‘in our reach’.
Returning to the story, it occurs to me that Jesus’ questioner could perhaps have asked a second question, in addition to ‘who is my neighbour?’ If he wanted to know how he was supposed to fulfil the commandment to ‘love his neighbour’ he could have asked ‘what does it mean to love?’ The story of the Good Samaritan gives an interesting answer to this though. First of all, perhaps, to love someone means to see them – really see them – see them as a being with inherent worth and dignity – see their suffering and need – and not look the other way because it’s hard or inconvenient. And, secondly, it means to show practical compassion – attend to their basic (material) needs – administer first aid, give them a place of shelter and safety, food and drink, provide for their care. To love, in this sense, isn’t really anything to do with how we feel about our neighbour – whether we like them, approve of them, or agree with their politics – love is a matter of practical action. Stepping up to meet the immediate need, in service of one who’s suffering, whoever they might be. It occurs to me that some of our practical action might be collective, love enacted via the existence of a functional and generous welfare safety net… but perhaps that’s a sermon for another day.
And another key aspect of the story, for me, is that it acknowledges something about our limits. An important message for us in these times when we might feel overwhelmed by the scale of human need. Even the Good Samaritan – after personally tending to the wounded man’s immediate needs – takes him to an inn, pays upfront for a couple of weeks’ bed and board, and goes on his way (though he says he’ll pop in again on his way home to cover any extra expenses that arise). Perhaps each of us must discern what we can afford to offer; the Good Samaritan has money, and so can pay for someone else to look after him, while he gets about his own business. Someone else might not have been able to afford that, but could perhaps have taken him under their own roof, and cared for him themselves. In the past week we’ve heard about the ‘Homes for Ukraine’ scheme where over 100,000 people in the UK have offered to take in Ukrainian families fleeing the war. But not all of us have got the capacity to do that. And knowing our limits is OK. We see the suffering, we don’t turn away from it, and we do what we can with the resources we have. And Ukraine is – sadly – tragically – just one of many situations that deserve our attention today. It’s important that we each do something to relieve the world’s suffering, but we must not berate ourselves for the fact that we can’t do it all, or burn ourselves out through taking on too much. To use a famous phrase: do what you can, with what you have, where you are. That has to be enough.
I want to bring this to a close with another short time of prayer. I couldn’t identify an author to attribute this to but these words are adapted from a piece from the Baptist Union of Great Britain. So let’s just take a moment to settle ourselves into a prayerful spirit once more. (pause)
Spirit of Life, God of All Love,
give us a deep and abiding love for you,
so that we can see the world as you see it,
feel the compassion you feel, and be a people
whose lives mediate your love to others.
Open our eyes that we might see what the Good Samaritan saw.
Grant us the insight to see the need in others around us,
the wisdom to know what to do, and the will to do it.
And so we pray for all those, who in many and various ways,
have been stripped, beaten and left for dead.
We pray for children who must grow up
in the most awful and traumatic of circumstances,
especially for those starved of love, or food, or shelter or security.
May they receive the future you have dreamed for them.
We pray for those we might cross the road to avoid, and for those
who have been marginalised and disadvantaged because of their race,
their status, their identity, their ability, or their history.
May the dignity that is theirs be restored to them.
We pray for those whose need we would rather not
face up to, because it requires action of us,
those who suffer because of war, unjust laws,
oppressive governments, or those who hoard wealth.
May the world receive a true understanding of their suffering
and the factors that cause it, that justice may be done.
Open our eyes, that we might not cross the road from human need.
Give us a deep and abiding love for you,
that we might see your love at work in this world,
and that we might go and do likewise, for the greater good of all. Amen.
Sermon by Jane Blackall
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