In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he travelled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’
“Which of these three do you think was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”
Don’t ask who your neighbour is. Ask who you can be a neighbour to.
Last time I suggested that that’s a good summary of why Jesus told this great story.
But it contains several themes, and I only had space for two.
First, the act of violence it starts with brings home to us the reality of human wickedness, the sin with which we are all tainted, even if we would never act out such wickedness. And, second, the sad spectacle of the man lying broken on the road speaks to us of the reality of human suffering, the millions of people in our world today whose circumstances are cruel.
Now, third, it’s a story about religion gone rotten.
It’s no accident that the two men who see the victim and “pass by on the other side” are described by Jesus in religious terms: one a “priest”, a religious leader, the other a “Levite”, an official who served as an assistant in the Jerusalem temple. After all, Jesus could have said simply that they were two “travellers”. But no: he is obviously wanting to make a point – if ever people ought to have put their religious faith into practical action, it was these two.
They had lost sight of what their faith was all about. Most commentators reckon that their callous neglect of the injured man was down to a particular understanding of Leviticus 21:1-4. There, contact with a dead body renders a person “unclean”, in the sense of not being allowed to participate in religious activities. Given that their very jobs involved working in the holiest place in Judaism, the Jerusalem temple – well, obviously (as they saw it, anyway), they couldn’t risk going near what might be a corpse.
It’s easy for us to criticise them: how could they put the claims of religious duty above the claims of compassion!
But let’s be careful. Have I never been guilty of exactly the same thing? – too busy being a minister, perhaps, to give time to some troubled person?
Those of us who identify ourselves as evangelical protestants are very good at spotting the hypocrisies and double standards of fellow Christians in other traditions. But it’s sobering to reflect on the fact, taking just one example, that Nazism came to the fore in possibly the most strongly protestant country in Europe, aided and abetted by millions of supposedly devout Christians. (I hesitate to add, as another example, recent events on the other side of the Atlantic…)
Fact: any religious tradition can go rotten. And when things rot, they tend to smell; you might even say, quite literally in this case, “to stink to high heaven”.
The tragedy of the priest and the Levite is that they just didn’t see it - or, if they did, they hardened their hearts against it. Could that be you? Or me? Is it time for a little self-examination?
If all that is calculated to disturb and even depress us, the fourth theme of this story must surely do the exact opposite: this is a story about compassion. Thanks be to God for some fresh, clean air!
Just as it’s no accident that Jesus chose to identify the two who “passed by on the other side” as a priest and a Levite, so too it’s no accident that he identifies the person who “came where the man was…”; and who “… took pity on him” as a Samaritan, a member of a people who were bitter, ancient enemies of Israel. Can you imagine a more pointed thrust by Jesus at the religious man he was talking to?
Compassion - a willingness to share in the sufferings of others. What does this story teach us about it? I suggest two things…
First, it can be costly.
I say “can be”, because that isn’t necessarily the case. A kind word or a sympathetic smile may be all you are able to give; indeed, all the other person needs. And they cost nothing.
But if we wish to show compassion we must be prepared to pay a price.
In the case of the Samaritan, that price involved time, convenience and money. He gave the man what first aid he could. He hoisted him onto his own donkey (meaning that he himself would have to walk). And he paid the inn-keeper’s expenses. This rescue act wasn’t just a matter of dropping a cheque in the post, good though that may be; no, it cost.
Second, compassion knows no prejudice.
The Samaritan could have said to himself “But this man is a Jew! Surely I, as a Samaritan, must focus on my own people”. But he didn’t.
Some years ago I travelled to India with a Christian human rights organisation; we were aiming to find out how things were for Christians in India, and to give what support and encouragement we could. So I was slightly taken aback to see on our schedule a meeting with a Muslim group (Muslims as well as Christians suffer serious persecution in India).
“Hang on a minute!” I thought. “Aren’t we here to support Christians?”
Well yes, so indeed we were. But somehow this contact had been made – so why wouldn’t we do what we could to help these people too? (I wonder, by the way, how much praying has been done recently in Christian churches for the cruel plight of the Uighur Muslims in China?)
Paul writes: “As we have opportunity, let us do good to all people, especially to those who belong to the family of believers” (Galatians 6:10). “Especially” to believers, yes. But not exclusively. “Especially”, yes. But not only.
True compassion means your heart is stirred by the sufferings of – well, anybody and everybody.
Thanks be to God for the good Samaritan!
Lord Jesus Christ, you have displayed for all people the costly gift of compassion by taking upon yourself the sins of the world and dying on the cross. Please give to me the same gracious attitude for whoever I may meet. Amen.
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