Salt and Light

Luke 10:25-37    Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” He answered, “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.” And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

+++

Earlier this week I knew what I was going to preach today.  I had a title, which I put in the bulletin.  And I wrote that sermon.  Then all hell broke loose. 

I was going to preach today about the truth of the gospel that says we don’t have to do anything to inherit eternal life.  It is given to us as a free gift from our all-loving, all-powerful God.  It was not a bad message, and I will post it on my blog, but I will not preach it to you today.  Because today we stand in need of a different message.

I rewrote and rewrote and rewrote.  I wanted to say it perfectly, but I can’t say it perfectly.

It has been an awful week in America.  We have seen – on camera – two black men get shot and killed at point-blank range, for no good reason, by officers of the law.  We saw Alton Sterling, a father of five in Baton Rouge, get pinned to the ground by two police officers and then one of those officers pull out his gun and shoot him.  We saw Philando Castile, driving with his girlfriend and her four-year-old daughter, get pulled over for a broken taillight and then get shot by an officer as he attempted to comply with the officer’s request to show his ID.  In both cases, some have said, it was because they were carrying a gun.  They had a right to carry a gun.  They had a permit to carry a gun, and in neither case were they brandishing that gun. 

Both of these incidents then resulted in protests, mostly peaceful, as people gathered together to insist once again that black lives do matter, in spite of the evidence that might cause you to think they do not.  And we began to see encouraging signs – that the justice department will investigate the shootings in Baton Rouge and Minnesota. 

It was encouraging because Alton Sterling and Philando Castile did not deserve to die.  Neither did Eric Garner, Tamir Rice, Michael Crawford, and others.  So we thought perhaps now things will begin to change.  And then another awful thing happened.

A sniper shot and killed five police officers in Dallas.  He said he was angry – angry at white people – and he wanted to kill white police officers.  And he did.

Patrick Zamarripa.  Lorne Ahrens.  Michael Krol.  Michael Smith.  Brent Thompson.  None of them deserved to die.

And this was when it began to feel, for most of us, like everything was falling apart.  Because a black man responded to violence against black men and women, with violence.  Because the men and women we all depend on to protect us are at risk and that’s not the way it’s supposed to be.  Because at that point it becomes for us, even more than it was before, a case of black against white, us against them.  And we all retreat to our corners, those who say “Blue Lives Matter” and those who say “Black Lives Matter.”  It is hard to find any safe space in between.

One of my favorite theologians calls sin “not the way it’s supposed to be.”  So many things this week were not the way they’re supposed to be.  A man turned himself into a sniper and shot 12 police officers, killing 5 of them.  You know, when Alton Sterling was killed, I felt distressed.  When Philando Castile was killed I felt sickened.  When I heard about the killings of five police officers everything inside of me tensed up and would not let go.  But when I heard that the man who did this was an army veteran, that’s when I began to cry.  And every time I think of that I want to cry.  I don’t know why.

It was absolutely wrong – not the way it’s supposed to be – for our police to be killed by sniper fire in their own city, by one of their fellow citizens.  It is easy to condemn that, and we do.

But what is harder to say, is that in some cases officers of the law are wrong.  Sometimes, the police are wrong.  And we are all culpable in their wrongs.

They are on the front lines in a society that is sick with racism, where there are preconceived notions about who you are – if you are not white.

These things are hard for us to hear, they are painful for us to hear.  Our instinct is to defend ourselves against any charges of racism.  I’m not a racist.  You’re not a racist.  But that’s not helpful.  What really would be helpful is to examine ourselves collectively as a nation.

Which is what Jesus wanted the lawyer standing before him and all the other Jews who were listening, to do: to examine their culpability in a society that rejected the worth, the human dignity, of some people because of their race.

When the lawyer asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor,” he was engaging in the sort of theological inquiry that was common.  It was a question of how to interpret the law in our day to day actions, how to define the word neighbor:  Who is my neighbor?  Is it anyone who lives in my village?  Or the members of my particular tribe?  Do I call all my fellow citizens my neighbor?  No one seemed to expect the answer that Jesus would lead them to: that everyone is your neighbor.  Even the outsiders; even those who are different from you; even those whom you hate.

He tells a story about a man, someone just like them, who is walking down from Jerusalem and was assaulted and robbed.  He was kicked to the side of the road and left for dead.  A priest comes down the road, and when he sees the half-dead man, he actually crosses to the other side of the road to avoid him.  A Levite comes down the road and when he sees the half-dead man, he also crosses the road, to get as far away as he can from the man.  It is a Samaritan, coming down the same road, who stops.  He treats the man’s wounds, he carries him to an inn, and he ensures that the man will get continued care after he leaves.  He promises to come back.  Forevermore he is called the “Good Samaritan.” 

And the good priest and the good Levite?  Presumed good by virtue of being a priest and a Levite – by virtue of the uniform they wore – their actions were indefensible, for they failed to recognize their duty to respond with compassion to a man in need.  They failed to demonstrate love. 

Here is the message of Jesus’ story of the Samaritan:  This is the way God’s command to love one another is lived out.  To attempt to care about the lives of others who are different from us, as much as we care about our own.  To show compassion to a person in need, even if that person hates us and very likely would not do the same for us.  I believe this was a hard message for the lawyer and everyone else who was listening that day.  The gospel of Jesus Christ speaks some hard truths.

Let us consider that the gospel speaks to us today in a very particular way.  We, as a nation, have discriminated against people based on their race; and we, as a nation, have been resistant to acknowledging it.  We have doubted the word of those who would tell us that they experience discrimination on a daily basis.  We have been reluctant to examine our own presumptions.  But Jesus calls us to rise above the fray.  The gospel calls us to acknowledge the sins of our society and repent.  To practice greater love toward God and all our neighbors.

Friday night on TV there was a man with his little boy on the streets of Dallas.  He was being interviewed about what they had experienced at the demonstration the night before.  The interviewer asked why he had attended the march with his young son.  What was he hoping to accomplish?  And he said, “We are called to be salt of the earth, light to the world.  That’s all I want to do.”

It is possible to emerge from a week like this one with more hate and less hope.  But the gospel of Jesus Christ gives us something else: new life.

Transformed in Christ, forgiven, and free to love fully and forgive one another.   

May we take his words to heart and seek to love all our neighbors as we love ourselves.  

May we seek to understand our neighbors as we understand ourselves.  

May we forgive one another as we have been forgiven.