A week ago I attended a Presbytery retreat with several other members of this congregation. It was called Fearless Dialogues; with a title like that, we all knew we were about to be nudged into our discomfort zone. And we were.
We walked into a room with chairs set up in circles. Unbeknownst to us, we had each selected a sign that would indicate what group we would be sitting with, so when I walked in I sat with a group of others whom I had never met before.
This is not the worst thing that could happen. I have been to plenty of events where I know nobody and engage with strangers – I know how to do this. But then we were asked to do something that was a bit different from anything I had ever done before. Pair up with one other person in your circle. Sit face to face with this stranger. Begin to give this stranger a long, loving look.
Just look into this stranger’s eyes – for 90 seconds – with love. This means really seeing this person, whom I had never met before that day. Whom I hadn’t even had a real conversation with yet. For 90 seconds.
And then switch. Be the one who receives a long, loving look.
Was this uncomfortable? Yes, of course it was uncomfortable. How often have you given a long, loving look to a complete stranger? In most circumstances I wouldn’t recommend it. There are all kinds of reasons it would probably be a bad idea.
Today on our first Sunday in Lent, we begin this series where we stand in the midst of a very divided culture; all the issues that divide us seem to charge the air between us. We stand in the positions we have chosen, where we are expected to make judgments about everything – like, “What kind of idiot believes that?” or, “Those people only want to take things from you, to hurt you.” We stand in these spaces and we hear this invitation from Jesus: step away from your corners, get out of your boxes; come join me in all the vast space in between, because that is where God is.
It is a difficult thing to do. We might have very real and legitimate concerns about safety for ourselves and our loved ones. We might feel that if we step away from our side we are abandoning our people – our cause. We might feel it is the same thing as surrendering, that we must stand in opposition to what is wrong, what is unjust.
But what we discover in our reading of the Gospel of Luke is that Jesus inhabited that great sea of grayness in between the black and the white. While Jesus was always clear about matters of justice, always showed compassion for his people, again and again he challenged people to open their eyes to the nuances of truth, as uncomfortable as that could be.
Today we hear the parable of the Good Samaritan, a perfect example of Jesus’ teachings on expanding one’s vision, broadening one’s circle.
He offers the parable to the expert in the law. This man who comes before Jesus in all his arrogance, to test him on matters of law and love. Jesus is not interested in being quizzed, but when the man poses the question, “Who is my neighbor,” Jesus has something to say.
He begins a story in the time-honored tradition that he and his fellow Jews knew so well – the parable. It is a very familiar format, one his listeners probably settled into hearing quite comfortably.
A man is walking down the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. He is attacked by bandits who rob him and leave him there to die.
A priest comes along and sees him lying there. He crosses over to the other side and passes him by.
Next, a Levite comes along and sees the man lying there. He, too, crosses over and passes him by.
Now, Jesus’ listeners would have disapproved of these things. The priests enjoyed high status in Judaism. Descendants of Moses’ brother Aaron, they were entrusted with all the religious rites of the temple. It was wrong of the priest to ignore a fellow man in such dire need.
Similarly, the Levite’s actions would have been disappointing. They had fairly high expectations of the Levites as well – both these men should have been better. If this man on the road was still alive, he clearly needed help. And if he was already dead, there is no excuse for them shirking their duty to bury the corpse. These listeners knew what was right, even though many of them were certainly neither priests nor Levites. They were just common Israelites and they knew.
Priests, Levites, Israelites. These are the three categories of people in Judaism. And so, in telling the story in this way, Jesus is setting their expectation for what comes next. It’s almost like the set up for a joke: A priest, a rabbi, and a minister walk into a bar. They are familiar with this type, this set-up.
The last thing they expected to see coming next was a Samaritan.
There was a complex relationship between Jews and Samaritans. We think of them as mortal enemies, but something we ought to know about the Samaritans and the Jews is that they were actually siblings, descended from Abraham. They were all at one time members of the 12 tribes of Israel, settled in the land Moses led them to. They had all lived together under the rule of King David. But sometime after that they had become estranged. And through the centuries they each developed their own customs and cultures. They had their own temple and priesthood, their own interpretation of the scriptures, and their own beliefs about the messiah. They were rivals who distrusted one another. They resented and sometimes even hated one another.
The man lying on the road is a Jewish man. If he were conscious, how would he have felt when he saw this Samaritan approaching him? Very likely, he felt afraid.
And in fact, fear is a prominent feature throughout this whole story. There was fear for anyone traveling down this road from Jerusalem to Jericho – it was a steep road, winding through the hills, with many hiding places for bandits looking to attack a traveler. There was fear for the priest and the Levite who saw the injured man – what could happen to them if they stopped? Might the bandits be lying in wait to attack them also? And there was fear of the Samaritan, for what he might be capable of doing.
Everyone had reason to be afraid.
Everyone has reason to be afraid. You and I, we have our reasons for staying on our side, for sticking with our assumptions and judgments about others, for refusing to reach out a hand to a stranger or enemy.
Everyone has good reasons for failing to be the one to break a cycle of violence.
One thing I learned at the retreat I attended last week was just how powerful it is to look at someone and really see them. I became aware of how often I fail to do that. There is an instinct for self-protection that makes me avert my eyes when I encounter a stranger or someone I know is different from me. But if I can overcome that instinct, what might be gained? How much more love can be set loose in the world?
Here is something interesting. That little exercise we did, where we took turns giving the long, loving look to a stranger, was revealing. We discovered that it is easier to be the instigator of the long, loving look than it is to be the recipient.
I think those who were hearing Jesus that day had similar feelings. How hard it was for them to acknowledge that someone like a Samaritan could be the one to reach out in love; that a Samaritan could be more compassionate than I am.
In that vast space between strangers and neighbors, there is room for us to step in and really see one another. The secret to taking that first step is to see the real possibility that those strangers on the other side are really just like you.
Author's note: I am indebted to Amy-Jill Levine and Ben Witherington III for their insights on the passage (The Gospel of Luke, New Cambridge Bible Commentary)
Picture Credit: "Neighbors by Steve Prince | A Sanctified Art LLC | sanctifiedart.org
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