At the Intersection

The Sermon Study Guide is here.

Luke 10:30-37; 1 Corinthians 12:1-11

August 11, 2013 • Portage First UMC

VIDEO INTRO

It’s a familiar story. Even if you know little about the Bible, you’ve probably heard this story. Aside from the parable of the Prodigal Son, this is one of Jesus’ most famous stories. We call it the parable of the Good Samaritan, but in the first century they wouldn’t have called it that. To that world, there was no such thing as a good Samaritan. Samaritans were half-breeds. They were the mixed descendants of Jews and pagans—people who had been left in the land after the “good” people had been taken away by a conquering army. They were ones who were unloved, despised and rejected by the community (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 139). A “good” Samaritan? To those who were listening to Jesus, there was no such thing.

Jesus tells this story in response to a question from lawyer, not a trial lawyer like we think of today. This is a man who is an expert in the religious law of the day. He knows the text, and he knows various interpretations of the text. He really sets out to trap Jesus by asking him what would entitle him to eternal life. Jesus tells him to love God and love his neighbor. That’s what the lawyer expected him to say, so he is able to spring his trap. “Who is my neighbor?” he asks. And to answer that question, Jesus tells a story.

A man was traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. He was headed down a road everyone knew was dangerous. For one thing, it drops nearly 3,300 feet in just 17 miles. There were many narrow passes along with lots of twists and turns so it wasn’t unusual for bandits to hide out in some of the bends in the road and terrorize travelers (Culpepper, “The Gospel of Luke,” New Interpreter’s Bible, Vol. IX, pg. 229). That’s exactly what happens to this man, and the bandits beat him so badly he is left by the side of the road for dead. The bandits make off with what they want, and it gets quiet until a priest walks by. Jesus says he sees the man by the side of the road, but rather than helping him, he crosses the road and walks by on the other side. Commentators go out of their way sometimes to make excuses for the priest, how he couldn’t touch a dead body and he might have been on his way to Jerusalem to perform priestly duties…but, really, does any of that justify his neglect of this fellow Hebrew? Besides, that, there was a rabbinic writing that said if a priest on a journey found a corpse, he had a duty to bury it (Culpepper 229). This priest has no excuse as he walks by this man in need.

After a time, a Levite comes near the wounded man. The Levite was a temple assistant. He’s not the same as the priest, but he is a religious professional of sorts (Card 139). And he, too, passes by. No excuses. He just can’t be bothered. Now, those in the crowd knew how this story would go. They’ve heard it before. First a priest, then a Levite, next an Israelite (Culpepper 229). An ordinary person. They think this is a story about how bad their religious leaders are. So imagine their surprise when the next person in the story is not one of their fellow Jews, but a hated Samaritan, someone they hate like poison (Wright, Luke for Everyone, pg. 127). And worse yet, Jesus makes him the hero of the story. It’s the Samaritan who picks the man up, nurses his wounds, takes him to a hotel, pays his bill and offers to pay whatever else his care requires. Then, Jesus’ question: “Which one is the neighbor?” And the lawyer can’t even bring himself to say the dreaded word “Samaritan” (Card 140). Instead, he actually gives a better answer: “The one who had mercy on him” (10:37). The one who had mercy on him.

So, there was once a man going from Portage to Valparaiso, and somewhere along highway 6, on a dark night, he is stopped and pulled out of his car by a bunch of thugs. They beat him, throw him into the ditch, and drive off in his car. But as it happened, not too long after, a United Methodist pastor came driving down the road. He’s on his way to the hospital to visit a sick church member, and his headlights catch something off to the side. It looks like a man, and it appears that he’s in pain. But, he’s told the family he’d be at the hospital at a particular time, and he needs to keep moving. So he drives on by. Surely someone else will help him. Not too long after that, along comes one of the elected leaders of his church, someone who has taken a vow to uphold the mission of the church. He, too, sees something in the ditch, but he’s heard about people who pretend to be hurt and then jump you when you stop, so he hits the accelerator and speeds on by. And it’s quiet for a quite a while, but then, out of the distance comes another car, driven by—well, you fill in the blank. A member of a gang from inner-city Gary? An al Queda member? A Democrat? A Republican? Someone with an alternative lifestyle? A drug addict? A pornographer? Fill in the blank with your Samaritan, because it’s that person who stops, puts the wounded man in the back seat of his car and drives him down to Porter Regional Hospital, checks him in to the emergency room, and gives them his Visa to pay for it. So which one is his neighbor? The one who had mercy on him.

This story is every bit as jarring today as it was then because mercy is still as out of fashion today as it was then. This morning, we’re continuing our series of sermons called “Out of the Box,” and behind that title is the desire and the hope that we will become ever-more “out of the box” Christians. Last week we talked about Jesus’ call to us to be salt and light—to be influencers in our culture, our world, our community. This morning, we want to begin to ask the question: where do we find the needs to meet? And the answer, according to Jesus, is anywhere and everywhere because every moment is an opportunity to push back the darkness and mend the brokenness of our world.

Luke’s Gospel has this ongoing theme of how the people who should get it don’t and the people who shouldn’t get it do (Card 137). Michael Card calls it “radical reversal.” I like to think of it as Jesus turning the world upside down. That truth is seen in this parable and in the story that prompted the parable. The lawyer, Luke says, set out to “test” Jesus (10:25). He’s not so much interested in the answer as he is in seeing whether Jesus is up to the challenge or not. He pushes Jesus by asking, “Who is my neighbor?” And just like the first question, about inheriting eternal life, there was an expected answer to that question. Your neighbor was someone like you. People who agree with you. Fellow Israelites. There were clear boundaries in those days, and those boundaries allowed certain groups to maintain their power, their privilege, their position. You didn’t cross the boundary lines. In fact, it was considered a matter of purity, a religious duty, to maintain the boundaries (Wright 127; Culpepper 229). Your neighbor was your fellow Israelite, and then usually only the group of Israelites you were associated with. Pharisees with Pharisees. Saducees with Saducees. And no one with Gentiles or especially Samaritans. Who is my neighbor? The lawyer knows what to expect. There is a right answer, Jesus.

This is one of those instances where we can say the more things change, the more they stay the same. We may have more technology and knowledge than those folks in the first century, but we’re still divided, and we still prefer to hang around people who are just like us. Conservatives with conservatives. Liberals with liberals. Rich people with rich people. Poor people with poor people. The lines continue to be drawn between the haves and the have nots, the insiders and the outsiders, the powerful and the privileged. And then there are the religious lines we draw, not just between Christianity and other religions. We draw plenty of lines between various groups of Christians. We put a label on the door and consider everyone else to be on the outside. And even worse, Sunday morning is still the most racially segregated time in America. It seems we’ve moved toward erasing lines in every area of life except in the church, the group Jesus prayed would be one (cf. John 17:21). And we very often adopt the same attitude toward “those on the outside” that the Jews adopted toward the Samaritans. Stay away, don’t hang around those sinners, keep yourself pure. After all, didn’t James tell us to make sure we don’t get polluted by the world (cf. James 1:27)? Yes, he did. But do you know what the rest of that verse says? Pure religion, James says, is to do what the Samaritan did: risk everything for the sake of caring for those in need. James puts it this way: “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.” Being pure or unpolluted doesn’t mean drawing lines. In fact, it involves showing mercy. And that means we have to erase some lines that we’ve drawn.

So a man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, along a dark and winding road, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. Two men passed by and didn’t help him, because he wasn’t part of their group. But we’re most interested in the third man, the one who did help. What was it he did that we might learn from? The first thing is, perhaps, obvious, but it needs to be said anyway. He didn’t avoid the person in need. He didn’t cross to the other side. He didn’t make excuses as to why he couldn’t help. He went to the one who was in need, because the one in need couldn’t come to him. When I was a young pastor, brand new in ministry, I was part of a church staff and, as the office was configured, my office happened to be the one where people would just wander in. It was right by the secretary’s desk, and we practiced an open door policy. But I remember one time complaining somewhat to my senior pastor, Tom Rough, that I kept getting interrupted and couldn’t get things done. And Dr. Rough, with wisdom that came from years of ministry, said to me, “Your ministry is in the interruptions.” I’ve never forgotten that. To this day, I practice an open door policy, and even though my office is way in the back here, if you stop by, you’ll most often find my door open unless I’m in the middle of a meeting or something like that. Because ministry happens in the interruptions. The Samaritan wasn’t planning this sort of day. His ministry happened in the interruption, and he didn’t ignore it. To paraphrase a theologian from an earlier generation, ministry happens at the intersection. Frederick Buechner put it this way: “The place God calls you to is the place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.” At the intersection of your ability and the world’s need—that’s where ministry happens. We can’t ignore it.

The second thing the Samaritan did was to offer aid. “He went to [the man] and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine” (10:34). The wine would cleanse the wound; the oil would keep it soft (Culpepper 230). We’re not told he was a doctor necessarily, but travelers would need to know such things as basic first aid as there were no ambulances to call. But here’s the point: he offered what he could, what he had that the man needed. He also offered transportation and a place to stay. He put him on his own donkey and took him to an inn, presumably in Jericho. He gave what he had to the one in need. And it cost him something. It interrupted his trip; wherever he was going, he was going to be late now. He risked being rejected. If the Jewish man knew it was a Samaritan who saved him, he might very well have some unkind words for his rescuer. He risked much to help, but I bet if you asked him, he would do it again. Jesus indicates no hesitation on the part of the Samaritan. He simply gave of what he had—practical resources to meet a real need.

When we were in college, during the summer between our junior and senior years, Cathy and I had the opportunity to work on the west side of Chicago in an inner-city mission called Circle Urban. In the mornings, we worked in tutoring and a kids’ day camp, and some afternoons, we went out into the neighborhood to invite kids to come to the mission. One family in particular was very interested, but as I spoke with the mom, she said, “I don’t have a way to get the kids there. Could you help with that?” Now, I didn’t know these people. I didn’t know the area, other than the rumors I’d been told. But I had a car. And I knew the way. So I said yes, and for the next several weeks, I got up early every morning and picked up those two kids for day camp. I gave what I had. I couldn’t change their situation, but I could do something easy like drive them to day camp and connect them to the church. Honestly, it didn’t cost me that much, but it was what I had. What do you have that you can give? As Methodists, our first instinct in a time of crisis seems to be to cook something. I have a friend who, upon hearing about someone going through a difficult time, immediately goes to the kitchen, bakes a casserole or a cake and delivers it. That’s what she can do to help. What do you have and how can you help, practically speaking?

Is there a chance we’ll be taken advantage of? Yes, of course. In fact, as I was preparing this sermon, I could think of a whole lot more stories of times I had been taken advantage of than I could of times when it worked out well. I thought of the man who came to my office wanting money for the bus and after I bought him a ticket, started talking about a show he watched on cable the night before. I thought of the man who, after the church worked overtime to find him a job, wouldn’t get out of bed to go take it. And I thought of the ones who took the church’s help for a new roof and then disappeared. I could go on and on; being a pastor or a church staff member can make you rather cynical. But for those we are able to help, it’s worth the risk of those who take advantage of you, who reject you. The Samaritan didn’t get a guarantee that the man by the side of the road would gladly accept his help. He simply gave what he had and met a need.

Thirdly, the Samaritan gave money. It’s the last thing he does, in fact. He tells the innkeeper to care for the wounded man, and that he’s good for any extra expense the innkeeper might incur (10:35). Often, offering money is the first thing we do, isn’t it? We write a check, because that’s easy. It’s certainly easier than getting involved with people, people who might disappoint and frustrate and even take advantage of you. The Samaritan obviously knew that money was needed, and he provided that, but it was not the first thing he did. It was the last thing he did, after he had done what he was personally practically able to do. If all we do is write a check, have we really participated in meeting the needs of our community? Of course, there comes a time where money is needed, but then, we do it without the expectation that we will be paid back. The Samaritan doesn’t send the wounded man a bill. He doesn’t even tell the innkeeper to make sure the man knows who is paying his bill. He doesn’t leave the man at the inn and say that the innkeeper can get the rest from the wounded man. No, he does what he can then he gives what we can and he doesn’t expect to get it back. In fact, he offers to give more at a later point. Here’s the reality: while some needs require cash, what’s needed more is relationships. If we give only when we expect to get it back, we’ve not really served anyone except ourselves. We’ve only made our conscience feel better (Rusaw & Swanson, The Externally Focused Church, pgs. 66-70). It’s that sense of giving with nothing expected in return that caused the lawyer, when Jesus asked him who was the neighbor, to respond, “The one who had mercy on him” (10:37).

So what is “mercy”? We use that word a lot. People throw themselves on the mercy of the court. There are hospitals with the word “Mercy” in their name. Some use it as an expression, and there’s even a band named “MercyMe.” But what do we mean when we talk about showing mercy to someone? And, more importantly, what did Jesus mean? The English word “mercy” is an attempt to translate a Hebrew word, hesed, which is more of an idea than a single word. Sometimes in your Bibles you’ll see it translated as “lovingkindness,” a word the King James translators made up to try to convey the idea behind hesed. There are a couple of places in this passage where this idea shows up. Jesus says the Samaritan “had compassion” on him. The word there is a great sounding Greek word: splangnidzomai. It means “from the bowels.” In other words, he cared for the man from the depths of his being, from his bowels. He cared deeply for a man he did not know and had no reason to pay any attention to. He cared deeply for a man who most likely would not have cared for him if the situation were reversed. Then, as we’ve said, the lawyer talks about the Samaritan having mercy on the wounded man. The word there is eleios, which is the Greek translation of hesed. The best definition we have would go something like this: hesed happens when the one from whom I have a right to expect nothing gives me everything. When the one from whom I would expect hatred shows me love. When the one whom I have harmed reaches out in care for me. Hesed, by the way, is not something we feel, believe, or think about. Hesed is something we do. When the one from whom I have a right to expect nothing gives me everything (Card 139-140).

We’ve already been shown hesed, haven’t we? We’ve been given more than we can imagine. When Jesus gave his life to save us from our sins, when we accept that gift, we’ve already been given more than we can ever repay. We’ve been shown hesed, and so to us, just like to the lawyer, Jesus says, “Go and do likewise” (10:37). But there’s a natural reluctance, isn’t there? One Friday morning, a couple of years ago, I had gotten the kids off to school and I was relaxed on the couch, reading a Max Lucado book. And I had just finished this really good chapter on meeting the needs of those around me, when there was a knock on the door. I got up and went to the door to find one of the kids from the neighborhood standing there, telling me his parents were already gone to work and he had missed the bus. Could I take him to school? And I didn’t want to. I really, really didn’t want to. For one, I didn’t know this kid very well, other than having seen him around. And it was Friday, my day off, for heaven’s sake! Then I remembered what I had just read, and I heard a quiet whisper in my soul, “Go and do likewise.” So, grudgingly, I took him to school. Now, that was a small thing, but it’s the sort of thing we’re talking about. What do you have that you can give? In what practical, simple ways can you meet the needs of those around you? What gifts and abilities and resources do you have that you can use to serve those who are in need?

Well, pastor, you might say, I don’t know if I have any abilities or gifts. Or what if I know a need but I don’t have the ability to meet it? Well, you’re in luck. In 1 Corinthians 12, Paul talks about our abilities and our place in the body of Christ, the church. He is telling the Corinthians about the way the Holy Spirit gives gifts to every believer in Christ, but not every believer has all the gifts or abilities. The Spirit, Paul says, “distributes” them “for the common good” (12:4, 7). Paul just mentions a few gifts in that passage. He says some are able to speak wise words, others have great faith to see beyond the moment, some can provide healing (and that comes in both what we call “natural” ways and also in supernatural ways), some can speak truth to a situation and so on. These are just a few gifts. In other writings, Paul mentions other gifts. But here’s the point: the Spirit gives different gifts to different believers so that, together, we can meet the needs of our community and our world. We can do ministry together. We need each other. We cannot meet the needs around us all by ourselves. Instead, we rely on each other, we seek to connect people, and together the church comes to the intersection of the world’s great need and our abilities, our “gladness.” And in that moment, the world is changed.

Many of you know this story, but those who are relatively new to the church probably don’t know the ministry that has happened in the house we own at Crossroads. When we purchased the property next door, it came with a house, one which was not in the best of shape, and conversations began to take place as to what to do with it. Then Hurricane Katrina hit, and many families were displaced. Many of them ended up in our area, and it wasn’t long before the District Superintendent at the time, David Schrader, called and asked if we could put a family up in the house for a while. I told him the house wasn’t yet in a state where we could put anyone in it, and that we would have to do some fundraising to be able to get it to that state. So Dr. Schrader said, “What if I can get you some money to do that?” It wasn’t long before we had a check in our hands, and this church went to work. We all used our different skills. Some painted, some did major renovation, and some solicited donations. Most of the appliances and such in the house were donated by local businesses. Within six weeks of receiving the money, we had the house completely rehabbed and a family moved in. They lived there for five months. The only “string” attached to the money we were given is that the house had to be used for ministry, not as a rental or an income generator. It’s one of our resources for making a difference in our community, and we’ve housed folks from the flooded areas in Lake County, we’ve hosted many mission teams in the house, and lately we’ve hosted a pastor who was in between locations and having a difficult time making ends meet. In each and every case, this church has stepped up, using a resource we have, using our gifts and abilities, at the intersection of the world’s need and our gladness. And, step by step, lives have been changed for those people.

But that’s just one way we’ve been called to make a difference. Next week, we’re going to hear more specifically where the points of greatest need are in our city, but this morning, we want to hear from you. In your bulletins this morning, you should have found an index card, and what I’m going to ask you to do with that is to write on it what you see as the single greatest need in our own community. To paraphrase Buechner, what would you say is Portage’s “great need” to which we can seek to match our great gladness? Where is the intersection in this time and place? Now, I’m sure we can all think of more than one thing. What I’m asking you to do is to just write one thing on these cards. Don’t write everything you think of. Try to imagine what the greatest need is right now, and write that one down. I’m going to play some music and give you just a few moments to write, then the ushers are going to pick those up and this week, we’re going to prayerfully go through these cards. Next week, we’re going to share where the “mood” of our congregation is, and also hear from our mayor as we begin to move ahead toward where God is calling us to make a real difference, right here, right now. So, let’s take a few moments and prayerfully consider where the great need of this community is today.