The story of the Good Samaritan articulates God’s vision for the compassionate care of all people. When we fail to embody that vision, we are forgiven, held in God’s love, and called back to the task of loving our neighbors.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Fifth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 15 C
Text: Luke 10:25-37

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

This familiar parable from Luke is often called the “Good Samaritan.” It’s a Bible story so widely known that there are hospitals, nonprofits, and even romantic comedies named after it. It’s popular because it’s relatable. We can so easily see ourselves in its characters. The fear and pain of being attacked and abandoned or  the relief and gratitude of receiving unexpected kindness from a stranger – these are such human experiences.  Perhaps the most relatable of all are the priest and the Levite who walk by on the other side of the road without stopping to help someone in need. Hearing this story can evoke guilt, discomfort, and despair when we are reminded we are not always as “good” as the Samaritan was. It’s an effective parable.

And its central question continues to be powerful and relevant: who is my neighbor?

For whom am I responsible and to what extent? One need look no further than our country’s current conversation about borders and immigration to see how perpetually challenging that question still is. In the context of Luke, the question “Who is my neighbor?” is presented by a lawyer who sounds like he’s looking for a moral loophole. An expert in religious law, he already knows that anyone who claims to love God should love their neighbors. The imperatives to welcome the stranger, care for the poor, and protect the vulnerable were not new ideas in Jesus’ day and they’re not new in ours. But, wanting to test Jesus and justify himself, the lawyer pushes the issue, asking, “Who, specifically, is the neighbor I’m obligated to love?”

Jesus doesn’t answer him by quoting scripture or reciting rules; he tells a story about the messy realities of human interdependence.

The priest and the Levite in the story were religious authorities. They, like the lawyer, would have been familiar with the scriptural requirement to care for those in need. When they encountered the man by the side of the road, they may have known the right thing to do, but it’s the Samaritan who actually does it. He’s not reacting out of guilt or obligation. He’s not fulfilling a quota for number-of-neighbors-helped. He’s not calculating whether he can be compensated for his assistance. He feels for the guy. That’s the impetus for his response of care. He’s moved by this person’s needs. The Samaritan acts out of compassion.

We don’t learn much about the man in the ditch, whether he’s wealthy or poor, whether he’s a Gentile or Jew – we only learn about the way a stranger shows him mercy. In telling this story, Jesus turns the lawyer’s question around: It doesn’t matter who your neighbor is; it matters how you are neighbor to others. It doesn’t matter what kind of person is in need; it matters how you respond.

This story articulates God’s vision for how humanity should live together.

Everyone deserves care. There are no qualifications. No one is left alone in the ditch. Everyone’s wounds are tended to because we respond to one another’s needs with generosity and compassion.

There are no moral loopholes. This is what it means to be a neighbor. “Go and do likewise,” Jesus concludes. Go and embody God’s vision for a compassionate world. That’s it. That’s the directive. That’s how Jesus leaves the lawyer – and us.

That “go and do likewise” ending is a hard thing to sit with, especially for those of us who see ourselves in the Priest and the Levite.

It’s uncomfortable to come to the end of this story and ask whether we have actually “done likewise” to the Samaritan. We are reminded of all the times we have walked by someone we might have helped. We wonder if we have missed the eternal life the lawyer was seeking…

But the final word in this parable is not the final word of God. Even when we fail to realize God’s vision of compassion, there is no condemnation in Christ (Romans 8:1). We trust the promise that nothing can separate us from the love of God (Romans 8:38-39) – not even whatever might cause us to walk by on the other side.

God’s promise of love is for all people, no exceptions.

It is for those who have been harmed, rejected, and left behind. It is for those who serve others out of generous compassion. And it is for those who don’t. That’s the astounding truth of grace. None of us is ever beyond God’s love.

Jesus leaves this conversation with the lawyer and continues on his journey to Jerusalem, his journey to the cross, and even in the face of death, he speaks words of mercy not judgment. Jesus speaks forgiveness to the ones who torture him (Luke 23:34) and acceptance to the criminals dying next to him (Luke 23:39-42). And, after he confronts the very powers of hell with love, the risen Jesus returns from the grave to speak peace to the disciples who denied and betrayed him (Luke 24:36). They failed to live up to God’s vision of compassion, but their inadequacies did not stop Christ from reconciling with them, empowering them with the divine spirit, and sending them out to proclaim the Gospel. Imperfect, cowardly, and flawed, they are forgiven. And they are still tasked to go out into the world and act with love.

It is the same with us.

No matter how many times we walk by on the other side, we, too, are forgiven and we, too, are called back to the task of being love in the world.

Standing firm in the faith that we are saved by grace and unconditionally loved by God does not mean we abandon the millennia-old commandment to care for our neighbors. On the contrary, it means that we are invited again and again to come back to God’s way of compassion. We are convinced that radical care for one another is the path that truly brings life.

We aspire to be the neighbors God has called us to be, the neighbors our world desperately needs. Yet even when we falter, we are still held in that love from which nothing – not even death – can separate us.

Amen.

 

You are sent with specific tasks of evangelism to prepare people for the Spirit’s coming: God does all the rest of the work.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Fourth Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 14 C
Texts: 2 Kings 5:1-14; Luke 10:1-11, 16-20

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

The most important person in Naaman’s story is also the most insignificant person to everyone else in it.

This little Israelite girl, torn from her family by war, like so many children today. Not a refugee, she’s a captive, living apart from her loving family, in a foreign land, with foreign customs, and foreign gods, and a foreign language. But she sets in motion the movement of kings and prophets and even the God of the universe.

All she does is see her master’s suffering from a horrible skin disease, and quietly say to her mistress, “The God of Israel could heal my master.”

That’s it. And the ripples of her witness changed the course of her master’s life, and very nearly the affairs of nations.

Maybe she opens a door for us into this sending Jesus does.

Jesus sending out seventy women and men to proclaim God’s reign causes us a lot of anxiety. In our pluralistic society we just don’t know what to think about our call to be evangelists anymore.

It’s good many Christians are no longer comfortable with the centuries-long arrogance of the Christian Church claiming that those who do not know Christ are condemned forever. For more than a millennia and a half the call to share Christ’s Good News with the world has been warped by our need to control others and dominate them. The Church endorsed war, colonization, appropriation of indigenous lands, and destruction of rich, beautiful cultures all over the world in the name of “making disciples.” It is good, wonderful, that some of us at least have moved past that.

But if we aren’t doing evangelism to save others (because only God saves), or to control them (because Christ says we must not), how do we know what to do? With neighbors who are Muslim, Jewish, Hindu, atheist, and any number of other positions of faith or spiritual paths, we know our job as the love of Christ is to be gracious and kind neighbors. To respect differences, honor other peoples’ faith, seek dialogue between faiths.

But is that enough? Do we run from this Gospel story just to be good neighbors? A better question is, can this little slave girl help us hear Jesus’ call better? She knew the God of Israel could heal her master, so she told her mistress. She had no other goal than sharing the grace of God.

And if you look at the four things Jesus actually asks the 70 to do, it’s pretty much the same.

The first thing they are to do, every time, is speak a word of peace.

To greet the people in whatever house they enter with “Peace to this house!”

Isn’t that beautiful? Our Muslim friends do this. They greet others with this instinctively: “Salaam-alaikum,” “Peace be upon you.” And they respond: “Wa-alaikum-salaam,” “and peace be upon you, too.”

Why have Christians abandoned this key part of Jesus’ instructions? How might Christian witness in the world have been different if our first words wherever we went were “Peace be with you”? At the very least, maybe it would have prevented the Church from killing millions of people over the centuries.

What would it mean for you? Begin there with your neighbors. Offer the gift of peace to whomever you meet. Jesus says sometimes it will be returned, and that’s a blessing. Sometimes it won’t, but Jesus says the peace of God will still be with you, even then.

How do you be an evangelist? First offer peace.

The second instruction sounds a little strange as an evangelism tactic.

When you go anywhere, Jesus says to eat what is set before you. Receive your neighbor’s hospitality. Don’t bring anything, he says. Don’t have money, or you’ll be tempted to offer to pay, and act as if you’re the benevolent one. You’re not in control. Receive whatever you get. Receive their customs, their blessings, even if it’s strange for you.

That alone would be a new thing, for us to literally let our neighbors feed us, love us.

But it also is true figuratively. Take what is given you, and don’t bring anything, Jesus says. So, set aside your prejudices and pre-conceived notions and just let your neighbor be who they are. Set aside for now the theology that feeds you, and just receive what you’re given.

We’re so used believing evangelism is having something to give others. What if the Church had done what Jesus says here instead of triumphantly bringing in our culture and ideas and teachings as if we were the benefactors of all? It would change the world today if we could set aside our own stuff and simply let our neighbor offer us kindness and hospitality. Sometimes you won’t be welcomed or given anything, and Jesus says that’s OK. Keep going until you’re offered sustenance, and then stay there. Live in relationship. Let the love of your neighbor be a blessing to you. That’s evangelism, according to Jesus.

So, speak peace. And receive love. Next, Jesus says, heal and drive out evil, where you can.

This must have been frightening to these women and men. They’d seen Jesus heal and drive out evil. Now he expected they would be able to do such things.

But imagine if this had been the goal of evangelism for the whole Church throughout the years: to be the ones who offer healing. To be the ones who stand against evil. Now, many Christians in history did exactly that, and changed their world. Far too often, though, the official approach was domination and control. What kind of a witness to God’s love in Christ could we have made if everyone had done what Jesus says here, not just some?

This is such a clear place for us to work. Whether it’s working with all our neighbors of all faiths to dismantle systems of oppression and violence, or standing individually against evil or embracing our neighbor with healing kindness, there is no end to work we can do. Evangelism is being out in the world as God’s love, both as communities and individuals in Christ, bringing hope and courage to face evil, bringing love and grace to heal the hearts of those who suffer.

Finally Jesus says, say, “God’s reign is near to you.”

This is the last piece of the disciples’ evangelism task. Say what the little girl said: “God is near and can heal. God’s reign is real and will make a difference.” Say, God has come to this world of evil and war and hatred and grief in person and is offering life and hope and grace.

The first three things are how you do this. Offer peace, receive hospitality, work against evil and bring healing: these are visible, real signs of God’s reign being near. In your body and life you witness in this way. Just as Jesus witnessed in his body and life – teaching, loving, even dying and rising.

And it doesn’t matter if you’re rejected, Jesus says. He will be. Even in rejection, you still do all these things and always declare this good news: God’s reign is near. God’s love is near. God’s peace is near.

That’s it. these are your instructions as an evangelist. The Triune God will do the hard work.

You see, Jesus sent these 70 to places he himself intended to go, to prepare people for his coming. Now it’s the Holy Spirit who’s going. But you’re still sent ahead to do those things to prepare people for the Spirit.

Naaman actually ends up converted from his former faith, and worshipping the God of Israel exclusively. It’s lovely. But the slave girl never intended that. She just said God could heal him.

Likewise, your job is not converting. It’s not making any theological assumptions about anyone’s eternal status. Your job is to be part of Christ’s advance team with all of us, someone who by your grace and love opens a door for the Spirit to enter and bring people into the resurrection life of God.

Now that’s evangelism that’s not only faithful to Jesus’ calling and to the hope of God’s love we know in Christ, but one that’s respectful and gracious to our neighbors of all kinds as well.

Funny, isn’t it, how Jesus always knows how best to do things, if only we’d listen?

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

 

Discipleship is not about our perfectionism or accomplishments; it is about God’s work in us as the spirit transforms us and equips us to proclaim the Gospel with our words and our lives.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Third Sunday after Pentecost, Lectionary 13 C
Texts: Galatians 5:1, 13-25; Luke 9:51-62

Sisters and brothers in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

The Gospel text this morning, the “word of God, word of life,” sure contains a lot of words that are rather harsh.

On the road to Jerusalem, Jesus and his disciples enter a village of Samaritans who are not particularly receptive to Jesus. James and John, in a response that might be considered a bit of an overreaction, suggest calling down deadly fire from heaven in retribution. It is certainly a relief that Jesus refuses to smite those who don’t want to follow him. But Jesus himself has some severe words for others who do want to follow him.

Along their journey, the group encounters some individuals who express a willingness to follow Jesus, but have some concerns they want to attend to first. Now, if these people are making excuses, they’ve found pretty good ones. One wants to say goodbye to loved ones. Another wants to bury a parent. Who could object to caring for one’s home and family? Surely it’s possible to do these things, and then commit wholeheartedly to the mission? But Jesus is unwilling to wait and disinclined to sugarcoat this news. “Let the dead bury their own dead,” he says, “no one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.”

These comments are not because Jesus is against funerals or farewells. Elsewhere in the Gospels we see Jesus attend family celebrations and grieve at the tombs of friends; he does not consider these things wrong or unimportant.

Rather, these sobering responses toward those who want to follow him are because Jesus is focused on the destination ahead.

He has “set his face” toward Jerusalem, where betrayal, arrest, trial, and execution await him. Those who say they are willing to follow him anywhere need to be willing to follow him there. To the cross. They must be prepared to lose their homes, their safety, even their lives.

Faithfulness to the Gospel is comprehensive: it cannot be relegated to one part of life and kept out of others. It is not something to be done only after all the ducks of one’s personal life have been put in a row. When commitment to other things– even important things– hinders commitment to proclaiming the Gospel, it is like someone putting their hand to the plow but their attention elsewhere. You can’t do both. Jesus words to those who want to follow him serve as a potent reminder that the Gospel is matter of life and death. His statements express the urgency and priority that Jesus understood.

James and John must have understood, too. They themselves once faced the same choice now facing these people along the road: whether or not to follow Jesus. One day they’d been hard at work, fishing as usual, when Jesus, a man they’d never met before, arrived and said, “Follow me.”

In that moment, something about Jesus’ presence so compelled them that the two dropped everything, and followed him then and there (Luke 5:1-11). They didn’t go home to attend to family or say goodbye. Actually, according to Matthew’s Gospel, they just left their father standing there in the boat, with all those nets to mend and all those fish to clean (Matthew 4:21-22).

James and John couldn’t possibly have understood what they were getting themselves into when they said yes to Jesus and got out of that boat. They couldn’t have known where this journey would take them. Their decisive choice to follow Jesus irrevocably changed the course of their lives. Commitment to the Gospel will do that… it will change things. There is risk involved in saying ‘yes’ to God’s call.

Discipleship redirects lives, reorders priorities, and restructures relationships.

This is what Paul is describing to the Galatians in the passage we heard this morning. He tells them that the way they behaved before is no longer the way they can behave now that they’ve committed to Christ. Things will change. People will change. The Spirit will transform them.

Although Paul describes this process as a liberation, a being set free, he also acknowledges that it involves the loss of some familiar habits that have no place in the Christian life. He enumerates examples, but he knows the Galatians know what kind of behaviors he means: jealousy, anger, pettiness, corruption, bickering… these things have to be left behind. They have to be put to death. So, there’s no going back to them. You can choose that way of being or you can choose the Spirit’s way of being. You can’t do both.

But when the Spirit starts to take root in the community, it’s clear. You can see the change. Joyfulness, kindness, generosity, faithfulness – these things become habitual in the lives of disciples. Those who are living in this life of the Spirit have a different pattern of relationship. They weave together as a family, siblings in Christ. They serve each other out of freedom. They love their neighbors as they love their own selves. Paul articulates such a remarkable vision of Christian life.

Of course, we know from our own lives that those old habits that we meant to leave behind sometimes turn out to be not quite dead yet.

Sometimes, for instance, the most dedicated disciples, the ones willing to leave everything behind for the sake of the Gospel, threaten to burn an entire village in vengeance. Doesn’t really show a lot of patience, gentleness, or self-control. Yet, those were the kind of people that Jesus recruited to his ministry. Those committed-but-imperfect followers of Christ were the kind of people tasked with proclaiming the Gospel in all its life-or-death importance.

It turns out that committed-but-imperfect followers of Christ are still the kind of people being tasked with proclaiming the Gospel. Discipleship is not about the work we can accomplish in the world. It is about the work God can accomplish through us.

This frees us, on the one hand, from any sense of perfectionism. No one does it all, and no one does it alone. On the other hand, it undermines any protests we might make that we’re not the right people to bear the Gospel. We are, each of us, called and equipped to do so – through what we say and how we live.

Sometimes we fail to keep our faces set always toward the cross. Sometimes we make excuses and choose priorities other than Christ. Sometimes we want to call down the fires of heaven on people who frustrate us. Sometimes we look back and see that the furrows in our fields have come out crooked, and we ask, “How can God grow anything here?”

But we trust that God’s Spirit can bring about change in us and around us in ways we would never think possible.

The process of being transformed by the Spirit is lifelong. We go through fruitful seasons and fallow seasons, but we are always being made new.

Indeed, we heard some harsh words from scripture this morning, but we also heard one particularly important word from the mouth of Christ to anyone who would desire to be a disciple. Jesus said, “As for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

Amen.