Sermon: Parable of the Good Samaritan

Luke 10:25-37 – Flipping the Script

You know the script, don’t you? Shouldn’t we all be “Good Samaritans”? If we see a person in need, no matter who they are, whether they’re dirty, whether they smell bad, no matter if they act a little strange, a Good Samaritan will extend help to that person. We know what a Good Samaritan is.

Did you find out about Good Samaritan laws the same way I did? Princess Diana dies in a high-speed car crash in Paris. Now, look: don’t jump to conclusions. I am not a celebrity follower. I am not into the Royal Family. It’s just, you couldn’t avoid the story. She, her boyfriend, and her driver were apparently trying to escape the paparazzi, the car went out of control, and well….

That’s when we heard about the Good Samaritan laws. In France and in some other countries, they have Good Samaritan laws. If someone is in need, like Princess Di was in need, you’re legally obliged to help them. Like, you can go to jail if you pass by and don’t help. So there was some discussion about the paparazzi: should they go to jail if they saw the accident and did nothing to help?

To be sure, we should be glad there’s the Good Samaritan script. I mean, human nature ain’t all that great. Every time the psychologists test whether we’ll go to much trouble to help someone we don’t know, especially if we’re in a group, we don’t test out all that well. We can be kind of selfish, we humans.

We need reminders to be kind to people, kind to one another. We need somebody watching. If we didn’t have social rules, if we didn’t have expectations, maybe we wouldn’t look out for other people. So maybe the Good Samaritan script, overall, is a good thing.

So that’s the script. Lovers of Jesus are supposed to be Good Samaritans, offering help to people in need, even when it’s costly – even when it’s risky – to ourselves. You know the script, don’t you?

This morning, I’m here to flip the script.

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Jesus flipped the script. He flipped the lawyer’s script, and he’s flipping our script today. Jesus didn’t tell the story of the Good Samaritan to get us to be good people. He didn’t tell it to get us to be generous. He told the story because he wanted to flip the script.

We often forget that the parable of the Good Samaritan doesn’t stand alone. Jesus tells the parable in the middle of a conversation. And that conversation is everything.

This conversation Jesus has is not friendly. First off, it’s with a lawyer. Hey, now. I did not tell a lawyer joke. You laughed on your own. I’m married to a lawyer, and I have to go home.

But seriously, the lawyer is an expert in the teachings of Israel. He’s learned. He could engage Jesus in a serious, constructive theological conversation – wouldn’t that be nice? But instead, Luke tells us, the lawyer just wants to test Jesus. He wants to judge whether Jesus knows his stuff. Maybe, probably, he wants to show Jesus up. His question, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”, isn’t a real question. It’s fake. Just a test.

And guess what? Jesus flips the script. Jesus turns the question on the lawyer: “How does it look to you, Lawyer Buddy? You know the law? What do you think?”

Because, you see, whenever someone asks you a question, and they think they already know the answer, whenever that happens, you’re probably looking at a hostile question. The lawyer already knows the answer. Lots of people knew the answer: You want eternal life? Love God, and love your neighbor.

Fine, Jesus says. Maybe this conversation is over. We can move on now….

But it’s not over. The lawyer is humiliated. He asked a question, thinking he was going to judge Jesus, but Jesus wound up judging him. It’s obvious to everybody what happened. Jesus flipped his script.

Look at Luke’s language. “Seeking to justify himself….” This is what we do when we embarrass ourselves. When we’ve dug ourselves a little hole, we just pick up the shovel again and try to dig our way out. “Seeking to justify himself,” he asks, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus has flipped the script, so now we have another question.

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And look at that question: “Who is my neighbor?” Think about this question. Let it sink in. Let it sink in deep. It is a dangerous question. “Who is my neighbor?” is a dangerous question to ask.

Because who asks that question? Who asks, “Who is my neighbor?”

The lawyer stands in the place of privilege. He assumes he will always be the one others need help from. You only ask, “Who is my neighbor?” from that place of privilege. From a place of presumed security. That place where you think you don’t need anybody’s help, but they might need yours.

So the lawyer wants to know how far his love should go. How wide the circle of obligation extends. Who deserves his help.

Look at that question: “Who is my neighbor?” It’s a dangerous question because it puts us in the seat of privilege.  

And think. Is there a bigger question in our society? Who is my neighbor? I’m white. Are those kids, those Honduran and Salvadoran and Nicaraguan kids at the border, are they my neighbors? I make a professional salary, and my kids are out of the house. Are those kids in the poorer school districts, are they my neighbors? I’m straight. When the government starts taking health care from gay partners, from trans people, from folks whose gender doesn’t conform, is it worth my time to get up and do something about it – because are they my neighbors?

Are we tired of all the potential neighbors? The children’s detention centers, the ICE raids, the forcing federal employees to move on short notice, the lack of relief to Puerto Rico, the assaults on queer folk, the assaults on schools. Are we tired? Because most of the time, for most of us, we can check in and out.

That question, “Who is my neighbor?”, it’s a deadly question because it sets us above everyone else. If I don’t need more neighbors, only if I don’t need more neighbors, will I ask, “Who is my neighbor?”

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So Jesus flips the script one more time. He won’t answer the question. Totally stonewalls the question. Instead of answering that question – that dangerous, privileged, snotty question – Jesus tells a story.

Some guy – that’s the way the parable begins in Greek – “a certain man” is on the road, headed down from Jerusalem to Jericho. Some guy like you.

Ever been afraid you might get jumped? Might get mugged? I’m sure it’s happened to some of you. Ever been afraid, walking down the street? Maybe the lights are low? Maybe nobody will see it? Ever been afraid?

Jesus flips the script. Ever imagined yourself jumped, robbed, beaten, left for dead? Ever had that cold, hollow feeling in your gut that it could be you?

Flips the script. “Hey, buddy, if you were that guy, wouldn’t you just hope you had a neighbor? Wouldn’t you take help from anyone who might pass by? Supposing you were the one beaten up, can’t help yourself, hey, if it were you, would you be asking that question, ‘Who is my neighbor?’”

The hell you would. The hell I would. I’d be needing a neighbor right then, wouldn’t you?

If it’s a priest, that’s great. Thank you.

But if the priest passes by and it’s a Levite, still good. Thank you.

And if it’s a Samaritan, or a crazy fundamentalist, or a Muslim, or a Honduran refugee, or a supporter of that politician – ordinarily I make not like that person. Ordinarily, I would avoid that person. Ordinarily, I might pass by that person.

But if it’s me, or if it’s you, in a world of hurt… you and I will take any neighbor we can get.

That’s flipping the script. What if you, what if I, are the helpless one needing a neighbor? What does, “Who is my neighbor mean then?”

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This is where grace happens. Grace flips the script.

Grace shows us that we may think we’re tough; we may judge others because we have survived, or thrived, or overcome. We may think we are secure. Grace flips that script and shows us our need for our neighbors.

Grace is where we meet Jesus.

-Home-  

I suppose Mister Rogers had it right. We get to choose our question. Will we ask, “Who is my neighbor?” Or will we look at the world and sing, “Won’t you be my neighbor?”

Because the distance between those two questions is miles and miles and miles.

One man never asked the question. Didn’t get the chance.

Two men passed him by – they weren’t looking for a neighbor that day.

And one man, a Samaritan of all things, saw a neighbor – and he proved himself a neighbor.

Now go and do likewise.

Watershed: What Is Trump Doing to Help Russia?

Have we considered Trump's domestic agenda in terms of Russian policy objectives?

What metaphor could possibly capture the reporting that emerged over the weekend, followed by opinion columns, some by conservative writers, to the effect that Donald Trump, the current occupant of the White House and Individual-1, is somehow serving Russian interests?

I suppose watershed approximates the situation as well as any: the reporting, the headlines, the questions, and the opinions are all converging toward the worst-case scenario: that the president of the United States poses our most direct national security threat.

Here's the great Carl Bernstein reporting what he purports to know will come out in the Mueller report. It's stunning.

I'll link some of the important news and opinion pieces at the end of this thought piece. Here I want to argue that most of us are way underestimating how Donald Trump may be executing Russian policy objectives.

We're all clear on the obvious. Russia loves it that Trump is undermining our alliances, especially with NATO and the EU. Just last week, while we were all hooting and hollering about the stupid wall, Trump symbolically demoted the EU's diplomatic status. That story got little traction in the US because the government shutdown is so destructive, but you'd best believe it made headlines elsewhere.

Also obvious are other foreign policy aims. In a programmatic speech in Cairo Secretary of State Mike Pompeo directly contradicted himself, saying the US only weakens itself when it abandons its allies and withdraws from conflicts -- while announcing that the US is abandoning its allies and withdrawing from the conflict in Syria. The whole world noticed. Trump's fondness for authoritarians, his embrace of the murderous Saudi regime, his entanglements with Iran, and his Korean blunders all enhance Russian objectives.

But what about Trump's domestic policies? Have we considered the ways in which Trump's domestic agenda is designed to weaken the United States?

Let's take just a few examples.

Trump's tax code revision fueled a burst of employment along with a predictable jump in stock prices, all good things. But we're now seeing the consequences. The federal budget deficit, already an albatross, is soaring, hollowing out our resources for dealing with any financial crisis, much confronting foreign threats. And how will the United States build up its infrastructure and education to compete with less friendly competitors? The tax code is a time bomb ticking underneath the train of democracy.

All of Trump's cabinet picks who hold responsibility for domestic affairs are perfectly suited to gut the very departments they lead: education, energy, environment, health, you name it. One might interpret this as an overextension of right-wing ideology. Or one might see it as an intentional effort to inflict grave harm upon the structure of American society.

Trump's politics of grievance through tweeting, constant campaigning, and the like all exacerbate American divisions, especially upon racial lines. Russia actively targeted US racial politics in 2016, and we might say they have continued to do so through Trump and the Republican Party in 2018 and into 2019.

Finally, let's consider the government shutdown. Just this week federal employees missed their first paycheck, creating personal hardship for hundreds of thousands of households. This includes federal employees responsible for our national security. Over 5000 FBI agents, analysts, and the like have been furloughed, to take one example, and the FBI Agents Association has declared the shutdown a threat to national security. The harm will continue beyond the conclusion of the shutdown, as key employees in departments like Justice and Homeland Security may seek other, more reliable employment.

As we come to grips with what we know, we need to take a full accounting of the full return on investment Vladimir Putin is receiving from Donald Trump -- and the possibility that a lot more is at stake than we've accounted for.

Major News Stories and Opinion Pieces Over the Past Few Days

• The biggie: FBI was looking into whether Trump was working for Russia, as has Mueller (NYTimes)
• The second biggie: Trump hiding the content of his conversations with Putin from administration officials (WaPo)
• First smoking gun story: Manafort shared internal polling data with Russian associate during election (WaPo)
• Conservative Tom Nichols on the possibility that Trump is compromised
• Conservative Max Boot (who may no longer consider himself a conservative) on why Trump may be a Russian asset 

Being a White Ally: Sermon on Mark 10:17-31

Being a White Ally: Sermon on Mark 10:17-31

Many of us are grieving, and will grieve, for a very long time, the death of our brother Chuck Melchert. We love you, Anabel, and we are here to love you along this journey.

Chuck was a dear friend of mine, a mentor really. Not everyone here knows that Chuck was a brilliant scholar, both in educational ministries and in the Bible’s wisdom literature. I’ve known very few people, maybe a handful, whose lives so integrated the values they said they lived by with their hour by hour living. Chuck was that guy.

One day we were playing golf, just walking along, and Chuck said, “Greg, there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk with you about.”

Uh-oh. This could not be good. Chuck almost never criticized me. In 20 years, maybe he criticized me three or four times. But I could tell something was on his mind. Chuck sat in on my classes sometimes at the seminary.

“When African Americans share from their life experiences, you often respond by trying to show that you already understand what they’re saying. That invalidates their contributions, and it makes things about you.”

Oh.

I mean, how could what Chuck said be anything other than true? It wasn’t the kind of thing he could have misunderstood. It wasn’t the kind of thing I could explain away. The only thing this could be was a good friend looking out for me, having the courage to tell me the truth about myself, trying to help me become a better person and a better teacher, trying to help the world become a better place.

This was the truth, coming from a lover and a practitioner of the truth. What else could it be?

And it was just the third hole.

Those of us who are white, who wish to join alongside our African American sisters and brothers in the work of justice, who want to be allies, we all have a long way to go.

There are many reasons to be an ally. For one thing, it’s the right thing to do – and ordinarily, we just gravitate to the right thing. It feels good to do the right thing.

For another thing, being an ally brings enormous joy, relationships that enrich our lives, challenges that offer a sense of growth and accomplishment, the sense of an emerging freedom as we free ourselves from the distortions and limitations of our racist upbringing and our race-bound society. It’s almost impossible to describe the joy of liberation that accompanies being an ally – the primary reason for doing do.

Yet, as Chuck Melchert reminded me that one day, we have a long way to go. Chances are, we’ll always have a long way to go. Like the disciples in Mark’s story. We may start off well. We will succeed here and there. We may even make the occasional heroic sacrifice. But if we think we have arrived. If we think we’ve got it…. Brothers and sisters, we have a long way to go.

That’s how it is. That’s where Jesus meets us. And that grace has to be enough.

 1

In our Gospel reading Peter wants Jesus to appreciate that he’s given up a lot to follow Jesus. “Lord, we’ve left everything to follow you!”

Peter wants assurance from Jesus. He wants praise. He wants Jesus to thank him.

Now, let us admit, Peter is telling the truth. Before we go hard on him, he’s telling the truth.

And he’s not just speaking for himself. The other disciples have left home. They’ve abandoned their families. They’ve done as Jesus commanded, prepped the crowds. They’ve even performed some healings and exorcisms. It’s no small thing what the disciples have done. Confronted with the enormity of Jesus’ challenge, they just want a little recognition.

Peter’s not just speaking for himself.

There’s a part of us, whenever we do the right thing, that just wants to be appreciated. There’s a part of us that craves recognition. It’s natural. Maybe it’s even wired into us by God to help us do what’s right.

If we see a little child alone in the grocery aisle, lost and crying and scared, and we take that child to the customer service station, and we wait to make sure the child is reunited with her or his parents, sure, it’s nice when they say thank you. Sure, that’s nice.

But let’s get real. We’ve only done what we should do. What any decent person would do. To abandon that child, to leave him or her crying and frightened and vulnerable, we’d never do that. Helping that child is our job. Helping that child is the basic thing, the human thing. Do we really need thanks?

When we step out as allies, we are only doing the human thing, nothing more. We live in a world filled with monsters. And people of color, and women, and sexual minorities face the monsters of injustice every day – we’re not being heroes as allies, and we deserve no parades.

Peter wants reassurance. “Lord, we’ve left everything!” And maybe this isn’t the time to be asking for gratitude. Maybe we don’t need extra credit for doing the right thing.

2

There’s also joy. So much joy. So much freedom. In being an ally of any kind.

In 1996 my family and I joined an Open and Affirming church for the first time. It was First Congregational in Memphis, a United Church of Christ congregation that had been all but dead just a few years earlier. They’d called a young pastor right out of seminary, told her she was welcome to do whatever it took, and she helped the congregation transition into embracing everyone – all people, no matter what their sexual orientation, their gender identity, their class, their race – everyone.

When this straight white couple joined this church it had a problem. Same problem we have here at Wisdom’s Table – running out of room! So much joy. All kinds of people so happy just to be in a church where there was no question about their presence, or anyone’s presence. So much joy. So much love.

May I say it? Such pretty flowers. And such amazing food. Well.

Jesus tells would-be allies it’ll be like this.

When you become an ally, you might lose some family. Yes?

You might strain some relationships. Yes?

It might hurt. Yes?

But look what comes in return?

So I joined the church softball team when they asked. Nobody told me that this Southern Baptist had just joined Memphis’ gay softball league. Wanna know how I found out? I was filling out the roster, and there was a sexual orientation box…. And even though I played varsity baseball in college, for the first time in my life I was the best man on a softball team. The best man. We had lesbians better than me, maybe. One or two.

And so much love. So much joy. Such good food.

But I am being shallow. When LGBT students and friends called me into the work of sexual and gender justice advocacy, I had no idea how those relationships would set me free. I thought I was doing those students a favor, using my leverage as a faculty member and a scholar to advocate for them. I thought I was helping out.

I was arrogant. I was wrong. I was short-sighted. I had no idea how desperately I needed to be set free from my assumptions about being a man, about sex and relationships, about acting out my masculinity – about being something I’d been raised to be but nobody actually can be – not without deep injury to oneself and to other people. I had no idea I needed –

I had no idea that, straight as I was, I had no idea I needed to become queer like we all are queer. I had no idea that becoming an ally meant – in a way –

In a way --

                Coming out.

                Please be gracious to me here. This is tender territory. I do not mean to appropriate for those of us who are privileged, those who are straight, what it means to come out as a person who does not live in the privilege of the majority –

                I don’t mean that –

                I don’t know what that means –

                How could I know what that means –

                But I do mean there’s a process of going public, of going loud, of saying – I stand with people, and I need them too, and I am an ally. My friends bless my life. And don’t you dare hurt them.

So much joy. So much healing. A hundred fold. Jesus says.

3

So we allies must be humble. It’s our job to listen, to learn, to follow. It’s our job to be present, to show up, to be humble.

To be humble.

To be humble.

To be humble.

In being an ally, we learn that people of color confront racism every day. They, better than we, understand how it works, what’s at stake, where wisdom lies.

To be an ally means to show up. People of color don’t get to pick and choose when they will encounter racism, but white allies enjoy the privilege of hiding when we’re uncomfortable. Faithful allies show up.

We’ll need to do our homework, to learn how racism operates, to see that racism is more than people who say racist things and discriminate in overt ways. We’ll begin to understand that racism is at work when some schools, schools with high percentages of students of color, get less support than other schools do – and Pennsylvania is the worst – that racism is at work when white and black people get different outcomes in the criminal justice system, that racism is at work when opportunity does not come to us equally. When we do our homework, we’ll know racism not as an individual problem but as a problem basic to our society – and we’ll work to change it.

                 As allies, we’ll enjoy relationships of accountability. We’ll build relationships with other white allies, people like Chuck Melchert, who will educate us, hold us accountable, encourage us in the journey. We won’t depend on people of color to carry that burden. It’s just too exhausting.

But we will also build relationships of accountability with people of color. Not just casual, “Hi, how are you?” Not just hugs. But relationships. Travel together. Visit each other. Eat together. Share together. Learn together. Relationships that change us, that bring us to new places. Not just “I have friends,” but “I’ll stand up with you.”

I can’t tell you how many times friends of color have squared me up. Honestly, I don’t know what they think of me when they do. I can still see Kendal Brown, who used to run admissions at Lancaster Seminary. We were hiking. I don’t even remember what we were talking about, but I used the word “blackmail.” Kendal turned on a dime. Did you just use that word?

And I’d never thought about it.

Or the conversations about politics or policy or how theological education should work, and colleagues like Stephen Ray in Chicago, or Margaret Aymer in Austin or Sam Tsang, whom I barely know in person, who would just say, “You know, we might know what’s at stake for us better than you do.”

Or Lancaster students who would tell me, “Maybe you’re taking this a little too casually.”

And you know the wonder of it? As far as I know, I still receive love and friendship from all of these people. Love and friendship I would trade nothing for.

As allies, we’ll learn to follow, learn to lose, learn not to need credit, learn to be wrong, learn to learn, and learn to show up,

show up,

show up.

To reliably show up.

                As allies, we have so much to learn.

 4

Jesus tells his disciples there’s so much to give up. And so much to gain. Giving up one way of life and all the things that go with it, coming to find another set of relationships and commitments and all the joys that go with it.

So very much. One hundred fold.

A funny thing, if you look at our Gospel lesson.

There are the things disciples give up: house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields.

And the things we receive in return: houses, brothers and sisters, mothers and children, and fields, with persecutions.

The things we give up include fathers. There are no fathers among the things that come back to us. For in Jesus’ new family there are no heads of households. No one above the rest. All are one in Christ Jesus.

All are allies. If we truly want hundreds, thousands, countless mothers and sisters and brothers and children – beyond counting, all joy – if we truly want to enter the boundless community of Jesus and his followers, we must welcome the possibility that we cannot be leaders.

We can be allies. Amen.