Our text today is a familiar one, not just recognizable to the lifelong and dedicated readers of the Word of God, but one that is known, at least in some small degree, by most people, whether they are part of the Christian Church or not. And it is fitting that this story of our Lord is so well known, for it is given in response to a great, even universal question which lurks within the hearts of all people, at least those who long for some hope beyond this age. It is for people who are trapped in a life of trial and suffering, who desperately long for a rest from their labor and the assurance that things will get better in the age to come. We are told an expert in the Law of God, a student of the commands of the Almighty, asks our Lord, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” If there is eternal life, if there is a blessed happiness without end, an existence of complete comfort and assurance, then what must I do to achieve it?
Jesus directs him to the Law, to the very thing he is an expert in. He says, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” And the expert knew the answer. He was prepared for it. He was a learned man, and so he answers as every good student of the Law would answer. “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.” It is simple, straightforward, clear, and concise. So, Jesus says to him, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.” But the man has a follow-up question, a point of clarification that had often been debated by teachers of the Law. “Who is my neighbor?” Is it for everyone, everywhere, and all the time? Is it only the household of the faithful? Do we need to be concerned about the foreigner in our midst, the outsider who has suddenly appeared? If earning eternal life is established on loving them, then who are they?
In response to this, our Lord tells the famous parable of the Good Samaritan. It is a story that has grown far beyond the context of the question of eternal life. Here, in California, as in all other states, we have a Good Samaritan Law which provides legal protection to individuals who voluntarily offer emergency care at the scene of an accident or crisis. The goal is to alleviate the hesitation rescuers might feel due to the fear of being sued for unintentional harm caused while providing assistance. To offer help and be there in response to an emergency is to be a “Good Samaritan.” But the parable of the Good Samaritan contains a truth far more profound than the encouragement to offer aid to one in need.
The Church father, Saint Augustine, offers an interpretation of this familiar parable that we would do well to consider in our day. His comments help us to hear it again, to listen to it in a new way without getting trapped in our predictable patterns of understanding. Perhaps, following his lead, we might tell the story like this:
George had been working at this inn for more years than he cared to remember. It is not glorious work; long hours and late nights were commonplace, and the pay was nothing to brag about. However, there were perks to the job. Between the sore feet and the constantly sweaty back from cleaning rooms and feeding guests, the inn remained a place where one got news of the outside world, a place where stories were prevalent, and gossip and rumors always hung thick in the air. And those times made the work seem light and easy. Sometimes the stories were of happenings in Jerusalem, sometimes they were about whispers of rebellion, and sometimes they were stories that had an unexpected way of changing you. They were stories so shocking and profound that they changed how he saw the world, how he understood himself, and what it meant to live a life worth living, even there in that rundown, old inn.
For instance, there was the late-night visitor a few months back who was different than the usual folks who stayed the night. He was a foreigner and did not come straight in but stood at the door asking for help. George figured he must have had a lot of baggage, and he was not looking forward to lugging it up the stairs to the last available room. But he looked like he could pay, so George tried to disguise his weariness with a smile and stepped out to give him a hand. What he found was not luggage but a man, a man who seemed barely alive, slouched over on the back of a donkey. He was bandaged up, but the blood was seeping through the cloth.
George looked with confusion at the guest, wondering what was supposed to be done with this dying and broken creature. With a stern and yet calm voice, he called for him to help this man to a bed. Without much consideration, George obeyed, knowing the mess it would make, not to mention the risk of having some strange man die in one of the beds. But that man never wavered. After he made sure the poor creature was resting peacefully, he then paid for the room. In fact, not only did he pay for the night, but he also paid for several nights, leaving some extra money to be spent on the care and nourishment of the unknown victim, and promising George that when he comes back through town, he will pay for anything extra it might cost. And just like that, he was gone.
Over the next few days, through care and attention, the man began to mend, and as he gained his strength, the tale he told changed George’s life. The man’s story was indeed wild, but as he retold it, George began to see that it was a tale about far more than a Good Samaritan helping a person in need. It was a story about all men, about compassion, hope, and the very gifts of God. It is a story which needs to be retold over and over again.
For he was… well, a man, every man. He was the ancient history of all those who had gone before. He is you, and he is me. He was a man coming down from the holy city, a man who, because of his sin, could no longer remain in that place where God Himself dwelt. And he fell among robbers. He was attacked by passion and desire, and the evil temptations of this age overcame him. The lure of fame and fortune, the self-righteous passions of the heart, and the result was he was left for dead on the side of the road. Beaten and bleeding, he had no chance to save himself. Without the aid of another, without compassion and mercy, he would die, you would die… there in the ditch on the side of the road.
But down the road came the promise of hope, a priest. One who could intercede, who could give him a path toward life even as his lifeblood drained away. However, that priest, with the full weight of the Law of God, did not help. He was dead, you are dead… and probably deserved to die there alone on the side of the road. Another comes, one who would offer a means to save yourself, a Levite with the measured confession of God’s commands filling his life. Yet, he too, offers no help, no rescue, and there the man remains, alone, cut off, dying in his corruption. But then comes the foreigner, the outsider, the one who operates by compassion. This Good Samaritan intercedes, bringing life and hope. He alone cares for the dying and the cutoff, binding their wounds and anointing them with the gifts of healing.
And He brings him here, to us, to the Inn; not that we have any ability to bring healing by ourselves. No, He provides, even here. He provides what is necessary to bring life and healing to the dying. Here, He has given from Himself, so the Inn could care for the dying and turn death into life. George reminds us that the Inn has now become a place of healing. Truly, the Good Samaritan proved to be a neighbor to the one dying on the side of the road, and He continues to do so. He brings one after another to us, to the Inn, where we rejoice in His compassion, His forgiveness, and His healing. And Jesus invites you, on this day, to do likewise.
