Go and do likewise
Go and do likewise
What is so good about the “Good Samaritan”? The Samaritan referred to by Jesus in His parable at Luke 10.25—37 (which will be encountered in many churches this coming Sunday) is never called good by Him. In fact, because the character is described as a Samaritan, the lawyer who questions Jesus is supposed to pay particular attention, because the lawyer will reflexively not think of any Samaritan as good, but at best as “other” and “unclean”. For me to now ask what’s good about the character borders on impertinence, as if I am trying to add something that, with exception of that known as the Prodigal Son (and which should really be referred to as the parable of the Two Brothers!), the parable of the Good Samaritan speaks its own message more clearly than in any other parable. It’s not necessary to “explain” the parable. I hope only to highlight the element of surprise that Jesus intends.
The surprise is that the one who shows mercy is not just any person, he is a Samaritan. He is one of “those people”–one of “them” in the ever-present “us and them” equation of ancient Judea–that Jesus knows his listeners will identify immediately with the “other” and the “unclean”. Even at the end of this encounter with Jesus, the lawyer cannot bring himself to identify the good guy as the Samaritan, but only as the “one who ... showed mercy.”
Jesus never refers to the Samaritan as good. He merely tells a story in which the outsider—the one considered unclean—is the one who does the will of the Lord by honoring the commandments found in Deuteronomy and Leviticus (in the Jewish Law) to care for his neighbor.
In Matthew and Mark the summary of the Law as love of God and neighbor is made by Jesus. Luke has this combination of the teachings of Deuteronomy and Leviticus made by the lawyer. Regardless, the combination is pretty clearly one originating in Jesus’ earthly ministry. He became flesh to show us the Way. And in showing us this Way, He shows how our expectations must be reversed. The lawyer focuses on obligation (Who deserves my love?) Jesus makes clear that we must focus on giving (To whom can I show myself neighbor?) In other words, Jesus makes clear that there can be no love of God that does not express itself in love of neighbor, and there can be no authentic love of neighbor that does not spring from love of God.
Love of neighbor that does not spring from love of God is a refined, subtle form of self-love. I guess that’s why I have a problem that most messages we hear in the wider Church these days emphasize ministries focused on social relief, while giving at best a passing reference to the fact that there is Good News to be proclaimed.
The relief of the poor, the feeding of the hungry, the treatment of the sick and the education of all are imperatives commanded of us by our Lord Himself. These are imperatives which we have ourselves each promised to meet, when we have promised “... to seek and serve Christ in all persons.” There you have it: to seek and serve Christ—to serve God by expressing our love for Him in our love for our neighbor, while ever asking the question implicit in Jesus’ challenge to the lawyer: To whom can I show myself neighbor?
That’s the challenge that Jesus poses to each of us: and note the pronoun: To whom can I show myself neighbor? To whom can I bring the love of God? In being called to be God’s hands to lift up, God’s voice to soothe, God’s back to take burdens, God’s shoulder to cry on, God’s arms to hold, who am I supposed to reach out to and to touch? When we make the question personal like that, it’s then that the power of Jesus’ parable becomes clear. It means that I am supposed to reach out to people whom I don’t like and who I consider somehow unclean; “other” people who may live lives I disapprove of, heartily, and perhaps with good reason; people who may not even ever say “thanks”.
When Jesus tells the lawyer “Go and do likewise,” He’s telling us that we’re supposed to be agents of God’s love. A love expressed supremely and for all–including for the “unclean”–by Jesus Himself on the cross, but a love to be expressed actively, here and now, by us–by me–in being part of God’s Body here on earth.
I have to remind myself, constantly, that whatever I do as a priest and as a disciple is work undertaken which is God’s, not mine. I have to remind myself of this in order to keep from burning out, because the dirty little secret of all ministry is that people in need are consuming. God’s poor can be a real pain in the neck, because the same problems never go away. I was trained as a lawyer and businessman, and so I am used to identifying a problem and solution, implementing the solution, and then moving on. But in ministry the problems presented only very rarely have any solution, and even those that do are followed by others that don’t. “Fixing” the problem isn’t the point; ministering to the person is, and I simply can’t do this using my own resources. I do know other priests who are more gifted with caring personalities, but even the most gifted will burn out. We all will if we ever try to minister using our own resources. But when we allow God to use us, then we find that His resources are infinite. When we express His love and follow His commandments, His work in ministry is accomplished, and those oh-so-problematical neighbors who we all have are ministered to as neighbors, and not simply treated as problems to be solved, receive God’s love and are changed.
When I lived in England I used to work as a volunteer at Jimmie’s Night Shelter and at the walk-in clinic for street people, in Cambridge. The night shelter was what used to be called a “doss house,” a place to sleep off a drunk, or to get a cup of tea and a sandwich when you’d been out on the street, in the rain, too long. Most of our guests were younger than you’d think, in their twenties. Most were substance abusers; some were prostitutes; all struggled with some kind of pathology in their personal lives and histories. Most of these folks were polite in the sense of being coöperative, but it was rare to hear a “thank you.” And that’s part of Jesus’ point: If we do something, even a good work, expecting thanks, we’re not doing it for God.
Needless to say, the spending the night in the doss house, or spending the afternoon tending to foot ulcers in the clinic, was not something that could be classified as fun or uplifting. Which is another part of Jesus’ point to the lawyer. It’s God’s work, not our own, that we’re called to. We don’t have the power, and often the stomach, to do this work alone. We have to rely on God, that any expression of love we give is a part of His expression of His supreme love.
Does this mean we must seek out people who may be literally unclean? Not necessarily, but it means that in all people we must seek and serve Christ; no matter how different the person may be, we are called by Jesus to “do likewise”. We are called to act, to treat the person as a neighbor; to treat the person as one to whom we are called to bring the love of God. It’s a good exercise for each one of us to ask, When have I acted as an agent of God’s love?)
Notice that the story ends without us ever learning what the lawyer did in response to Jesus’s instruction. Luke doesn’t tell us, probably for a reason, probably to emphasize that whatever each of us may be called to do will probably make us uncomfortable, will stretch us beyond our own resources by calling us to cross whatever boundary exists between us and another person.
Regardless of how we may be called to supply practical help, we can, above all, pray. We can pray for the person in need, certainly. But we can also pray that God may give us just that tiny bit of His power that we may reach in His love across any boundary. That in binding the wounds–visible or invisible–of those whom we may find lying by the wayside we may extend the balm of God’s love; that those lying by the wayside may join us on the way, in the Way of life eternal.