NRS Luke 10
25 Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he said, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?"26 He said to him, "What is written in the law? What do you read there?" 27 He answered, "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." 28 And he said to him, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live."
29 But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" 30 Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. 34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35 The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, 'Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.' 36 Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?" 37 He said, "The one who showed him mercy." Jesus said to him, "Go and do likewise."

Dear Friends in Christ, may the Lord keep all your days and deeds in the grace and peace of God; for the sake of Jesus the Messiah. Amen.

For many years Joseph Sittler taught at the Lutheran School of Theology in Chicago, and over those years he shaped and influenced at least several generations of pastors and church leaders. Before his death in 1987, Fortress Press published a collection of Sittler's essays and sermons titled "Grace Notes and Other Fragments." In one very brief reflection, Dr. Sittler asked, "Anything New in Psalm 23?"

That's the kind of question preachers are always asking, especially as we sometimes have to preach on very familiar texts from the Bible, like Psalm 23. Everybody knows, "The Lord is my shepherd." Everybody knows, "He leadeth be beside the still waters." Everybody knows, "Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." And because everybody knows this psalm so well, both churched and unchurched alike, is there anything new to say about it? Is there anything that any preacher could offer that people don't already know? Something that might challenge people just enough to stifle those yawns and maybe listen with new ears? (Which is, of course, every preacher's dream!)

I began asking myself those very same questions the moment I saw today's gospel. The parable of the Good Samaritan is, like Psalm 23, one of the best known texts of the whole Bible. Everybody knows the story of the man who fell among vicious thieves and was left to die of his injuries. Everybody knows how first the priest and then the Levite pass on the other side of the road rather than come to the wounded man's rescue. Everybody knows how it was the despised Samaritan who was moved to pity, who rendered aid, and delivered the poor victim to an inn where he provided for his care. And of course, everybody knows how Jesus tells the smart-alecky lawyer, "Go and do likewise."

The Good Samaritan has become such a well-known story that anybody who comes to the help of another is now called a Good Samaritan. On both state and federal levels, we've enacted so-called Good Samaritan laws to protect those who stick out their necks for another in distress. I think we've all seen those familiar stickers on the backs of campers and RV's for the Good Sam Club. Likewise, hospitals, churches, and all sorts of different relief agencies are named for the Good Samaritan of today's parable. Surely, God wants us to be Good Samaritans. Certainly, mercy and compassion supersede the priest's and the Levite's scruples about purity. And absolutely, true righteousness does not recognize any of the distinctions we make as to creed, color, or national origin. So is there anything new for us, anything we don't already know in the parable of the Good Samaritan?

Well, maybe. Remember the scribe's original question that sets up the parable. To test Jesus, you know, the lawyer first asks, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" When Jesus turns the question back on him and asks what does the Law say, the man answers, of course, with the two great commandments of Hebrew scripture: from Deuteronomy, to love the Lord your God with all your soul, strength, and mind, and from Leviticus, to love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus naturally approves the lawyer's reading and tells him "Do this, and you will live." Yet still wanting to get the upper hand on Jesus, the man then asks, "But who is my neighbor?" Notice that the question is not just who is a neighbor, or what does a neighbor do, but who is my neighbor.

Jesus answers with a parable that makes the lawyer put himself in the position of a man who fell among thieves. In effect, Jesus tells the scribe that if you really want to know who your neighbor is, you have to first imagine yourself beaten senseless, stripped naked, and left for dead in a ditch on a lonely road. Then imagine the people you regard as the true bearers of righteousness rejecting and scorning you rather than risking getting your blood on their hands. And worse yet, to add real insult to your already grievous injuries, imagine that the one person who does stoop to save your sorry self is a filthy, disgusting Samaritan that you wouldn't have take out your garbage, much less deliver you to safety. Only after challenging the lawyer to imagine all this, does Jesus lead the man to answer his own question, "Who is my neighbor?"

Now roll with me for a second. Doesn't the story of the man who fell among thieves sound a lot like the story of our own salvation? On some level, before we can every really come to know our need for salvation, don't we first have to see ourselves as broken, fallen and unable to save ourselves? Before we can truly embrace God's help, doesn't that mean we first have to despair of all the stuff we thought would save us? Our family, our friends, money, status, religion? And when God comes to us in Jesus, doesn't he come to us as that suffering servant of whom Isaiah prophesied, "as one despised and rejected," "as one from whom others hid their faces," "held … of no account" (Isaiah 53: 3)? And isn't the hardest part of faith the fact that we're constantly coming back to this complete, total dependence on Jesus, apart from whom we're all just dead meat?

I've been having an interesting correspondence with my niece, at whose wedding I'll be presiding later this month. Like many young people, she describes herself as spiritual, but not practicing any particular faith. She says that one of the things that turned her off to the church was, in her words, "all the groveling and confessing and repenting." Of course, she's not alone. Many people have stepped away from their Christian roots because they were taught that God only feels good about us when we're feeling really bad about ourselves. It's a common mistake to assume that for God to be glorified man must be degraded.

A long time ago, though, I realized that people don't need any help from me to feel bad about themselves. We do a pretty good job of that all on our own. Given the all the injuries and insults of life, given all the wounds we carry, self-inflicted and otherwise, you don't need too vivid an imagination to see yourself in that ditch beside the road. Although imagining ourselves in the place of that man who fell among thieves does require some courage. It means surrendering our control fantasies; it means giving up our myths of invincibility and self-mastery. But it's only through that act of putting ourselves in another's place that compassion becomes possible, and it's only through courageous, unflinching compassion that we realize we're all in the ditch. We're all kind of messed up. We're all damaged goods. And except for the savior who comes to us as one despised, rejected, and stricken, we'd never make it down that lonely road from Jerusalem to Jericho.

That hardly qualifies as something new in the Good Samaritan, but it is something to make us stop and think.

In the Name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.