"Who Acts Like a Neighbor?" (Luke 10:25-37)

A Lamb Amid Wolves

I have a friend, Billy, who wears his heart on his sleeve—a little bit like a child. When he’s happy, he’s smiling and cracking jokes; his eyes are bright and open and desperately trying to make contact with yours or anyone’s in the near vicinity. When he’s sad, you know it. He pouts. He rues whatever slight misfortune may have befallen him, like not having enough change in his pocket for a hot dog from the hot dog stand. But if you so much as mention one of his favorite movies (he’s a Disney buff), or if you express your excitement about something as simple as a cloud or a car or an animal you’ve just spotted, his sadness evaporates in a moment. His eyes light up to share your joy.

Billy is perhaps best known for his hugs. It doesn’t matter where he bumps into you, whether it’s a restaurant or the grocery store or a solemn memorial service. If he knows you, he’ll lock on and approach you with arms wide open and expectant, a grin on his face as wide as the east is from the west. On rare occasion, his sister will have to hold him back, lest he offer a hug where it might be considered inappropriate.

Billy is my friend. He also has Down’s syndrome. I thought of him when I was reviewing today’s passage, or more precisely, when I read the few verses that immediately precede today’s passage. Just before the parable of the good Samaritan, Jesus has welcomed back seventy disciples who have been sent out like “lambs amid wolves,” proclaiming the kingdom of God and healing the sick (Luke 10:3, 9). (Billy, it seems to me, is like a lamb amid wolves, and his hugs and good cheer are a healing balm all of their own.) And then Jesus offers this prayer, “I thank you, Father, lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and intelligent and have revealed them to little children” (Luke 10:21). (Billy, it seems to me, is like a little child sometimes—in the best of ways.)

What Are the Rules Here?

“Just then,” says Luke, a lawyer—which is to say, a reputedly “wise and intelligent” individual—approaches Jesus to question him, specifically “to test” him (Luke 10:25). If you’ll allow me to interpose another memory, I recall when I was in seminary meeting once with a respected lawyer from my home congregation. In fact, he was not a Christian, but his wife was. She had become increasingly involved in the church and was hopeful that he would join her. But he had his own hangups. As a lawyer, he struggled to connect the dots between sin and salvation. Having heard that I was a seminarian with a focus in biblical studies, he invited me to his home one day. As his wife hurried about to welcome me and make me comfortable, he sat down with a stony-faced scowl and launched into his hangups, the chief of which was sin. He could find no single, unified definition of sin in scripture. What this lawyer really wanted was a black-and-white list of no-nos. Otherwise, he contended, it was all unfair. How could humans be prosecuted in God’s court if they hadn’t been made aware of precisely what was right and what was wrong?

I quickly realized I faced an impossible task. There is no such black-and-white list in scripture. Scripture is not a unified witness. There are different law codes, which even include contradictory laws. There are changes in the instructions, such as when Peter receives instructions to eat what is unclean, such as when the Holy Spirit makes clear that the uncircumcised are also welcomed into the family of faith as they are. If God were running the world like a grand test, seeing who gets it right and who gets it wrong, who is good and who is bad, who is deserving and who is not, then yes—it all seems rather unfair. It seems like the deck is stacked against us. But the gospel of Jesus tells a very different story, where life is not a test but a gift, where God’s primary role is not judge but loving father, where we humans are all beloved children of God, whom God so desires to gather around the same table. And sin—sin is just a way of talking about what keeps us from the table.

Despite the two thousand years’ difference, the lawyer who approaches Jesus has essentially the same hangup as the lawyer with whom I spoke. How do we determine who’s in and who’s out? What are the rules here?  The lawyer’s first question is, “How should we live?” (Luke 10:25). After he answers it himself—love God, love neighbor, simple enough—he seeks clarification. He wants a black-and-white explanation, perhaps a list or a set of conditions. “Who’s my neighbor?” he asks (Luke 10:29). In other words, who’s in? Who’s out?

Not Who’s My Neighbor, But Be a Neighbor

Now Jesus could have answered in a much more direct manner. He could have said simply, “Who is your neighbor? Everyone is your neighbor!” But by telling a story instead and selecting a most hated enemy, he focuses precisely on where the lawyer is missing out on the abundant life about which he had inquired. He focuses precisely on where the lawyer needs to change and grow.

But that is not all that Jesus is doing with this parable. If we pay close attention, we might notice that, strictly speaking, Jesus does not answer the question, “Who is my neighbor?”, which is really a question of identity and boundaries, a question of “us” and “them,” a question of who’s in and who’s out, a question that divides the world, a question that lets us off the hook past a certain point. Instead Jesus reframes the question. Notice what he asks the lawyer at the end: “Who among these three was the real neighbor?” (cf. 10:36). In other words, it’s not who is my neighbor, but who is the neighbor? Neighbor is not the object of the action but the subject, not the recipient of a deed but the doer. Who acted like a neighbor? “Neighbor” is not a boundary that determines the extent of our love but is a responsibility that applies in all times and places. For Jesus, the imperative is not to figure out who is our neighbor. The imperative is to be a neighbor. Inheriting abundant life is not about who’s in or who’s out, it’s about how we live. It’s not a matter of rules and boundaries and identity, it’s a matter of responsibility, how we respond to our human brothers and sisters around us.

Living in Mercy

I’ve heard countless sermons on this parable. Commonly it is pointed out that the Samaritans were hated enemies of the Jewish people. It is suggested that we conjure up in our own minds a more relevant category for today, such as liberal or conservative, Democrat or Republican, woke or nationalist, etc., etc. It’s not a bad thought exercise. We should learn to see others, especially those whom we might view as opponents, as beloved children of God and our brothers and sisters.

I don’t know about you, but those thought exercises usually struggle to make it from my thought to my flesh-and-blood living. They fade in the light of day. I forget about them very quickly. So instead of focusing on one group or another, today I would like to focus for myself on the thrust of Jesus’ commandment. Which is not who is a neighbor, but be a neighbor. “Do likewise,” Jesus says, which is to say, show mercy! To anyone. Everyone. To do that is to have eternal life. To live in mercy is to live in God’s kingdom now, if you would believe it.

I think of Billy, a lamb amid wolves, a heart filled with childlike trust, whose hugs are indiscriminate, whose smile is shared with everyone. There is a neighbor. There is a person, who despite all the hardships he endures, is living already in God’s kingdom. I want to be like that.

Response

Before concluding, I would like to invite your response—only if you feel so inclined. There are grey slips of paper and pencils in the pews, and if you do write a response, you may decide for yourself  whether you’d like to include your name or remain anonymous. (If you write your name, please know that I would still check with you before ever sharing your response with others.)

The question I’d like to ask is this: Have you ever experienced neighborly compassion and care at Trinity Christian Church? What happened? How did another person (or people) care for you?

Prayer

Merciful God,
Whose care transgresses our categories,
Whose compassion knows no boundaries—
Draw us out of our heads,
Out of our rationalizations,
And into the heart of your kingdom,
Where all are your children,
Worthy of love.
In Christ, who shows mercy: Amen.