GAZA, THE GOOD SAMARITAN AND THE IDIOSYNCRASY OF JESUS

Idiosyncrasy:  A peculiar way of thinking

Luke 10:25-37  A teacher of the Law came up and tried to trap Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to receive eternal life?”  Jesus answered him, “What do the Scriptures say? How do you interpret them?”  The man answered, ” ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind’; and ‘Love your neighbor as you love yourself.’ ” “You are right,” Jesus replied; “do this and you will live.”  But the teacher of the Law wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?”  Jesus answered, “There was once a man who was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho when robbers attacked him, stripped him, and beat him up, leaving him half dead.  It so happened that a priest was going down that road; but when he saw the man, he walked on by on the other side.  In the same way a Levite also came there, went over and looked at the man, and then walked on by on the other side.  But a Samaritan who was traveling that way came upon the man, and when he saw him, his heart was filled with pity.  He went over to him, poured oil and wine on his wounds and bandaged them; then he put the man on his own animal and took him to an inn, where he took care of him.  The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Take care of him,’ he told the innkeeper, ‘and when I come back this way, I will pay you whatever else you spend on him.’ ”  And Jesus concluded, “In your opinion, which one of these three acted like a neighbor toward the man attacked by the robbers?”  The teacher of the Law answered, “The one who was kind to him.” Jesus replied, “You go, then, and do the same.”

Sadly, modern-day Christianity has Hollywoodized this story of the Good Samaritan and it became a charming narrative of charity and helping people in need.  Even the secular world adapted this biblical term and will refer to someone as a “good Samaritan” when a good deed is performed.  This was however never the intent of the message that Christ conveyed.  He answered the question “Who is my neighbour”, not “What is charity?”.  This parable was supposed to be a transformational bias-bubble-burster, not a moral affirmation of doing good.  The message was never about what charity looks like but what your neighbour looks like.  It was the idiosyncrasy of Jesus at His best:  a mode of thinking peculiar to Him, and Him alone.

Two thousand years ago this was not a lesson in morality that the religious leaders of Israel appreciated.  This would have been an X-rated story in a community that lived and operated in firm religious bubbles.  Samaritans were outcasts.  Just one chapter earlier the disciples wanted to pray thunder and destruction over the Samaritans.  They were despised, to say the least.  They were not supposed to be the heroes of any story.  They were not even supposed to feature in a story.  The truth and the law of religion that the Priests and Levites practiced was a discriminating truth that separated and divided.  The truth and the law that the Samaritan practiced was an inclusive truth that reconciled and loved.  The truth of the Jews existed yet failed utterly when tested outside their bubbles of prejudice.

Sounds familiar?  No better modern-day example can be found than the plight of the Palestinians of Gaza, lying along the road, bruised, beaten and battered.

Ah, be careful now, the way you responded to this single statement already revealed whether you are a pious priest, a loved Levite or a scorned Samaritan.  Our bubbles are transparent and visible for all to see.

You see, Jesus didn’t offer any condemnation or judgment for the robbers.  He didn’t point fingers at the evil of the bandits.  He did not explore the cause of suffering but the way of healing.  His modern-day version would not condemn Islam, Hamas Israel, or the IDF.  The concern of Christ is not the perpetrator but the victim[1].

Today, two thousand years later, the setting is fairly much the same as Gazans suffer beyond human understanding.  Religious leaders, Christians, and politicians walk past, look at the broken bodies, quote scripture, fulfill their religious duties, shake their heads, shrug their shoulders, and carry on fulfilling the law.  Ironically, their zeal for fulfilling the laws of Moses made them break the laws of Christ.

Back to the story.

This time look beyond your bubble view.  Disregard the bad acts of robbery, the good deeds of charity, the poor attitudes of apathy and discover “The one who was kind to him,” your neighbour.

We can only imagine the murmurs and the whispers of disgust as Christ turns the villain – not just a villain but a “God-forbid-Samaritan-villain – into a hero; and then he turns the hero – not just any hero but a religious-holy-man-hero, into the villain.

“Who the hell is this man after all?  What kind of story is this?  Who does he think he is?”  We can only imagine the language used when Jesus shared this parable.  Effectively He turns all social norms on its head and exposes social prejudices to the core.  This was not appreciated.

Now, place yourself in the audience. 

You really don’t like the self-righteousness of the young man who challenges Jesus, but he has a point.  And you agree with the question.  This Jesus became known as a friend of sinners, a collaborator with tax collectors, a healer of gentiles (a lover of Palestinians?)  Like the teacher of the law, you too believe that Gentiles are not your neighbours.  You tolerate them because of the law but you look down on them culturally and view them as religious pagans.

But you have to smile, it seems like Jesus didn’t even understand the question.  This young teacher is clever, you have to admit.  When the expert in the law asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbour?” he used the word that you remember from scripture as a young boy.  The word indicates a fellow Jew.  It comes from Leviticus 19:13 where the Israelites are instructed to love their Jewish neighbours.  This does not refer to anybody outside the Israeli bubble.  He’s not asking, “Who’s my neighbour?”, he’s basically challenging Jesus with “So, my neighbour is my fellow Israelite, isn’t it?”

In the way that the question is asked you sense that this man isn’t looking for genuine wisdom so much as he is looking for justification for his own prejudice.  What can Jesus say?  If he says everybody is his neighbour, he nullifies the law.  If he says only Jews are his neighbour, he nullifies his teachings, and the young man wins the argument.  Caught between a rock and a hard place, this is going to be interesting.

You sense that the bubble of the young man makes him confident.  But you also realise that his confidence is making him arrogant, and his arrogance is making him ignorant.  To an extent it is repulsive.  It dawns on you that the expert in the law is simply looking for an excuse to avoid the inconvenience of loving someone “less-than.”  His bubble is filled with truth but void of compassion.

But then, masterfully, Jesus redefines “neighbour”.

As you listen to Jesus talking you are intrigued by the details of the story.  It sounds more like an actual event than a parable.  Jesus even mentions the geographical location of this story. It takes place on the road between Jerusalem and Jericho. You have personally travelled this road often.  This is an important detail because the most frequent travelers on this road would have been priests and Levites who lived in Jericho but traveled to Jerusalem frequently to carry out their responsibilities in the temple.

You sense that Jesus is masterfully penetrating the thoughts and mind of the young wisecrack.

As the story unfolds there is a beautiful sense that Jesus is not condemning the priest nor the Levite for not stopping.  They had religious duties to fulfill and Jesus both understands and acknowledges this.  But the contrast is obvious for all to see.  Even though he is not condemning the religious, he is commending the Samaritan who placed the needs of others above religion.  This was what the questions and the story was all about;  – religion without compassion and duty without concern.  You feel convicted.

But, in a way you also feel for the priest.  His position came with great responsibility. This was the position that Moses’ brother, Aaron, was given by God, and his son after him, and so on.  It was the responsibility of the high priest to offer sacrifices on behalf of the people, and only the high priest was permitted into the “holy of holies” the sacred area behind the veil in the temple, and only on one day a year, the day of Atonement. The high priest could not come into contact with anything that would make him “unclean,” (such as blood, or a dead body), because it would prevent him from being able to carry out his duties in the temple.

He certainly took this seriously.  This would be incredibly inconvenient, adding to the already long list of jobs for the other priests to do while he was out of commission for the full 7 days that the Lord had specified before he could re-enter the temple.

It was not that he didn’t care.  He did, but he also actually had a spiritual duty to carry on walking and leave his fellow Jew in dire need.  His flock depended on him.  He had no choice.  Someone else will come along no doubt.

But not according to Jesus

The poor Levite faced the same catch-22 scenario.  Even though he had a lower position in the temple, and therefore fewer responsibilities, he still had to be present to perform it.  He simply could not risk the dangers of neglect.  God would not tolerate that

But not according to Jesus

And then, finally, comes the climax of the story.  You were expecting Jesus to go one level higher than the priest and bring in the prophets to care for the victim.  This was, after all, your bubble narrative.

But not according to Jesus

Enter a man from Samaria.   Like the rest of the crowd, you were not expecting that.  He comes along, stops to help the wounded man, and becomes the hero of the story.  You have to smile when you see the expression on the face of the young man. The fact that the one who stopped is a Samaritan is significant because Jews and Samaritans were not friends. In fact, Samaritans were regarded as enemies.

After Israel was taken captive by the Assyrians in 721 B.C., some were left behind, intermarrying with the Assyrians, producing Samaritans. The Samaritan people were half-Jew, half-Gentile, and had their own version of scripture, (the Torah), and their own religious system.  They disagreed with the Jews about where was the proper place to worship, and had political differences as well. In general, the Jewish people regarded Samaritans as “half-breeds,” or “dogs,” who were inferior, unfaithful and untrustworthy. They looked down on Samaritans as “less-than,” and had “no dealings” with them, (John 4:9).

So where are you today looking at Gaza?

The Good Samaritan symbolizes the heart of God towards ALL people, regardless of who we are, where we come from, our social status, religious background, or political views.

This story shows us the sacrificial love, care, and compassion of God and that it is available for all who are hurting, regardless of who is responsible. His heart and desire are that our reflection of His compassion and care for others takes precedence over any differences we may have; that our love for people is indiscriminate, like His.

The hard truth is that the truth we so carefully nurture in our bubbles never let us “off the hook” when we withhold compassion.  Equally comforting is the realisation that the weight of responsibility for determining who deserves our mercy doesn’t rest on our shoulders. We never have to bear the burden of judging another person’s worthiness incorrectly.

It doesn’t take looking out the window of our bubbles for very long to know that we are all on a road somewhere between Jerusalem and Jericho right now. It’s dangerous out there. The heartbreak and exhaustion are real. It’s not only refugees. It’s everything. It’s layers and layers of being beaten and bruised along a dry, hard road.

The story leaves us with three options when observing the world at a glance:

The first option is that of the robbers, whose ethic suggests that:

“what is yours is mine at whatever cost”.

The second option is represented by the priest and the Levite, whose ethic suggests that:

“what is mine is mine and I must protect it at whatever cost”.

Then there is the Samaritan, whose approach to someone different is not law, but love. And along one of the most dangerous roads in all of history seems to live by a code that says:

“what is mine is yours…if you have need of it”.

My safety is yours…if you have need of it.

My security is yours…if you have need of it.

My resources are yours…if you have need of them.

My health is tied to your health.

My well-being is tied to your well-being.

Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr. preached on this text often and once said that the real difference between the priest and the Levite from the Samaritan is the question that each must have asked. The priest and the Levite likely asked, “If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?”. The Samaritan likely asked a very different question – “If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?”

 

^[1] Psalms 140:12 (MSG)  I know that you, God, are on the side of victims, that you care for the rights of the poor.