Sermon by Michelle - July 10

A lot can change in 48 hours.

On Wednesday morning, I began to write a sermon. I joked about how we were reading the parable of the Good Samaritan, again, and suggested that we might find the parable a little tired. After all, it seems that we read this at least two or three times a year.

A lot changed in the next 48 hours.

Today, after as we sit in the pews, we wrestle with lots of emotions: grief, shock, anger, frustration. We recoil at the deaths of police officers shot by snipers, even as we mourn the deaths of black men killed by police officers. We struggle with the sense that each of these deaths is senseless, and needless. Maybe we recall the fact that shots erupted in downtown Pittsburgh after the fireworks on the fourth, and we wonder if we are safe at home. And, we worry about where our country is heading.

On Wednesday morning, I thought about pointing out how dangerous it was for the Samaritan to stop, to lend aid to a seemingly injured man lying alongside a road. I thought that we would respond – of course, we always help our neighbors. But today, I think we are all too aware of how dangerous the world can be.

It’s enough to make you want to curl up in your bed under the covers, hug your cat, and consume large quantities of chocolate – or maybe that’s just me. It is enough, though, to make you want to never go outside, never leave your safe neighborhood, never experience anything new or different.

In short, it’s enough to make you feel exactly like the priest and the Levite in Jesus’s parable today. At least, I do.

From the safety of our church pews, it’s easy to condemn the priest and the Levite. Who wouldn’t, in this story? We hear about a man lying naked, helpless and injured by the side of the road, and our heart goes out to him. And we hear that the Levite – who, let’s face it, is never the hero of any story Jesus tells – crossed to the other side of the road when he sees the man lying there. And the same for the priest. In the past, when I preached on this parable, I had to justify their actions – to point out that touching a bleeding man would make them ceremonially unclean, and unfit to serve in the temple. To remind listeners that sometimes robbers would use a seemingly ill traveler as a decoy, to lure unsuspecting dogooders into a trap to rob them.

But no such justifications are needed today, are they?

Today, we understand exactly how the Levite and the priest felt, walking alone down that road, and seeing a fallen man lying in front of them. We think, “Oh no, a beaten man. I wonder who did that to him? I wonder whether they deserved it. I probably shouldn’t get involved. It might be dangerous.” We might check to see if it’s someone we know. But we’re just as likely to pull out our cell phones as we pass, just in case.

It’s a little harder to condemn the priest and the Levite today. And so, first and foremost, I want to point out that Jesus does not condemn the priest and the Levite in the parable. He doesn’t call them bad or evil. Jesus understands the fear. But he calls us to do better.

We are called to do better, because Jesus has faith in us. Jesus believes that we can help heal the world. Jesus believes that when we have enough of God’s love built up inside us, it can’t help but bear fruit. And it bears fruit, in the form of kindness and love, shown to those who need it most.

It’s worth remembering that priests in Jewish society had a lot of standing. They were well-respected. They had education, and status. They came from good families – literally – because the only way to become a priest was to be born into a family of priests. Everyone believed they spoke for God, and interceded with God. They were, in some ways, the royalty of the Jewish people. Now, admittedly, the Jewish people were occupied by Rome. They were collaborators with the Roman government, who kept them in power. But, whether you loved them or hated them, you knew they had power. You couldn’t help but look up to them.

So, too, the Levites. They had power, which came from being of the same clan as the priests. They had power and authority, not because of their jobs or education – though they were often better educated and worked in the temple – but because of their family status. You couldn’t become a Levite – you had to be born into it, a very exclusive club indeed.

And, if being born into the clans of the priests and the Levites came with great respect, being born into the Samaritans did not. They lived in a different area – the bad neighborhood, if you will. They worshiped the same God as the Jews did - in contrast to the Romans and others around them. But, they worshiped differently, which caused the Jews to look down on them. They don’t know the right way to do things, thought the Jews. They are uncultured, unsophisticated, untrustworthy. We don’t talk to them. We don’t want anything to do with them. Let them stay where they are.

The Samaritans could do no good in the eyes of the Jews. If something bad happened, it was probably a Samaritan who did it. The Samaritans are so despicable, that the lawyer talking to Jesus can’t even bring himself to utter the word – “Samaritan.” To recognize a Samaritan as capable of mercy was surprising. While the priests and the Levites, they could do only good. If we see them doing something we don’t like – like collaborating with the Roman government – well, it must be because there is no alternative.

It was a time of division, and a time of fear. Those in power – Roman soldiers, thugs collecting taxes on behalf of Romans, governors, and so on – could hurt others with impunity. Lawlessness reigned – witness the fear of travelling on the unprotected roads. For most people, it was better to stay in your own neighborhoods, with your own people. It was easy – and safe – to think of everyone else as dangerous.

Where are we today?

We are a society of rules and laws. A democracy, where, we fervently believe, all people have rights and responsibilities. A police force which protects all people, sometimes at great danger and risk to their own lives. And individual law enforcement officers – as well as firemen, paramedics, and lots of others in public service – who make heroic efforts as they protect and serve their communities.

But that doesn’t make them any less human. Susceptible to the stress and adrenaline that comes from being in the line of danger every day. Or, sometimes, just not good. On Thursday, I talked about the shootings in Louisiana and Minnesota with a neighbor of mine – a retired black city police officer. He pointed out that in any job, you will have bad apples. Another black former police officer, writing in Vox, estimated that at any given time, about 15% of cops might be inclined to abuse power, 15% might always do good, but the remaining 70% were susceptible to the tone set by those in command, and by society.

Sadly, we live in a society where we seem to have lost the ability to listen and hear stories from those who are different than us. We are increasingly segregated – not just racially, but economically and politically as well. When I graduated high school, someone in my class remarked that my high school class would be the most diverse peer group I would likely have in my life. It was true – I look back on a class that included people of different races, religions, nationalities, sexual orientations, educational attainments, and economic classes. But, I would hazard a guess that most of the kids graduating in our area this year will not have experienced the same level of diversity in their classes as I did.

We want to believe that the segregation that our country experienced prior to the Civil Rights era is over. But, in many ways, our opportunities and experiences are influenced by factors of our birth, just as it was in Jesus’s time. We just don’t know it. That makes us believe that our experiences are normal, and shared by everyone. And, it makes us more able to believe the worst about other people. People we are not likely to encounter in our daily lives. People who are different than us.

And, it makes us uncomfortable when we challenge these beliefs.

It makes us uncomfortable when we hear about “the talk” that black parents have with their kids, about “how to get home safe” if they’ve been stopped by the police. It must be an isolated thing, we think, or an exaggeration. Or the person being stopped must have deserved it.

Except that I know that twenty years ago, children I worked with at church were having similar conversations with their parents.

Throughout his ministry, Jesus broke down barriers. He spoke to the Samaritan woman at the well, and inspired her faith. He spoke with a tax collector – a tool of the Roman government – and made him a disciple. He understood the fear and the reluctance his followers had to venture into strange communities. But he called them to do better.

Across the country, people are wondering how to do better.

We can start with talking to each other. And, we can start with love.

The Episcopal Church requires anti-racism training for all clergy, and recommends it for those in leadership position. At St. Paul’s, all of the clergy, and a number of members of vestry and others in leadership have taken it. But not all, because it can be scary.

But, it begins by recognizing the fears, and breaks down barriers with love.

In the training, I was asked to recall all the times when someone of a different race had harmed me. And I did so. (pause) And, I realized of almost all of the times I had been the victim of a crime, it had been at the hands of someone who looked like me. A guy I was dating borrowed two months’ rent, and never paid it back; someone snatched my wallet and passport while I was shopping overseas; lots of other violations of my person and property –– all committed by people who had the same skin color as I do.

And then, I was asked to recall the times when a person of a different race had done something kind to me. And I did so. (pause) And I recalled Ayanna, who traded places with me for a high school fundraiser without even telling me about it, so that I wouldn’t be bullied (by a white girl). Bill, who would offer me rides in the security van at the mall where we worked, so I wouldn’t have to cross the parking lot alone at night. And Mr. Francois, who once told me after a particularly scary incident, “When I saw you were handling it, I knew everything would be all right.” I told him that was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to me, and I think it still is.

I encourage you today, to think about all the Good Samaritans you have encountered – particularly those you have encountered in unexpected places, or in the places where you were most afraid and vulnerable. For police officers and first responders who came at a moment of distress, or for strangers and others who met us outside our comfort zones, and had mercy on us. Give thanks to their witness. Praise God for the love that shone in those moments.

Today, it may seem that the world is filled with fear. Jesus understands. But he offers you love, and the assurance that love and mercy will win over evil and violence. Jesus reminds us that everyone – every human being – is a beloved child of God, created with dignity. We are greater than the fear that paralyzes us, or our discomfort at the pain of others.

The Samaritan was greater than his fear. He saw a neighbor in trouble, and had mercy.