You know it’s going to be an interesting story when a lawyer is involved. Please don’t misunderstand; I have an appreciation for lawyers and what they do. My brother is a lawyer, so I have a personal connection to the field. For the most part, lawyers are good, honest people doing a job that involves advocating for their clients. But like in all professions, there are those who sail perilously close to the wind when it comes to professional ethics and whatnot.
The lawyer’s job is to use whatever they can, within the bounds of the law, to see that their client gets justice. They utilize the tools at their disposal and exploit small legal loopholes. Paul was a lawyer and always viewed the spiritual life through that lens. Today, the Gospel of Luke begins with a lawyer posing questions to Jesus.
This is often a tactic used by Jesus’ enemies. We do not know the heart of the lawyer in question, but he stands to ask Jesus a question: “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” He is very polite and asks a question that any one of us might ask in a similar circumstance.
But Jesus, being Jesus, never directly answers a question.
When I was in seminary, I took a couple of years of philosophy, the idea being that by studying philosophy and opening one’s mind, it would make the study of theology much easier. I’m not sure that worked for me because all it did was frustrate me. However, when studying philosophy, questions are often answered with another question.
I had one professor who had a knack for seeking out the least prepared students in class and focusing on them until they began to cry. Everyone in the class, including yours truly, suffered from this but only once. One morning, I was unprepared. The class typically began with a question from the professor. She would ask the question, gaze around the room like a hawk seeking out her next meal, and wham, there I was.
If I were able to answer the question, she would have just moved on to another, but nope, it was my turn in the hot seat. I held my own for a bit, then it all unraveled, and she had me on the ropes. Several of my fellow students tried to come to my aid, but she fought them off and cast them aside; she wanted me all to herself. If you had admitted defeat too early, it would have made things worse. She would come for your exposed underbelly and dig in deeper. You had to ride the wave of insult and injury until she was done.
Fortunately for the lawyer in the story from Luke, Jesus was about to show him a little mercy.
We know nothing about this man other than his profession; we do not even know his name, but he had the guts to stand and ask a question. Again, we do not know his motivation, other than when the Gospel writers use these examples, it is never for a good purpose.
Jesus countered his question with a question about the law and asked the man, “What is written in the Law?” “How do you read it?” The man gives the perfect textbook answer, “‘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, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.'”
But he does not stop there; he asks a follow-up question, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus, seeing his opening, tells the story of the Good Samaritan.
We just heard the story: a guy gets beaten up and left for dead. Two people, a priest and a Levite, come by and ignore the man, even going to the other side of the road to avoid dealing with the situation.
Then comes a Samaritan. Not only an outsider, but someone despised by the Jews. And it is he who stops. He who bandages the wounds. He who puts the man on his animal, takes him to an inn, pays for his care, and promises to return.
This would have been shocking. The Samaritan is the hero? The enemy is an example of godly love?
The lawyer wanted to justify himself—he wanted a checklist, a boundary, a legal definition of “neighbor.” But Jesus flips the script. The question isn’t, “Who is my neighbor?” but “What kind of neighbor am I?”
Jesus challenges us not to ask who is worthy of love, but whether we are acting in love.
This is the heart of God’s law: not ritual, not status, not theology alone, but love in action. Compassion that crosses lines. Mercy that costs something. Sacrifice that expects no reward.
Now, we could just stop right there, but we need to go deeper. Scripture is designed to make us think, to drive us past our preconceptions of what things are and look toward what things should be. The significant bit here is that it is a Samaritan who does good. The Samaritan is showing what must be done.
Another essential thing to keep in mind is that Jesus flips the script on everything. The lawyer asked, “Who is my neighbor?” However, as I mentioned a few moments ago, this story prompts us to ask, “What kind of neighbor am I?” This makes it personal.
For those of us who can remember back to the 1980s, you might recall that it was all the rage to wear bracelets with “WWJD” on them, meaning “What Would Jesus Do?” I understand the concept behind it, but it also represents poor theology. It’s great to be in a situation where you look down at your wrist, pause, and think, ‘ What would Jesus do in this situation? ‘
Now, I said it’s bad theology and the main reason for that statement is that none of us is Jesus! The question is not what Jesus would do, but “what does Jesus want us to do?” And that brings us back to the law: love God, love neighbor. And this, my friends, brings us back to the original question, “Who is our neighbor?” And the short answer is that anyone in need is eligible.
Your neighbor is the person next door, but it is also the guy down the street struggling with food insecurity. It’s the couple who just lost a baby and need someone to talk to. It’s the homeless vet who needs a meal. It’s the person who is going to lose their health insurance because some politicians in DC, who do not even know their name, decide they are unworthy. It’s the young teen who is struggling with their own sexuality and is looking for acceptance and not judgment. It’s the families who lost loved ones in a flood, and it’s Ukrainians and Gazans who daily have to deal with bombs dropping on their heads. In short, the entire world is our neighbor.
Now, I hear you, and right now you are saying, preacher, that’s a lot to put on me. You’re right, it is, but that’s what loving your neighbor means. Later on in the Gospel, Jesus expands this to add, “as yourself.” We are to love our neighbor and care for them as we would want someone to care for us.
Now that we know what we are supposed to do, how do we do it?
Last time, I quoted Gandhi: ‘If you want the world to be different, we have to be different.’ Love more, care more, and so on. It begins with us and our disposition.
It’s challenging for our 21st-century minds to comprehend the radical nature of Jesus’ message truly. The first-century world was characterized by class separation, and one did not typically move from one social class to another. But along comes Jesus and “flips the script.” He broke down walls, and he built bigger tables. He ate with sinners. And he called out the establishment by calling them a brood of vipers. Jesus never challenged the civil government. We see Jesus rolling over when he is brought before Pilate. They have an exchange, but in the end, he submits to it.
Jesus challenged the religious leaders and the religious practices and doctrines of his day. Jesus sets the stage for what He wants us to do, and I mentioned it last week: we need to hold each other and our leaders accountable. We are called to challenge the status quo; we are to flip over tables that need to be flipped, and then we need to build new ones, larger ones, where there is room for all.
Jesus preached love, and he preached radical hospitality and inclusion. Jesus did not care so much about who was in; Jesus cared about who was left out. I said last week that when Jesus said ‘follow me,’ he was not walking toward the rich; he was walking toward the poor. He was walking toward that single parent struggling to make ends meet. He was walking toward the immigrant, scared for their very life. He was walking toward the senior citizen who had to decide between food and life-saving medication. He was walking toward those on the margins and those who have no voice. Jesus was walking towards the ones we step over so we don’t get our hands dirty. Jesus is the Samaritan in the story!
Radical Inclusivity (RI) must include all, everyone, without question. RI must challenge the major, fundamental, and deeply rooted Christian beliefs, doctrines, and theologies at the heart of society. RI recognizes, values, loves, and celebrates people on the margins. RI recognizes harm done in the name of God. RI is intentional and creates ministry on the margins. The primary goal of RI is not to imitate or change the mainline church but rather to be church. RI requires a new way of seeing and a new way of being.
Radical inclusivity is what got Jesus nailed to that cross!
My friend and Scottish theologian Peter Nimmo says, “The Good Samaritan is a radical story about someone we don’t think of as one of us showing us how to do good.”
My friends, the Good Samaritan is what the church is supposed to be, and I hope it will be very soon. The world needs us now, right now.
Amen
