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 PRAYING WITH PAUL - The actual passage is shaped around five
questions; a sort of question, counter-question dialogue:
1. What must I do to inherit eternal life?
2. What is written in the law?
3. What do you read there?
4. And who is my neighbor?
5. Which of these three was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of
robbers?
The entire story is set in subterfuge: "A lawyer stood up to
test Jesus" (v.25).
Odd-the lawyer’s question does not seem to make sense, "What must I DO to
INHERIT eternal life?" If eternal life was something to be inherited, then what
requirements or obligations would be necessary? How can one earn what is given freely,
such as an inheritance?
Seems that the lawyer’s question, "Who is my neighbor?" is the
politically correct way of saying, "Who is NOT my neighbor?" Or "Where can
I draw the line that ends our compassion and hesed toward others?" Who’s
on our NOT neighbor list?
The driver in the left lane on a freeway who insists
on driving the speed limit;
The woman who dumps a her groceries on the ten items or less counter
The owner of the crinkled bumper sticker slapped on the back of his ’84
Plymouth that reads, "God, guns, and guts, that’s what made America great."
 I become overwhelmed by the sheer number of "neighbor" issues. Heart
strings are pulled toward a specific need but then the commercial changes and I’m
back to my program. Is it possible to go to church, as our lawyer went to synagogue, to
understand the "right" answer found in the Torah and in our "Good
News," but never intending to transform the gospel into action during the week?
What does the good Samaritan look like today? You may want to sketch a pew-friendly
version of good Samaritan persons and ministries as a way for your listeners to connect
story to action.
 Two ways to ask the question, "Who is my neighbor?" 1) the
clenched-fist, crossed-arm way; and 2) the open palmed, extended-hand way. What nuance
does the question carry when we/our congregations/our communities ask the question?
People in one southern European country was recently on the news - two homes in a small
rural community had been purchased as a place to offer hospice care for children infected
with the AIDS virus; the "who-is-NOT-my-neighbor" question was answered with
stones, graffiti, hurtful epithets, and a show of force against these newcomers.
Isn’t there a deep-seated issue that lies under the surface of this passage that
is concerned with theological correctness vis-à-vis active compassion? On one side, the
lawyer by his very title suggests that he is an expert in the Torah. Being theologically
correct is a high priority for the man; such lawyers were keepers of the Truth, keepers of
Tradition; the ones who keep the rest of us on track; they have a valuable place in
religious communities;
On the other side, lawyer types can be so concerned with getting it right that when it
comes to theological correctness versus human compassion and involvement, keepers of Truth
tend to come down on the side of being right rather than being compassionate-if theology
and compassion are ever at odds; "Sorry, ma’am/sir, but that’s the law,
that’s the rules; I can’t break or bend them."
But what about compassion? Are there occasions in our life when we are faced with a
dilemma of being theologically sacra sanct, traditional, either playing it by the book or
acting out of compassion - even when that act violates our own sense of theological
correctness? The story of the Good Samaritan seems to move in this direction; it seems to
address this tension between correctness and compassion.
When have we been more interested in right answers than in right action?
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