Sermon - Rev. Leah D. Schade
“The Man on the Jericho Road”
July 19, 2006
Text:  Luke 10:25-37 (The Good Samaritan)

(Pastor is “in character” as elderly Jewish man; wears a Middle Eastern outer tunic and white beard.  Holds cane.  Chair is at center stage.)

You tell this parable called "The Good Samaritan."  Let me tell you, in my day, that was a contradiction of terms.  There was no such thing as a "good" Samaritan.  How do I know?

Let’s see, how does your parable begin? “A certain man was traveling.”  That man was me.  I was that “certain man.”  Let me tell you my story.

I was going down the road from Jerusalem to Jericho.  I was going to visit my daughter and my son-in-law.  There were a struggling young couple at the time with a little boy, no more than eight or nine at the time.  So I decided to visit them and bring them  . . . a little something to help them through this rough time.  My wife, she told me not to go.  Or at least not to go alone.  The Jericho Road is dangerous one, a winding mountain road, descending steeply some three thousand feet in fifteen miles.  Everyone knows that it is a hiding place of thieves and bandits.  But, stubborn man that I am, I decided to make the trip.  All was going fine, until I walked around a sharp curve and some robbers sprang out from behind a rock. 

Not only did they take the money meant for my daughter.  They took my cloak, they beat me with sticks . . . I have never been in such pain.  They left me for dead there on the side of the road.  I was barely conscious as I lay there.  I could taste the blood on my lips.  My one eye had swollen shut.  And it was very hard to breathe, so I figured they must have cracked my ribs.  I could hear them laughing as they ran off.

I don't know how long I lay there.  Minutes . . . hours, who knows?  But I did pray.  I prayed to my God.  The God of Abraham and Isaac.  I prayed for deliverance.  And suddenly I heard some footsteps.  I began moaning to get his attention.  I looked and saw it was a priest.  Ah, I knew God would send someone to help me.  The man looked at me from the other side of the road, but it was like . . . he was looking through me.  Like he did not even see me.  I called out to him very weakly, "Please, help."  But he just passed me by.  I did not understand why God would send such a man, his own servant, only to have him pass by.  How could God allow this?

And so I continued to lay there.  By now I was getting very thirsty.  The robbers had taken my bag of water.  Not that I would have been able to get to it anyway.  But oh, how I prayed even harder for God to deliver me. 

Soon I heard footsteps again.  Faster this time.  Obviously this person was in a hurry.  I looked up and saw it was a young Levite.  Ah, God was sending this young man instead to help me in my time of need!   Fine, fine!  I tried to raise my hand, but it only moved a little.  The young man stopped, obviously startled to see me.  He cocked his head and took a step towards me.  But then he, too, turned and kept walking.  What?  Did he think I was already dead and did not want to become unclean by touching a dead body? 

Was God not listening to me?  Could God not see that I was going to die out here?  Night would soon be falling.  I would never survive until morning.  That was when I started to cry.  I would never see my daughter and grandson again.  Never see my wife.  I would die and not even receive a proper burial, for the jackals and vultures would surely tear my body to bits and carry it to the far corners of the desert. 

I lay there and had almost fallen asleep when I again heard footsteps.  But not human.  Donkey.  Someone was passing by on a donkey.  Hope stirred for a moment in me . . . until I saw who it was riding the donkey.  A Samaritan.  Now God, I thought, now I am beginning to think that you are downright cruel.   You deny me the help of a priest and a Levite, and then mock me by sending this half-breed to pass me by?  Oh, the bitter irony. 

You don’t know what Samaritan is, do you?  Ah, you tell this parable, you don’t even know what it means!  I am a Jew.  Samaritans are unclean, religious heretics.  The hatred between our peoples is centuries old.  It goes back to the time of Moses, when they broke away from the Jews and claimed to be the bearers of the true faith as laid out in the Torah.  Ridiculous, of course.  What arrogance.  And what a shame, really.  We share the same religious heritage.  But  . . . well, it’s been too long with too much bad blood between us now.  There is no hope of our two peoples ever getting along.

I took one look at that Samaritan, him with his fancy, rich clothes, and his donkey . . if I would have had the strength, I would have spat.  But I could only turn my face away in disgust.

And then I heard the donkey stop.  I heard the half-breed dismount.  He started walking over to me.  I pretended to be dead at that point.  What an insult – to have this slime laugh at my condition as I lay dying.  I could feel him standing over me, probably smirking.

And then he bent down, and rolled me on my back.  I kept my eyes closed.  And then he walked away.  I thought, good, at least he’ll leave me to die in peace.  But no, he came back!  He put a rolled up cloth under my head as a pillow.  And he began untying my undergarment.  I jerked away.  But he laid a hand on my forehead and said, “I’m not going to hurt you.  Now be still.”

He first gave me a drink of water.  How cool and life-saving it tasted going down my parched throat.  Then he poured oil and wine on my wounds - wine for antiseptic, oil for balm.  Then he bandaged my wounds. And then, very carefully, he lifted me up, and carried me to his donkey.  I lay with my head against the donkey’s mane.  It was a painful ride.  But that man walked alongside, all the way down the road until we came to an inn.  Barely conscious, I heard him talking to the innkeeper.  I saw him hand over two denarri - two day’s wages.  And he promised to provide more as needed, if the innkeeper would care for me. They carried me to a bed, and I slept fitfully. 

The next morning when I awoke, the Samaritan was gone.  I ended up staying a full week before I was well enough to make the journey onto Jericho.  But more money was sent to the innkeeper as promised.  Along with a new cloak and even a donkey so that I would not have to walk the rest of the way.

I never saw that man again.  I never learned his name.  Never knew where he came from or where he was going.  But he did send a letter along with the donkey.  I still have that letter.  Would you like me to read it?

To My Enemy:

You are probably wondering why I have done what I did for you.  Why would I help a man who despises me?  Oh, yes, I could from tell the moment I saw your bruised face that you hated me. 

Well, despite our differences, we are both followers of the Torah, which tells us to love our neighbors as ourselves.  I believe that I must love you because we have been given to one another for that purpose.  In some mysterious way, we are gifts to one another.  We were given that singular moment on the Jericho Road, that one chance to encounter each other, with our defense down and our vulnerability laid open. 

I believe I must love you because my life depends upon it.  Not only the life of my body, but the life of my soul.  Until I learn to love you, my enemy, I will remain cut off from the very God I claim to love – the very God who joined us together on that road.  I need to remember that my neighbor sometimes comes disguised as my enemy, and that it is to my own peril if I pass judgment on you, a man in need.

I ask for no repayment in return.  But I do make one request.  Tell others what happened on the Jericho Road.  Tell your people that there is at least one Samaritan who you love and who loves you.  Tell them that if we can become gifts of grace to each other, then there is hope for God in this world.  Tell our story.

Shalom.

I learned some important lessons up there on the Jericho road.  I learned that there are three kinds of people.  There are those who are like the robbers, who say, “What’s yours is mine, and I’ll take it.”  And there are those like the priest and the Levite who say, “What’s mine is mine, and I’ll keep it.” 

And then there are the Good Samaritans of this world who say, “What’s mine is yours, and I’ll share it.”

I did tell my story.  I told it to everyone in the inn.  And when I finally got to my son-in-law’s house, I had to tell them.  They were so worried that I had not arrived.  They had thought I was dead.  “I was dead,” I told them.  “In more ways than one.  But now I am alive.  Truly alive.  God delivered me.  And let me tell you how.”

My grandson listened attentively to that story.  He loved to hear it.  He asked me to tell it over and over.  You know how children are.  You may have heard of my grandson.  We called him Jeshua.  But you know him as Jesus. 

Well, where do you think he got this story.  You think he made it up out of his head?  (Laughs).  Yes, he learned a thing or two from his grandfather.

Now why do I share this story with you?  Because you need to hear this story.  This is not the first time I have visited a place to tell my story.  Often it falls on deaf ears.  But I will keep on telling it.  I told it to one of your own prophets . . . Martin Luther King, Jr.  The Blacks, they were like Samaritans to the Whites.  I told it in Ireland, to the Catholics and Protestants.  I’ve told it in Africa where the tribal hatred is fierce.  I’ve told it in my homeland where the hatred between those ancient peoples have existed for thousands of years.  I tell it to in those places where the animosity between enemies seems so intractable, so bereft of hope. 

I tell them, there is at least one of your enemies who loves you, and whom you can love.  And if you can become gifts of grace to each other, then there is hope for God in this world. Your neighbor is anyone who is in need, regardless of race, color or creed.  You must love everyone without discrimination.  Whoever needs your help is your neighbor, even if they are your enemy. 

I have come a long way to tell you this.  I ask for no repayment in return.  But I do make one request.  Tell others what happened on the Jericho Road.  Shalom.