One of the parables that we hear Jesus tell in the Gospel of Saint Luke (10: 29-37) is that of the Good Samaritan. In it, a traveler, implied to be a Jew, is stripped of his clothing, beaten, and left for dead alongside the road. First a priest comes by, but he does not help the man. Then a Levite comes by, who also does not help the man. Finally, a Samaritan comes by, and he helps the injured man, cleans his wounds, and pays for his care at an inn. It actually loses a lot of its impact when we read it through modern eyes, despite still being rather provocative.
Let’s start with the most obvious thing to an ancient reader, if he or she was a Jew. The Jews and Samaritans hate one another. In fact, the few remaining Samaritans in the Middle East, still loathe the Jews to this day. The Samaritans claim to hold the true religion of ancient Israel, from before the Babylonian Exile, preserved by those who remained in Israel, as opposed to Judaism, which they view as being tainted, altered, and otherwise influenced by the Pagan faiths of Babylon. Furthermore, they believe that the most holy place in their faith is Mount Gerizim, as opposed to most Jews, who hold that to be Jerusalem, where Solomon’s Temple once stood.
To the good Jew, a Samaritan was someone to be avoided; when the lawyer replies in the parable as to who helped the traveler, he says “the one who had mercy on him”, possibly showing that he was unwilling to even use the term “Samaritan”. They were heretics of the highest order (even accused of desecrating the Temple in the early first century), held different traditions, and a mutual distrust of their Jewish neighbors. So the idea that one would step in and help a beaten Jewish man on the side of the road seemed to be mind blowing, even in a parable form. The priest and Levite were among the most upstanding people in ancient Israelite culture, but they skirted the other side of the road, but the man who should hate him on principle is the one who was moved by compassion.
This brings us to the second point that the audience would have understood well, and has been cited by the likes of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. during his own trip to the Holy Land. The road from Jerusalem to Jericho, which our unfortunate traveler was attacked upon, is windy and filled with spots where one is easily ambushed. In the time of Jesus it was known as the “bloody pass”. It’s entirely possible that the priest and the Levite weren’t uncaring of their fellow man, or afraid of ritual uncleanliness if they touched a corpse, but rather could have been afraid of the possibility that it was a ruse and that they too would suffer assault and robbery by the forces that had assailed him. Thus, they kept away. However, the Samaritan, the one with nothing to gain by helping this Jew, is the one who would risk his life for a fellow traveler who had been attacked and left for dead.
Over the years, many have held this parable to be an allegory for Heaven and our trip there, from Saints Augustine and Origen, to some in the modern day. Others, however, say it tells us how we should behave as followers of Christ. Saint Cyril of Alexandria pointed out we learn to wear a “crown of love” by first showing such love to our neighbors, as the Good Samaritan showed to the Jew. Twentieth century Presbyterian theologian Francis Schaeffer used the parable to point out that Christians are, “not to love their believing brothers to the exclusion of their non-believing fellowmen.” And of course, Dr. Martin Luther King pointed out, in addition to how easy it would be to rob someone on the road, that the compassion of saving the man is only an initial act, but what if we were able to transform the whole of the road to Jericho to assure it never happened again?
What we now face is the crippling fear of the priest and the Levite. Governors are up in arms, demanding we take no refugees from Syria, people who have no place to go. Common citizens are proclaiming Christ’s name while marching outside of mosques with firearms to demand we not take in refugees. Some are afraid we’ll taint our purity as a nation by letting in Muslims, or people from “over there”. To those who do so in Christ’s name, I ask you these two questions. Do you love your neighbor as yourself? Who is your neighbor?
In the parable of the Good Samaritan, the one who followed the Law, the one who was a good neighbor, was the one who was not welcome amongst the Jews. Now, people come to our shores. They are downtrodden, physically and emotionally exhausted, bruised, beaten, bloodied, and filled with enough bad memories and post-traumatic stress that their whole lives may be spent in the shadow of their journey. Will we pass them by as the priest and the Levite did? Or will we be like the Samaritan and offer aid? Will we follow the advice of the likes of Schaeffer and King, Cyril and Christ? How would we feel in the place of these people, who are quite literally running for their lives? And to paraphrase the French officer in the film The Patriot, is our sense of freedom, as pale as our skin?
As I write this, French President Francois Hollande has announced he will take an additional 30,000 refugees above what France had initially pledged. France, who was battered and bruised upon the road, is willing to return the favor of others, and help those who need it most. France, who actually has a reason to be afraid, is willing to stand firm and be the neighbor to the travelers who flee from those who would leave them for dead. Meanwhile, despite what the plaque may say on the Statue of Liberty’s base, America wants to stand by idly; we are now paralyzed by a fear of, “your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free.” We fear we will become “unclean”, and we fear that we’ll be hurt if we help.
Perhaps we need to remember the parable of the Good Samaritan and what it means to be a good neighbor. And perhaps, in addition to the words of Jesus, we need to remember one final quote from Dr. King, as our nation descends into a dark place over this issue, “darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.” And perhaps we should also take the time then, to remember three simple words. Deus Caritas Est. God Is Love.
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