The Way Forward: Kindness
The Way Forward: Kindness
Luke 10;25-37
So, I was out walking Echo, my dog, the other day, which should not come as a surprise to anyone who knows me. This day happened to be one of the beautiful days that we’ve had of late. Mentally, I quickly slipped into my “reflective” frame of mind and Echo and I hit our stride. Right away though, we came around a corner and there was a dog—one that I recognized. Clearly, so did Echo. The two of them sniffed each other up and then began hopping around together in the dust of the trail. This dog was a rescue dog. No dog ever looks happier to be in Open Lands.
Not long after the dog appeared, her owner came around the corner—a really nice guy who I always enjoy. He’s probably my age or maybe a tad older. That means he’s very young! Anyway, we greeted each other and began doing what he and I do—talking about our dogs and dogs in general. I think, if memory serves me right, that this dog is his first dog. Anyway, we were about done talking about dogs when I asked a question that threw him: “How are you?” He was startled for a second, I think because neither of us had ever asked the other that question before. “How am I? I’m fine. My wife, though, is not so good…”
For those of you who were here last week to hear the sermon on sympathy, empathy, and compassion, you might realize the apparently rare moment here when the pastor actually was apparently listening to his own sermon and taking it seriously. For whatever reason, it was okay…just for a moment…to break the rules of engagement in Open Lands and open that empathic door: “So what’s going on with your wife?”
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So, the Pharisees were on the hunt for Jesus, looking for some way to trip him up, to expose him for the fraud and the blasphemer that they were convinced he was. They ask Jesus what they must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus asks them a question back: “You’re the religious experts. You’re the lawyers. What does God’s law say?” And, because it is always possible to know the right answer to a question without ever living that answer, the Pharisees answer right away: “That you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence—and that you love your neighbor as well as you do yourself.” “Good answer!”Jesus says. I always picture a smile on Jesus face: “Now all you have to is do that!” (In the battle between “knowing” and “doing,” doing is almost always the bigger challenge!) Then, the Pharisee asks one more question: “And just how do you define “neighbor?”
(Lawyers, always looking for loopholes…)
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So, my Open Lands friend starts to tell me the story of his wife’s trials. She has mild cognitive impairment. Mostly, she’s done okay. A couple of days before she had taken the car to go do some shopping, one of the things that makes her still feel at least a little independent. Normally, she would have been gone for half an hour, traveling to one store, shopping, and heading right home. After an hour and a half, my friend’s phone rang. It was his wife. She was in the car and pulled over to the side of the road. She had absolutely no idea where she was.
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Jesus answers the Pharisee’s question by telling them a story (a story that we all know from Sunday School.) A man is walking from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way, he is attacked by robbers. They took everything, including his clothes. They beat him up and left him laying by the side of the road. The poor guy was half dead. Good news, though! A priest was coming down the road! The problem is that a half-dead, naked guy laying by the side of the road doesn’t make anyone comfortable. Also, the priest had meetings to get to. He needed to get on with the business of ministry. He cut across the street and walked right past the man. Good news, though! A Levite, someone super-well schooled in the law, the kind of guy who would know all about loving God and loving your neighbor came along next. The problem was that he was just as uncomfortable with this needy, naked guy. He walked on by.
Now, just in case we get all “haughty” and “judgy” toward the priest and the Levite, we need to be honest and say, we’ve all done the same thing. We see the homeless guy and think to ourselves, “I prefer my people in need to be a little cleaner and better smelling.” We cut off eye contact and move on by. A couple of weeks ago, a guy showed up on Sunday morning before church and was in need. My first thought—and I’m not proud of this—was, “I’m too busy.” Then, in horror, I realized, “Oh, my God, I can’t help someone because I’m setting up chairs?” I helped him after all.
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I assume that there were plenty of people who noticed the confused looking woman standing next to her car and talking in a really upset way on the phone. How many people heard her words about not knowing where she was? How many people heard her say, “I just want to get home?”
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As we all know, because Jesus’ story becomes known as “The Parable of the Good Samaritan,” after the priest and the Levite pass by, along comes a Samaritan. Samaritans were considered unclean and were suspects for trouble, not your usual heroes. The listener’s response hearing that a Samaritan was on the way would have been, “Oh no! What’s he going to do, finish the man off?” If Jesus story had been a melodrama, the crowd of listeners would have been booing at this point.
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Imagine my friend’s dilemma. His wife has no idea where she is. She is panicked and he is growing more panicked by the moment, himself: “Honey, is there anyone around you who looks like they might help?” In his mind’s eye, he had to be imagining the worst. That’s when he heard a couple approaching his wife. He heard them ask her, “We couldn’t help but notice that you look confused and maybe a little upset. Can we help you?” “I have no idea where I am?” The couple must have exchanged a look with one another, the kind of look that said, “Oh man, what are we getting into here?” They didn’t leave, though. Instead, they asked the confused woman, “So, who’s on the phone?” “My husband,” she answered. “Can we talk to him?”
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The Samaritan comes down the road, sees the man, and comes to him. As soon as he saw the man, we are told, “his heart went out to him.” He feels compassion for the suffering of another human being. Compassion moves him to kindness. He takes concrete action, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. After all, doesn’t that seem like the least a person can do?
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When the couple was willing to get on the phone with my friend, that seemed huge to him. In fact, it meant the world. “Where were they,” he asked. “Edgewater,” they answered, “and it is not particularly safe here. We’re worried about her.” Together, they came up with a plan. They would call an Uber. He talked his wife into giving them her credit card: “It’s okay honey. I think these people are our friends.” They took the woman and her car to a nearby Whole Foods, talked to the manager, got him to agree to allow them to park the car in the store’s parking lot overnight, and assured him that the woman’s husband would be there tomorrow to pick up the car. Then, they waited for the Uber to come, got her tucked into the car, and called my friend back to say that everything was going to be okay.
Edgewater? His wife had never been past Highland Park. With all the terrible things that could have happened to her, instead, she runs into people who care. The thing is though, they don’t just care. They just keep on caring. Unbelievable…” He thought to himself. “Unbelievable…”
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That’s the thing about the Samaritan, too. It would have been enough for most people to clean up the man’s wounds and bandage him up. “That’s pretty nice,” we’d think. The thing is that then he puts the poor man on the back of his donkey and takes him to the nearest inn. He spent the night with him and took care of him. In the morning, he found the innkeeper, gave him some money, and said, “Take good care of him. If it costs more than this money, just put it on my bill. I will pay you on my way back.”
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The next morning, my friend got up early. He had made arrangements with a friend to be driven to Edgewater to pick up his car in the Whole Foods parking lot. However, when he got up and looked out the window, his car was sitting in his driveway. There was a note from the couple. They said that they got to talking about things and realized that it would be really scary for his wife after such a hard day if he had to leave to go into the city. They picked up the keys that were with the manager in case he needed to move the car. The drove the car up themselves. Then, they took an Uber back home.
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One thing that I can say with confidence is that if your faith makes you meaner, if it makes you more judgmental, and if the net effect is that you are less kind, then I’m pretty sure that you’re not following Jesus of Nazareth. That’s the really interesting thing about my friend’s story. They were twenty-somethings in the city. What are the chances that they had darkened the doors of a church lately? I have no idea what they believe or what their thoughts on care would be. What I do know is that they get it—they understand what it means to be a caring person, probably much better than a lot of those who have been schooled—religously— to care. Someone needed their help. They were going to help and they were not going to stop until they were convinced that this person was safe. Period. End of story. That’s what we are called to do—care lavishly, act with loving kindness, make sure the the lost find their way home.
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“Can you believe it,” my friend asked. He has no idea that I’m a pastor and I’m kind of big on the whole belief and caring and kindness thing. I didn’t want to spoil his whole day by telling him. (When I do, people always start apologizing for swearing earlier…) I just looked at him and said, “Wow, it warms my heart to think that there are people who care like that in places where we’ve grown to expect that no one will care at all.”
Whatever else we do, we have to be a church that cares. We have to be kind. Period. End of story.
Jesus asks the Pharisees, who was a neighbor to the wounded man? “The Samaritan,” they answered. “Go and do the same.”