Who is my neighbor?

I wrote this post differently in my head.

Let me set the stage: There I was, ushering at this morning’s service and (mentally) drafting a new blog post after an… incident.

But then the sermon flipped the post on its head. So here I am revising it.

As I’ve mentioned in other posts, I’ve recently found a home in an Episcopal church in Boston. This is my most recent stop in a decade-long journey across three churches and denominations in the quest to find something that sticks — and a place that leaves me feeling better about myself, and not worse.

But back to the story and the incident that got me writing this post in the first place.

I’ve met a lot of “church people” over the years. Why are there always a few like this?

I’ve been ushering in this church for the past year. As a result, I’ve gotten to know quite a few people, but there are always new faces here and there.

One thing that surprises me about this church is how unimaginably kind everyone I’ve met has been.

Well. Nearly everyone.

I was originally going to go into the gory details, but you’ll soon see that I changed my mind (and for the better). Let me leave you with this: It was another in a growing list of uncomfortable conversations I’ve had with people who clearly disapprove of me based on the little information they have.

It seems lately, I just can't avoid someone who it seems has the chief aim of making me like what I see in the mirror just a bit less.

Before I go on and you think I’m bitter, let me tell you why I changed the post mid-service.

The sermon that changed this post

As I stewed over the conversation, came up with quips I should have said, and mulled over the right hook for this post, the sermon began.

Today’s scripture reading was the parable of the Good Samaritan from Luke, Chapter 10:

"A certain man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and he fell among robbers, who both stripped him and beat him, and departed, leaving him half dead.

By chance a certain priest was going down that way. When he saw him, he passed by on the other side. In the same way a Levite also, when he came to the place, and saw him, passed by on the other side.

But a certain Samaritan, as he travelled, came where he was. When he saw him, he was moved with compassion, came to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. He set him on his own animal, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. On the next day, when he departed, he took out two denarii, gave them to the host, and said to him, 'Take care of him. Whatever you spend beyond that, I will repay you when I return.’”

Chances are that whether or not you are a Christian, you are familiar with this story.

And if, like me, you are a Christian, then chances are good that you were raised to see yourself in the Samaritan: an outsider from the religious leaders who provides an example of God’s love that transcends silly boundaries and rules.

This isn’t an incorrect interpretation.

But if you ask me, it’s a little too satisfying and makes us feel too good about ourselves. If there’s one thing you can see about Jesus, it’s that His aim was never purely to make someone else feel good about themselves.

By aligning our view with the different characters, we can draw new meaning from the same well - and sometimes, new challenges.

For instance, by judging the religious leaders and showing sympathy only to the Samaritan, aren't I committing the same sin as the lawyer who asked Jesus the question in the first place? By passing judgment on the priest who passed by the man in the desert, I'm putting myself in the place of those who looked down on others who failed to meet their standards of piety. In this way, the parable is a trap for those who easily cast themselves as the "heroes" of the story while forgetting how easy it is to become the "villain."

But we're also forgetting how crazy this parable is.

In a 21st-century American context, it's easy to miss the subtext of the parable. We hear "Samaritan" and we nod along without the faintest idea how scandalous this was to the original audience. In Jesus’ day, the Samaritans weren’t just outcasts; they were diametrically opposed enemies.

Think cats and dogs... or Republicans and Democrats, if you want to get topical. This wasn't just a shock to the original audience. To hear a story about an "enemy" bestowing grace, compassion, and love would have been a backhanded slap across the face.

These are uncomfortable questions. But that’s the point, isn’t it?

Jesus didn’t tell parables to give us easy answers to life’s questions. He told parables to showcase how challenging life can be while laying a path, brick by brick, for us to walk on.

I’ve been so focused on being the Good Samaritan, I forgot to be a good neighbor

As I listened to the sermon, I realized that while I may be justified in being hurt and taking that hurt to the internet, to do so would be missing the point of the Gospel.

Let me be clear, what the man did is wrong. What others have done to me in the past (and you) is also wrong. And it's all the more damaging when done in the name of Christ.

My intention is not to say that the hurtful barbs thrown my way are actually no big deal. The intention is to highlight that by casting judgment on them, I'm committing the same sin they are, and am likely feeling just as justified in doing so.

Jesus isn't concerned with who's right and who's wrong. He is also not concerned with political affiliations, religious denominations. Jesus is concerned with radical love for God and for others, no less and no more.

To paraphrase, when asked which command is the greatest, Jesus responds, "love the LORD your God with all your heart, and love your neighbor as yourself."

That’s the Gospel. That’s what makes the Gospel so uncomfortable and unpalatable to our society. It's not about having the "right" answer; it's about loving even when loving seems like an impossibility.

To that man, I forgive you and will try to love you as God loves you.