Sixth Sunday after Pentecost
June 30, 2024

The Right Question Makes All the Difference

Tom Are Jr.
Interim Pastor

James 1:22–24
Luke 10:25–37

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What must I do to inherit eternal life?

In other words, What is my life for? What is this faith about?

What does it mean for us to be Christian? To join the church, you are asked to confess faith in Jesus Christ. But I have learned something about that confession. I have learned that confessing Jesus as Lord means that Jesus’ life shapes every moment. The Christian life requires more than my standing before the Session once and saying as much; the Christian life requires my standing before God every day and living this confession.

But what does that mean for us today?

I ask because in some ways faithfulness has changed over the years.

I asked my grandmother if we could go to the pool. She said, “Of course not.” First of all, the pool wasn’t open on Sunday. She was right about that. Blue Laws in those South Carolina days closed the pool and the grocery store, just about everything but the church. She continued, “Even if the pool was open, no child of this house will go to the pool on Sunday. Sunday is a day of rest. Just watching you in the pool wears me out.”

Times have changed.

There was a time when I understood my faith in intellectual terms. Being Christian was about getting my beliefs right. But following Jesus is about more than just a matter of the mind. Following Jesus is more than getting our thoughts right. It’s about getting our relationships right.

For much of my ministry, questions of faith have revolved around the inclusion of the LGBTQ community. Within our denomination, you here at Fourth Church have been seen as leaders in that work, and I am grateful that we have some folks marching in the Pride Parade this morning bearing witness for all of us. There are still those who, because of their politics or because of their theology, do not provide welcome to this community, but you have known the church is always stronger when we are known for who we let in rather than who we keep out.

But folks are in the parade today because the work is not something we complete. It is something we advance, and it should not be lost that things are better than they were at one time and yet even those advances remain threatened, so there remains work to be done.

So, it’s worth asking, What does faith ask of us today? It’s worth asking, because to be Christian is to follow Jesus, and as followers we should be mindful that we are always in the following position. Jesus is always ahead of us. I have come to resonate with Maya Angelou, who once said, “When people tell me that they are Christian, I think to myself, ‘Already?!’” I like that. Am I saved, am I redeemed, am I claimed by God’s grace? Absolutely. Am I Christian? I am on the way.

The lawyer had a question for Jesus. I have been told a good litigator never asks a question that she doesn’t already know the answer to.

Our lawyer is from the same school of thought.

What must I do?

Jesus put the question back to him: What do you think?

Our Bible scholar quotes scripture. “You shall love God with all that you are and love your neighbor as yourself.” That comes right out of Leviticus, just in case you haven’t read Leviticus lately.

Jesus says, “That’s exactly right.” It would have been a good place to stop.

But it’s hard to stop when the teacher tells you how smart you are. So, he asks another question: Who is my neighbor? Of all you people out there, how do I define neighbor? It was a question being asked in Jesus’ day. Are my neighbors those who live near me? Are my neighbors those who need me the most? Do my neighbors share my view of the world, are they members of my family? How do I know who is my neighbor and who is not?

In Jesus’ day, as well as in ours, meaningful relationships — neighbors — were often understood to be those who had a capacity to mutually enrich each other. They were not one-way relationships; they existed with some reciprocity.

We all have friendship like this. This is actually our predominant form of friendship. Most friendships have some give-and-take. If you pick up lunch this time? Well, let me get it next time. There’s a degree of reciprocity. That’s healthy. That’s good. There is a bond in sharing the load of life with one another. It’s less common to have friendships where you pick up the lunch check every single time. It happens, but it’s less common.

Reciprocal relationships are good. But Jesus has something else in mind.

There was a man going from Jerusalem to Jericho, he said. He’s beaten and left for dead.

A priest comes by, then a Levite: you know this story, they pass by on the other side. Why do they do that?

Well, they had their reasons. You may not think they are good reasons, but they had their reasons. Some scholars note religious purity laws, also recorded in the book of Leviticus, come into play here. Purity law forbids a priest from touching a corpse — even if it is a family member. Much of the law existed to limit contact of the righteous with others (Luke Timothy Johnson, Luke, p. 173). So, when a priest or Levite sees someone who may be dead already, passing by may be expected (Charles Cousar and Beverly Gaventa, Texts for Preaching: Year C, p. 427). They may have wanted to stop and help, but they were called to be obedient to the law.

Other scholars say hogwash. They find it shocking that allegiance to ritual purity would be used as an excuse for failing to help someone in need. As Luke Timothy Johnson has said, any good Jew would help (Johnson, Luke, p. 173)

That makes sense to me, but what I find most compelling is the fact that the priests are caught between “duty and duty” (Fred Craddock, Interpretation Commentaries: Luke, p. 151). There is the duty to follow the purity laws and the duty to help one in need. How do you choose?

The church I served in Jacksonville, Florida, sat across from a public park that was often inhabited by unhoused neighbors. One Sunday morning, a fellow from the park walked into our worship service while the choir was singing. He walked down the aisle, knelt on the front step, opened his arms wide, and cast his eyes to the ceiling. No one was listening to the choir anymore.

Davis, one of our ushers, came down and invited the man out of the chancel. He gave him a cup of coffee and a sweet roll. Before long he found his way back to the park.

Everything worked out OK, but it raised a debate in the congregation: what was the Christian thing to do? “He just came to pray,” Doug said. “It’s a house of prayer. Who were we to interrupt his prayer?” Sylvia said, “He’s welcome, but he should not disrupt the entire service. Everyone came to pray, but no one can pray when worship is disrupted like that. It’s too uncomfortable.” Duty and duty. How do you choose?

We all know about that tension. You’re at work and your kid’s game has already started. Your job or your family? Duty and duty. How do you choose? No matter what you choose, you will unavoidably pass by on the other side of one duty or the other.

Surprisingly, in our story it is a Samaritan who chooses to stop.

Then Jesus asks, “Who was the neighbor?” It’s an easy call for our Bible student. “The one who showed him mercy,” he beams.

Once again, our law expert is right.

The story begins because the lawyer asks, Who is my neighbor? Among all those people out there, what characteristics do they need to qualify as my neighbor? Is it my kin or my tribe or my family?

Is it those who can reciprocate neighborliness?

Is it those who are in need and likely have no capacity of reciprocity?

No matter how you answer, you will end up with neighbors and non-neighbors.
The lawyer asked, Who is my neighbor?

But Jesus asks, Who was the neighbor?

Do you hear it? It turns the question upside down.

The lawyer is looking at them; Jesus is looking at us. Neighbor, as Jesus sees it, is not defined by a circumstance in the crowds; it is a character in the Christian.

If I understand the text, the point of this story is that following Jesus is not about who they are; it’s about us. The only life you can be Christian with is yours.

I read about the Reverend Fuad Bahnan. Forty years ago, Bahnan was pastor of a small church in Beirut, Lebanon. In 1983 the armies of Israel marched into Lebanon. Anticipating that the armies would lay siege to Beirut, Bahnan’s congregation purchased and stockpiled large amounts of food. The siege came. West Beirut was totally cut off. Little food was allowed in, somewhat like in Gaza today. The Session of the church met to make arrangements for distributing the food they had stockpiled. They all assumed they would share the food with their own congregation, and if there was additional, with other Christians in Beirut, and if there was still more, with Muslims in the city.

But then, a much-respected elder — a woman — stood before them and said, “If we do not demonstrate the love of Christ in this moment, who will?”

After she spoke, they decided they would share their food with Muslims first. If there was food left over, they would share it with other Christians in Beirut. And if there was any left over, they would share it with their own congregation. It stunned the city (Michael Lindvall, The Christian Life, p. 126).

Who is my neighbor, he asked, but Jesus wants to know who was a neighbor?

Neighbor is not defined by some quality in the crowd, but by character in the Christian.

It’s Pride Month. For my entire ministry our denomination has done Bible study, and passed motions, and prayed and preached about who can be included and who can’t. What characteristics are required to be included in the church.

Through all of that, the clearest place the love of Christ showed up is among our LGBTQ siblings who remained, who refused to give up on a church that took her sweet time to decide if they were worthy to be our neighbors. In their faithfulness and devotion they showed us the same quality Jesus wants to see in us all.

Who is my neighbor?

It was the wrong question. It’s always been the wrong question.

Neighbor is not defined by who they are, no matter who the “they” of the day may be. Neighbor is defined by who we are. This dream that Jesus has for us — that we would see one another as neighbors — it is no easy thing.

But we are on the way. I think we are.

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Sermon © Fourth Presbyterian Church