July 11 Sermon: Go and Do Likewise
Sermon, July 11 2010
Holy Covenant UMC
Rev. Kate Hurst Floyd
Luke 10:25-37
Audio clip: Adobe Flash Player (version 9 or above) is required to play this audio clip. Download the latest version here. You also need to have JavaScript enabled in your browser.
Go and do likewise, Jesus tells us.
Love the Lord Your God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind and your neighbor as yourself.
Your neighbor is anyone, especially the one we ignore, who shows mercy and compassion.
Go, he says, be a good Samaritan, and do likewise.
It’s hard, though, to go and do likewise when we, ourselves, are by the side of the road, not walking by. For the world is full of ditches, and often we find ourselves there:
There’s a woman in a ditch right now. Beaten, robbed, covered in blood and dust, alone on the side of the road, feeling hopeless.
She doesn’t know how she got there.
She had all the markers of success in her life: Captain of her high school basketball team, valedictorian, full ride to her state school. There she was able to balance having a good time with getting her work done, developed an interest in human rights advocacy, and applied to law school. And there she met him, her future husband, and it was pure magic, from the very start.
But now she’s here, all alone, beaten…not physically, but she was so afraid one day he would. He pounded her down emotionally, one insult, threat, and manipulation at a time. He’s slowly robbed her of her friends, close family connections, and her dignity. It’s hard to see clearly because of all the dust in her eyes. She finally left, but has nowhere to go and needs some serious healing.
There’s a man in a ditch. Beaten, robbed, covered in blood and dust, alone on the side of the road, feeling hopeless.
He doesn’t know how he became so alone.
Because he tries, desperately, everything in his power to find connection. It’s not working. He lost his job 6 months ago, due to downsizing….he only has one year of experience in his field, so it’s tough to even get an interview. And he wishes he could talk to his mom about it all, but she’s been gone for 5 years this fall, and his dad’s more the silent type. He sits alone at bars to numb the pain, to search for answers….but he always feels worse the next day. Waking up next to a stranger that he’ll never see again, risking his body and soul in an attempt for connection, however fleeting. His body feels beaten up from the alcohol, he’s robbed of his family ties and financial security, needing somebody to see him for who he is, listen to his story.
A man’s in a ditch, beaten, robbed, covered in blood and dust, alone on the side of the road.
He’s traveling from Jericho to Jerusalem, all by himself. It’s a dangerous road, known to be full of thieves. He knew he shouldn’t have tried to make the journey without others for protection. But he decided to go it alone, thinking he was strong and brave enough to face whatever came without anybody’s help. And just when he thought he was almost there, out of the woods, a group of robbers attacked him from behind. They took everything he had, all he was carrying on his back, his money, his cloak, even his shoes. He’s robbed, and then, when he thought they had taken all that they could, they punched him…in his face, his stomach, all he can remember is severe pain before he blacked out. He came to, tasting the dust in his mouth, unable to lift his head. But he watches as people, men, religious leaders, pass him on by. He gives up and closes his eyes, for he can’t watch people ignore him anymore. It’s a pain as deep as the one in his gut.
He’s in need of healing, someone to care.
We’re in a ditch, all of us, at some point in our lives. Abandoned by people who were supposed to love us, robbed of our jobs, or our health (and/or healthcare), or sense of security and stability. We wake up one day and realize we’ve lost that dream we had as a child, to be a scientist or save the world or to simply be a generous person. Our dream to have a child. We find ourselves robbed of peace, focused instead on jealousy—of people’s money, relationships, appearance, stuff; consumed with greed, wanting to consume more and more; we’re in transition, utterly uncertain about where we are going to live, work, go to school next, with whom we’ll be in relationship—and the unknown scares us to the point of paralysis; We are consumed with grief, over the death of people we love, or a relationship that’s gone, or a place that we call home but can’t return to. It is easy to feel beaten, robbed, covered in blood and dust, alone and feeling hopeless.
And as we sit in our ditches…it’s easy to get really bitter. To watch all the people who should be helping us. At our lowest, there are a lot of people we assume will pull us out. We look to others to save us: Our siblings, childhood friends, partners, our church community. We place our hope in the professionals who should know exactly what we need: doctors and nurses; counselors and social workers; even those religious leaders: pastors and priests, surely they will come near and pull us out, heal us, take us to a place on higher ground. If only the government officials, we think, would get their act together and create more jobs, pass marriage equality, introduce bills on clean energy, our ditches wouldn’t be quite so dusty. We put all of our attention and our hope in people passing us by on the road, and we begin to feel hopeless.
And in this place, we dig our ditches a little further down, so that it’s impossible to see anybody else in pain. The dust in our own eyes blinds us to those who could also use a hand: the hungry, the lonely, the hurting…
We shield ourselves with our own ditches and cross the road to avoid others, not having time or energy to help them out. Often, we pass other people by, afraid to show mercy.
So we find ourselves deep in our ditches, waiting for somebody to save us, devoid of hope.
And just when we’ve given up, when we become consumed with our brokenness, when we think that nobody is going to come by and save us, an unexpected man comes to our rescue. He shows mercy upon us and gives us a peace that passes all understanding. He’s not a doctor or a parent or a friend; not a pastor or a politician; not a priest or a Levite or a Samaritan: He’s a man named Jesus, God come to earth as a human being, spreading love and mercy and saving us. Saving us from ourselves, from our hopelessness, from our ditches.
For when we feel abandoned, beaten up and robbed, covered in dust and blood, Jesus is the one who has mercy upon us. He never passes us by, but always, always, wraps us in his comforting arms and shows us mercy:
The woman will still have a difficult past of emotional abuse, a tragic and unconscionable experience. But when she grounds her hope in Jesus Christ, she will begin to heal. She’ll forgive herself, and recognize that Jesus wills abundant life for her—she’ll no longer feel guilty for leaving, for a “failed marriage”, because she’ll believe that she deserves mutual love and respect. She’ll be able to let go of anger and turn that energy to love, sharing hope with others by starting a response line for victims of emotional abuse, telling them it’s ok to be angry. She’ll ground her life in the hope of healing instead of the bitterness of anger.
The man will still be unemployed, still be grieving his mother.
But because of the mercy and love of Jesus, he’ll no longer seek fulfillment in bottomless drinks and meaningless sex. As he reads scripture about Jesus’ call to community, his blessings on the humble and poor, he’ll find a community of faith to find fulfillment. There he will dare to be loved for who he is, without hiding his troubles. He’ll connect with other job seekers and find companions on the difficult journey. He’ll find a prayer partner when he’s tempted to drink, who’ll remind him that his strength is in Jesus, not alcohol, and who will accompany him to an AA meeting.
He’ll miss his mom, every day of his life. But when he grounds his life, his hope, in Jesus Christ, he’ll live with the peace that she is living eternal, abundant life, reconciled with God, and that one day he will too. In the meantime, he’s not alone with his grief, but held by the comfort of God’s grace.
We will still be broken human beings, flawed and forgetful, jealous and complicit, ignoring people’s pain. Tragic events will happen to us, from a terrible recession to a shocking loss. But through the mercy of Jesus Christ, we will stop being so afraid all the time. We will hear the call “blessed are the peacemakers” and turn anxiety into trust and faith. Through prayer and scripture and community, we’ll know that we are never really alone. We’ll know that we are loved for exactly who we are, and stop trying to fill our insecurity with things that are destructive. We’ll learn to forgive, ourselves and others, and be free from anger. We’ll stop seeing the scarcity of what we don’t have (a 2 bedroom condo, a husband, a healthy heart) and we’ll see through a lens of gratitude and abundance: our friends, enough food for the day, the unconditional love of God, and the hope that new life is just around the corner.
We’ll live with hope instead of bitterness, for we know a new day is coming.
Jesus is right here, right now, holding us in our ditches. Healing us and carrying us out. We don’t do anything to deserve it or make it happen. All we have to is recognize it. Clear the dust from our eyes and see Jesus’ mercy upon us. He’s already here, with us.
Because the thing about ditches is that they are deep caverns of dirt and dust. And the world tells us that dust is the end, futility is the final word, death rules the day. But God, through Jesus, transforms the death of dust into new and abundant life. So that healing, hope, and mercy have the final word. Through him, our ditches become places of resurrection, where we are held, healed, and given new life. Because of Jesus, dust will never be the same.
All we have to do is love the Lord our God with all our hearts, minds, strength and souls.
When we do this, we will be able to love our neighbors as ourselves…. For only when we know and believe this mercy, when we ground ourselves in the goodness and unconditional love of God, can we possibly show mercy to others. When we do, we will know it is not our own mercy that we share, but God’s.
And when we are able to share God’s mercy, like the Samaritan on the road to Jerusalem, when we love our neighbors as ourselves, we’ll gain a whole new appreciation for the depths of God’s mercy. The commandment is a dual one: we love God and we love ourselves and others; we love ourselves and others and we love God. We won’t be perfect; we’ll overlook others and others will overlook us. But when we ground ourselves in this commandment, our outlook will change: we’ll see grace instead of judgment and be inspired to do better next time. To see the world as God sees it, and offer forgiveness and compassion.
So today, let’s leave this place as a people transformed by the mercy of Jesus Christ, who in turn transform the world. For when we see the world as a place filled not with dust and ditches and death, but a world transformed by unconditional love, mercy, and hope, we can’t help but spread that good news. To be a people who live out of resurrection and change the world.
So let us love the Lord our God with all our hearts, minds, strength, and souls, and love our neighbor as ourselves.
Go and do likewise.
Amen.
Tags: Kate
