A reflection on Luke 10:25–37 for Monday of the 27th Week in Ordinary Time.
I think of myself as a loving person. I pray for people and I care about families who are struggling. I know that everyone deserves to be treated with dignity. But as soon as somebody says something rude, I spend twenty minutes figuring out what is wrong with them.
I spend time composing a reply in my thoughts that would set them straight. Most of those replies stay in my head. God can hear them there, which makes my internal claim to be a really good person less than true.
I understand the scholar in today’s Gospel more than I’d like to. He knows the law says to love God with your whole heart and your neighbor as yourself. Jesus tells him to do this and he will live. But the scholar has a follow up question. A real zinger.
“And who is my neighbor?”
Luke says he wants to justify himself. I hear a familiar idea in that question: tell me where the rule ends so I’ll know when I’ve done enough. Loving my neighbor sounds alright if I get a say in who makes the cut.
My preferred neighbors would be decent people who mean well. They appreciate help when it is offered. They also know when to quit talking, how to disagree politely, and to ask for what they need at a convenient time. I can work them into my schedule and feel good about it.
Jesus tells a story about a man lying wounded beside a road. He’s been beaten and left half dead. We hear nothing about his opinions or his background. Has he ever helped anyone himself? Who knows? The Samaritan sees him and stops to care for him.
He needs very little information before helping. I want a full explanation first. How did he end up here? Is he being honest? Will anything I offer will actually help? Those are reasonable concerns. I keep asking questions even after I enough information to do something useful.
Sometimes a person getting on my nerves needs a little patience. That should be easy enough. But I’ve been generous to people I’ve never met, and then begrudged a small kindness to a woman whose words irritate me.
She has a sharp tongue. Or maybe she is the one who crushes an idea whenever anyone suggests something. Or we disagree about politics and I think her views cause real harm. I could decide how to speak to her while those disagreements remain unresolved. Grant me the patience to let her finish the sentence! I could try to answer her without making her feel small. And if she seems to need help carrying something to her car, I could offer to carry it.
Practicing mercy while I’m annoyed is hard for me. I’d happily spend that time discussing it.
Politics makes this easy to see. My faith leads me to care about poor families and workers. I’m concerned for older people, too, and for those struggling to get medical care. And I’m more than willing to speak up about those concerns. But Jesus’ command to love includes the person arguing with me. My concern for human dignity doesn’t give me the right to treat that person with contempt.
The Samaritan tends the wounded man and gets him to an inn. He pays for his care. His plans for the day have certainly changed by then. I wonder how often my determination to stick to my plans costs someone else the help I could have given. Calling myself busy seems like a good excuse before I’ve even considered what the person needs.
Some days when I truly have little to give. Caring for my family places true limits on my time. But there is my own unwillingness, also. Sometimes I could make a phone call or offer a ride. I could stay a few minutes longer. I don’t want to, especially when the person has made life difficult for me.
Jesus ends by asking which person was a neighbor to the wounded man. The scholar answers, “The one who treated him with mercy.”
“Go and do likewise.”
So I guess I know where to begin. There’s a woman I’ve been dismissing before she even opens her mouth. Next time we speak, I can listen without preparing my case against her beforehand. I expect I’ll still find her difficult. So I’ll need and ask for God’s help to give her a fair hearing.