“What must I do?”  The restless heart murmurs: “If only I knew the will of God.  If it were only clear what was wanted of me, I would be willing to do it.  But things are so complex, and God’s will is often difficult to discern.”  So, a lawyer, a master of the law of the Torah, stood up and asked Jesus, “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”  What must I do?

Luke framed this dialogue with the lawyer differently than Mark did.  Mark’s dialogue, in Chapter 12 verse 28, begins with a scholar approaching Jesus.  He asks Jesus, “Of all the commandments, which is the most important?”  But here, Luke frames the question differently, and Jesus responds differently.  Jesus answers the lawyer’s question with a question.  “What is written in the law?  The lawyer provides the answer to his own question, according to the law.  Then asks the second question.  “But who is my neighbor?”  The lawyer’s question allows Luke to introduce Jesus’ parable of “The Good Samaritan.”  The parable functions as a midrash, an interpretation of the law, a commentary on the scripture.  It takes us beyond a simple reading and a simple understanding of the law.  Jesus’ interpretation of the law includes a radical love, an almost irrational mercy.

There are times when it all seems clear.  The heart moves us and we know what must be done.  We think we know who our neighbor is.  Like the lawyer, we see the law clearly: “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”  We understand it.  We like our neighbors.  We spend time relating with them and being friendly to them, otherwise we wouldn’t live next to them.  We also know that good fences make good neighbors.  It’s helpful not to be too close.  And yet, this parable describes something different.  How are we to apply it?  The restless heart murmurs: “If only I knew the will of God.  If it were only clear what was wanted of me, would I be willing to do it?  Who is my neighbor?

The Levite makes a good neighbor.  He is the civilized - city dweller - who works at the temple in Jerusalem.  This might be the priest or an assistant to the priest.  This person would prove to be a good neighbor.  And the priest, of course, the priest would be a good neighbor…  But, the Samaritan?  No, the Samaritan wouldn’t be anything like us.  The Samaritan has never gotten along with us, and they believe things quite differently than we do.  You wouldn’t want them to come over for dinner.  And yet, this is the very person who showed mercy to the person, the person who is just like you.  The person you wouldn’t want to invite into your house for dinner is the person who shows mercy.

The living of it, that’s the problem.  The midrash, the interpretation of the law for our own day, makes this story difficult, impossible.  Jesus is an idealist!

After hearing the story of the Good Samaritan, after thinking about it, we repeat the question too: Who is our neighbor?  Surely, Jesus couldn’t have meant that we are to have mercy on people who abuse God’s creation.  Not the polluter!  You know, the guy who throws trash out his old Studebaker pickup as he blows smoke down the highway.  Or the industrialist who pollutes our water.  Surely Jesus didn’t mean to include the stuffy rich person, or the filthy and poor vagrant.  He didn’t mean to include the people who take advantage of everyone as they traveling through.  Surely Jesus didn’t mean that the non-productive, ignorant, meth user would prove to be the good neighbor?  Surely, Jesus didn’t mean the repeat offender, or the pedophile?  Surely, Jesus didn’t mean this particular person or that person?  Not them, surely?

There are many reasons why we shouldn’t stop to help.  I may get sued.  Others will come to help.  I’m in a hurry.  It’s too risky.  How well we know the excuses.  I’m sure we could make a long list of them.  These are the tapes that go off in our heads when we are challenged, really challenged with the question, Who is my neighbor?  They will only want more.  My help will only perpetuate this condition.  They’ll rip you off.  It’s all a lie.

It’s not easy being who Jesus has called us to be.  It’s not easy being who we are when the world tells us to fear our neighbor.  So we pass by.  We decide to pass by rather than risk being who we really are.  We are people of mercy!  Deep down, that’s who you are.  There’s no escaping it.  No, it’s idealistic.  Don’t listen to the parable.  It’s nonsense!  Nobody of good sense would do what Jesus calls us to do.  Turn off the tape!  Be who you really are.  The will of God draws close and clear, nudging my heart.  And yet we seem at a loss as to the doing of it.  The peace we seek seems to be beyond reach.

In those moments when we inspect the abyss between the holy desires of God and the expectations of fear, we realize that we will never find peace or reconciliation if left to the desires to live a risk free life.  So, be who you really are.  Be willing to take the risk.  Be the child of mercy.  Fool!  How could you open yourself up like that?  Turn off the tape.

Until we learn how to turn off the tape of fear, we will never want to approach the throne of Jesus.  I - a self serving - cautious - frozen Christian, pleading my case before God?  No, let the unrest continue, let the risk taking begin, so when the journeys to Jericho recur in your life, you may realize who you are, a children of mercy, the children of God.