Sermon, 7/13/25: Is “Love of Neighbor as Self!” Sufficient in the 21st Century?

 5 Pentecost

Psalm 82:1–8; Amos 7:7–17; Colossians 1:1–14; Luke 10:25–37

“Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” Lk 10:36

The story of the Good Samaritan, rehearsed just moments ago in today’s gospel according to Luke, is so well known that even non-Christians can recite it.  And that is perhaps so because many of the states of our country have enacted laws which bear the title “The Good Samaritan Law.”  That regulation is there to encourage individuals to offer aid in cases of emergency.  Such laws offer a limited shield to the individual when such aid fails or when further complications develop.  This is not a modern-day philosophy or development.

I support completely the concept of a Good Samaritan Law. The parable of the Good Samaritan should, in my opinion, never be assigned to “that’s a nice story” category.  Still, I have an objection, if that is [to be] the sole model on which we Christians base our mission, our expression of Christ’s outreach.  Indeed, I offer evidence directly from Holy Writ, from the Book of Leviticus to the contrary:

When you reap the harvest in your land, do not reap right up to the edges of your field, or gather the gleanings of your crop.  Do not completely strip your vineyard, or pick up the fallen grapes; leave them for the poor and for the stranger (alien).  I am the Lord your God. (Leviticus 19:9–10)

The Book of Leviticus offers in detail how one is to respond to neighbors in need.  Without knowing this background, the parable gets us off the hook, to use the vernacular, for it illustrates a one-on-one relief.  When we do that, we are done, finished, and can move on.  The concept “it takes a village,” gets pushed aside to the back burner, as it were. The Parable of the Good Samarita is rooted firmly in that Rabbinic tradition.  In today’s circumstance, we must ask ourselves such questions as, what laws and rubrics secure safe travel for the entire population, and what laws and rubrics should our government enact to respond to the petition in The Lord’s Prayer “give us today our daily bread”? 

And so, I ask you to consider how a flaw crept into that link in our DNA which motivates the concern for The Other.  What necessitates the question, “and who is my neighbor?’  I would suggest that the question raised and answered in Luke’s gospel completes a trilogy of questions raised in the Book of Genesis.  I suggest further that fundamental to that question in Luke’s gospel is the question: What does it mean to be truly human?  That fundamental question can be rephrased: To whom and for what am I responsible?  

Our Book of Records offers an answer by way of the individual, the familial, and the communal. First, there is the story of Adam and Eve (Genesis 3:9).  There is the story of Cain and Abel (Genesis 4:9).  Third, there is the story of the Tower of Babel (Genesis 11:1–11)  From a literary point of view, the one provides a base for the other, and gives us a deeper understanding of today’s gospel story.

The Individual: In the saga of Adam (literally, “humanoid”) and Eve (literally, “life giver”), God enters the Garden of Eden and, not finding Adam immediately, calls out, “Adam, where are you?”  Adam responds that he is in hiding.  He hides because, by eating the apple, Adam had gained knowledge. However, that knowledge was not simple, objective knowledge regarding the flavor of the apple.  Rather, Adam gained awareness of a new dimension of his being.  He gained self-awareness, which causes him to be evasive in his response.  There is something in his newly acquired knowledge that urges him to be protective of self-interest.  When God asks Adam directly if he had eaten from the tree, Adam does not respond with a simple “yes.”  Rather, he says, “It was the woman that you gave me.  She gave me to eat.” 

Adam is evasive in his answer.  The knowledge gained grants him autonomy and independence, but it presents a moral issue as well. This issue has become embedded in our DNA.  Self-preservation forces Adam’s descendants to avoid potential consequences by placing the blame of a decision or an action onto another. To use the first-person singular: In deflecting responsibility for my own action, I can forego corrective behavior; or in Christian vocabulary, I can forego reconciliation

The Familial: Consider the story of Cain and Abel. Cain imagines that his brother is held in higher esteem than himself.  When, as the story tells us, Cain kills Abel we, the disinterested reader, feel that the venom of jealousy has been injected into human endeavor.  Once again, God asks a simple question, “Where is your brother?”  And Cain, like his father, is evasive.  He responds, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” (Genesis 4:9)  He doesn’t lie outright, but nor does he tell the truth!  In his response, Cain rejects any responsibility for his brother’s demise, suggesting an autonomy and independence whose principal reason is the protection of his own ego.

The Communal: The story of the Tower of Babel is a question delayed.  Men come together on the plain of Shinar and bake bricks in order to erect a tower.  To the disinterested reader, building a tower that could serve as a tower to watch for an approaching storm would have satisfied a communal concern for safety.  That, however, was never the purpose for which the tower was to be built.  On the contrary, the intent of their “coming together” was never for “meeting the needs of the others.”  They sought from the very beginning to develop communal autonomy and independence from God, as well as from others outside of their tribe.  Theirs was an action in which the action of Adam (the individual) and Cain (the family) had morphed into that of the tribe, and a tribe that protected their special, individual interests.

I suggest to you that this development, this way of thinking of The Other is precisely what Paul, in his letter to the Colossians, calls “the power of darkness.” (Colossians 1:13)  The builders of the Tower of Babel had failed to recognize and share the magnanimous love that the God of Creation had, and has, for all.  Paul differentiates between being able to see with the naked eye and to see with the eye of the heart.  One could see but still be blind, blind to the basic question of what it means to be truly human.  

The late Reinhold Niebuhr, whose works were a staple during my years in theological training, often pointed out the limitations that we place on our compassion if left to our own devices.  However, as people of faith, as followers of Jesus of Nazareth, we have pledged ourselves to exert all our strength against the DNA that changed Adam.  It is a DNA that limits who, by God’s grace, we are intended by God to be.  To be what God created us to be, created in God’s image, suggests a reciprocal relationship between the grace, the love, which we receive from God, and the grace, the love, that we extend to others. 

A man, a lawyer by training, asks the simple question, “Who is my neighbor?” That is the delayed question that would have challenged the builders of the Tower of Babel.  And with that delay we are given the opportunity to reclaim participation in the continuing work of Creation.  And in the year 2025, Jesus gives an answer that extends beyond individual, familial, class, ethnic, tribal, national and religious boundaries. It is God’s Messiah who reminds us that building the kingdom of God—not a replica of the Tower of Babel—requires that we exert every effort in our spiritual being to overcome that change in our spiritual DNA structure caused by Adam’s weakness. 

Paul prayed then and now: “We have not ceased praying for you and asking that you may be filled with the knowledge of God’s will in all spiritual wisdom and understanding, so that you may lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him, as you bear fruit in every good work and as you grow in the knowledge of God.”  (Colossians 1:9f)  That is the prayer which we pray for ourselves, but for others as well.  Amen.