[Before I begin, I want to
tell you about this group of women wearing tiaras over there. Nearly a year ago, a group of us gals, all
1980 graduates of Minnetonka High School took a trip to Las Vegas to celebrate
turning 50. I went to kindergarten with
a few of them, so it seemed fitting to celebrate this milestone with them. This weekend, we gathered again to reminisce
and make new memories. On the Vegas trip
we wore these tiaras whenever we were together.
We have a pact that whenever two or three are gathered together we must
wear our tiaras! *** This group of women has been extremely supportive of my
call to the priesthood, encouraging me daily in my journey, even to the point
of telling the band at the bar the other night about my education and
dedicating a song to me. The band
invited me up to sing the song, ‘Don’t stop believing.’ Fitting.
Thank you, Divas, for being a part of my journey.]
A few weeks ago, a
storm came through this area, knocking out power, downing branches and trees
and flooding residential streets. In a
show of hands that Sunday, we learned that about half the community had been
without power since the previous Friday night.
We had power at our house after that storm, after losing it for eight
hours the day before, so we were some of the lucky ones, but we had lost a good
portion of our maple tree cluster on the corner of our front yard. I watched as it fell, almost in slow motion,
onto the yard and into the street, hitting…nothing else. The signs, the power lines, the house, the
car parked on the street went without a scratch or dent. But the tree was blocking the cul de sac so
no one could easily get in or out. That
was okay while the street was flooded, but when the rain stopped and the drainage
system was able to handle the massive amount of water again, there were some
people who wanted access.
We waited until it
seemed safe to go outside and when we did, the people in the neighborhood came
out with us. We surveyed each other’s
damage, triaged the situation and sought out chainsaws and able bodies to start
the clean-up. The neighbors banded
together to solve a community problem, even when we did not remember, or
perhaps, even know, one another’s names.
Even those who more recently moved in scrambled for tools to clean up
the mess.
For the next couple
hours, as the sky grew darker and as the hour moved toward midnight, chainsaws
were grinding, branches were thumping as they hit the ground and people were
hauling branches to curbs, clearing driveways and the street enough to feel we
could go to sleep without feeling so trapped in our neighborhood or houses. The next morning we slowly came out of our
homes, surveyed the damage in the daylight and teams naturally formed to get
the bulk of the work done. Moving from
house to house, we got much of the work done so most of us could do something
else later in the day, knowing that what was left—hauling the debris to the
dump—would have to wait until we knew what the city was going to do.
We all were
“neighborly” and gave what we were able to give. For example,
- · Our neighbor who did most of the chain saw work took our wood in return for his help.
- · The neighbors on the next block did not have power so we gave them extension cords to connect to those who did. Sump pumps were able to keep basements dry!
- · Early the next week, one neighbor offered his trailer to haul away our brush, and other friends and family congregated at our house to fill and empty it five times.
This is just our
story. There are many others like
it. People helping people in a time of
crisis, all sharing the experience, telling the story, learning more about
those most physically near, not wanting anyone to be left alone with the burden
of storm damage and showing mercy and kindness.
Good Samaritans, we’d call them: people who will do what is right
because they are willing … and more significantly, able, to make a
difference.
The day after our yard
was cleaned up, the neighbor who did the chain saw work said, “You must have a
lot of friends.” We do, but it wasn’t
our friends who came that Friday and Saturday when we needed assistance. We did not have to ask for help when the need
was most urgent. Those who could have
stayed in their houses, came out, and helped.
We call them “neighbors” more often than “friends.”
***Why do we help
others? Is it out of a sense of obligation
or is it out of agape—unconditional love?
The lawyer asked Jesus what he needed to do to have eternal life. Jesus replied with two questions: “What is written in the law?” and “How do you
understand what you read?” The lawyer
knew that the law brought down by Moses taught him to "… love the
Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your
strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself." He was a
learned man who studied the Torah, who heard the stories of Moses and sang the
Psalms. Psalms like today’s that rejoice
in God’s teaching and in God’s compassion and forgiveness. What the learned man wanted from Jesus was
assurance that he understood the
law. This exchange was typical of
synagogue talk. The way the people
learned was through conversations like this one. They questioned the nuances of the language,
finessing them into the common language, the idioms, if you will, of the
day. To understand, he continues with
the question, “Who is my neighbor?” and Jesus tells the story we call The Good Samaritan, ending with another
question for the man, “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to
the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?" The man replied,
"The one who showed him mercy." Jesus said to him, "Go and do
likewise."
***How do we show
mercy? If we are unable to cut up a
fallen tree or haul away the brush, or bring what appears to be a dead man back
to health, are we unmerciful? Do we
appear heartless or uncaring? The priest
and the Levite in this story did not help because they were unable to help. According to Richard Swanson, author of Provoking
the Gospel of Luke, it was an ethical dilemma. A priest could not touch a
dead person, which is what he assumed the man was or would soon be, because if
he did, he would become unclean. The
Levite, had he stopped, would have changed the course of his demands—he also
needed to remain clean, for he had to get to work. Neither of these men was uncaring, they were
limited in their ability to make a difference at this moment. They triaged the situation and did what was
most important.
The Samaritan, on the
other hand, had skill and wherewithal to impact the life of the man, and so he
did. Though Samaritans were not
considered observant Jews, they did practice Jewish law. Again, according to Swanson, and I quote, “If
you want to know what a person believes, say the rabbis, watch her feet, not
her mouth. You can say anything, but
your true character will show up in your actions. Torah observance, faithfulness to God, true
integrity: all these show up in actual
action, not in talk” (p. 165).
When
Jesus tells the man to “Go and do the same,” the message is clear. Act out your faith. Live your faith. Be that kind of Jew.
***Sometime in 1989, I
worked in downtown Minneapolis. One
night, I was working late, and alone, in the street level office. I had no privacy—the walls were all windows—so
anyone walking past would know I was a young woman alone. This wasn’t the first time I had to stay
late, but it was the first time a man came to the door and knocked. He was dirty and desperate, asking for
work. I let him into the office. He told me his mother had died and he needed
bus fare to St. Louis. I couldn’t give
him any work to do, but I could give him some cash, so I did. He offered a phone number to me to prove his
story, but I trusted the story enough to give him the money and send him on his
way.
I wasn’t scared. I gave him what I could. When I told my mom and my aunt the story,
they freaked out! I thought I had done a
good deed, but to them, I had put my well-being and possibly my life at risk to
help a homeless man. Honestly, I did not
fear him. All I wanted to do was give
him the help I was capable of giving.
About a week later the
man returned to my office, during the day this time, and asked for more
money. All the reprimands and concerns
from my family were swirling in my head this time, and, to be honest, his
return made me angry. I asked him if he
made it to the funeral, he told me he didn’t go, but this time he needed money
for clothes. I told him I could not give
him any more than I had and that he had to go.
He did. This time, I was more
upset. I felt he had taken advantage of
me and now I felt like a mark.
There is a moral to my
story that ties to our Samaritan story.
I showed mercy the first time the homeless man came to the door. I truly believed I was doing the right thing,
the Christian thing, and that I was making a difference in his life. I took a risk that could have ended very
differently, but it did not.
I learned that giving has rules which must be
followed. I have to carry a level of
suspicion and fear when someone is in need and approaches me for help. I have to think first of myself, of my own
needs, of my family and of what society expects in moments like this. It has been 24 years since this incident and
the streets can seem meaner and scarier now because we have so many more people
in so much need.
And you know what? I don’t like the rules that have been
embedded in me about the mean city streets and the people who walk them. I like the Law that was given to Moses from
God: “You must love the Lord your God
with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all
your mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.”
I want to believe that I am the kind of neighbor who is willing to show
mercy like the Samaritan, taking risks to help, giving more than I think I can
afford and finding services that can truly help when my skills and resources
are not enough.
But I wonder. Was I a Good Samaritan the first time he came
around? Was I a triaging person, like
the priest or Levite, the second? What
would I do today? There is no concrete
or easy answer for me.
I feel I would be
remiss if I did not insert something in this sermon about the not-guilty
verdict in the George Zimmerman murder case.
Social media is swirling with comments about the verdict. One of my fellow Episcopal seminary students
is also preaching this morning and we had a little Facebook discussion. I asked her, ‘How does this verdict affect
how we see our "neighbor" when we don't know how, it seems, to
acknowledge our neighbors, let alone unconditionally love them?’ The Reverend Rex McKee responded with a quote
from Mahatma Gandhi: "There is a
higher court than courts of justice, and that is the court of conscience. It
supersedes all other courts."
Thankfully, we have many
ways to love our neighbors as ourselves.
I was pleased to hear
of the news from our Giving Garden, which delivered 20 pounds of fresh radishes
and two tomatoes to one of the food banks this week. Our Wednesday night Open Sings are raising
thousands of dollars this month to benefit organizations that will use the
money effectively for those most in need.
The Sandwich Mission at St. Mark’s Cathedral, provides a small meal to
homeless people in Minneapolis. Next
weekend, a group of us from Epiphany will be heading up to do work for the
White Earth Enrollees living on the Leech Lake Reservation. These examples are only a few, and they are
far more organized than dealing with a call for urgent relief. In a time of great need and with warnings in
our heads, like those of a concerned mom back in 1989, these organizations can
feel safe. They do not substitute for
immediate or urgent needs, when a voice is asking and a hand is reaching or
when the storms come, the water rises and the trees fall. We show mercy to our neighbors through these
and other ministries. We give as we are
able, sometimes simply gardening, singing, making sandwiches, pounding nails,
hauling brush or placing money in an outstretched hand. They are all ways to
practice God’s command to love your neighbor as yourself.
Amen.