Dark Devotional: Who is My Neighbor?

There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test him and said,

“Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law?
How do you read it?”
He said in reply,
“You shall love the Lord, your God,
with all your heart,
with all your being,
with all your strength,
and with all your mind,
and your neighbor as yourself.”
He replied to him, “You have answered correctly;
do this and you will live.”

But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus,
“And who is my neighbor?”
Jesus replied,
“A man fell victim to robbers
as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho.
They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead.
A priest happened to be going down that road,
but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.
Likewise a Levite came to the place,
and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.
But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him
was moved with compassion at the sight.
He approached the victim,
poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them.
Then he lifted him up on his own animal,
took him to an inn, and cared for him.
The next day he took out two silver coins
and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction,
‘Take care of him.
If you spend more than what I have given you,
I shall repay you on my way back.’
Which of these three, in your opinion,
was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?”
He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.”
Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

It’s Sunday morning, 2 a.m., and I can’t sleep. I’m thinking of that man on the ground, beaten and stripped, dying from his wounds, and those guys who pass him by. They pass him because they can. They pass him because it’s culturally acceptable to pass him. They pass him because they’re afraid of what will happen to them if they stop to see if they can help. They pass him because, for whatever reason they can drum up, he doesn’t merit their sympathy. And they don’t just pass him–they avoid him. They ignore him. They cross to the other side, seeking distance from the whole ugly scene.

The Good Samaritan is the unlikely hero–the one who isn’t supposed to be good, being a Samaritan and all and an enemy of Jesus’ target audience. But he’s so moved by compassion at the sight of human suffering that he ignores convention and personal safety and stops to tend to the dying. He gives his own precious resources. He even pays the guy’s bills.  He doesn’t wring his hands about whether or not this person deserves his care, or whether this person has lived a noble life or was a criminal himself. He doesn’t consider that he might attract unwanted attention to himself by kneeling in the dust, mopping up blood, finding an innkeeper who will take in the half-dead. No. The Good Samaritan sees a man in pain, and he stops doing what he’s doing, and he helps him.

That’s loving your neighbor. Treating each other with mercy, despite the personal risk, the cost, the cultural taboo. Jesus says so. He turns the question, Who is my neighbor? on its head. Your neighbor is the one whose suffering you notice and care for without counting the cost.

For a long time, I have fastidiously avoided posting anything on social media that would potentially upset or unintentionally wound anyone, anywhere. I’m sure I’ve failed, because simply being Catholic will offend plenty, and it’s impossible to anticipate what triggers each of your thousands of online friends. It’s a crazy making task. But it’s what we sweet Christian ladies are subtly told we must do. We must never, ever, under any circumstances, be divisive. It’s become our first commandment: thou shalt not offend.

But I’ve seen a post from a friend who has to remind her son to take his hoodie off when he walks home. I’ve seen a post from the wife of a cop who doesn’t sleep til her husband gets home and she hears him remove his bullet proof vest. I’ve seen my little brother’s post wondering, after Pulse, if there’s anywhere he can feel safe as a gay man. I’ve seen a post that asked, earnestly, how we can expect people to play by society’s rules when that society doesn’t seem to value their lives?

I read those posts and so many more–words of pain, fear, and suffering. I see the images of dying people and grieving families, and now I lie awake and think: Dear God, in the face of all this pain and death, do not let me be like those priests crossing to the other side of the road. Let me no longer be a sweet Christian lady, self-protecting, silent, turning my head because it’s impolite to notice, to speak out, to demand that others help too. Good manners can be another form of pride.

My politeness has been a sin, and I repent.

How can love heal
the mouth shut this way?

— Yusef Komunyakaa, “Safe Subjects”

 

And so the first question that the priest asked–the first question that the Levite asked was, “If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?” But then the Good Samaritan came by. And he reversed the question: “If I do not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?” —

Martin Luther King, “I’ve Been to the Mountaintop.”