Tag: Luke 10

Sermon: The Good Samaritan

Trinity 4C – 13.7.2025
Deuteronomy 30. 9-14; Luke 10. 25-37

All Saints Church, Bracknell Road, Ascot, Berks – Wall painting (Wiki Commons)

I read that parables are meant to ‘comfort the afflicted and to afflict the comfortable’. (1) The trouble with parables like the one we’ve just read is that we have heard it so many times that it’s hard to hear it afresh and hear what God might be saying to us today.

The Parable of the Good Samaritan is probably the most well-known of them all. Most of us can’t remember a time when he hadn’t heard the story. And of course even the word Samaritan now conjures up the image of someone you can call up in a time of crisis.

Just yesterday a friend of mine visited our house and she was in a wheelchair and was struggling to get to the house from her car and a couple of tourists helped her. She told me she’d met a couple of ‘Good Samaritans’.

The trouble with this parable is that we all know what it means already, or perhaps we all think we know what it means. We should be nice, kind people like the Samaritan, and help others in need, and we should not be people who cross the road on the other side like the priest and the Levite.

I’m going to be bold here and I’m going to assert this morning that the parable of the Good Samaritan might not be what you think it is – a story about how we should help others. Instead we’re going to think about what in this parable might ‘afflict’ us alongside the more ‘comfortable’ message

Luke tells us that Jesus was approached by a lawyer, who sought to test him asking ‘what must I do to inherit eternal life’ (v.25). This kind of debating was common in their culture – it was a way of honing ideas and sharpening understanding – it wasn’t necessarily a negative thing. 

Jesus doesn’t answer the question but asks the lawyer what he thinks. He draws from the Shema (the law), correctly quoting Deuteronomy and Leviticus: ‘you shall love the lord your God with all your heart, mind, soul and strength, and love your neighbour as yourself’.

Tick. Gold Star.

The lawyer asks a follow up question, ‘and who is my neighbour’ (v.29).

The lawyer often gets bad press. It’s a good question – we need a bit of clarity on this. We might ask the same. We can’t love everyone, surely. We can just about manage our own families and friends. We only have to walk down Cornmarket and see numerous people at the side of the road – it leads to constant guilt. Where are the boundary lines here.

Our street, our parish, our city, our country, people like us, people who are Christians as well?

What the lawyer is really asking is perhaps, ‘who is NOT my neighbour’.

He was a lawyer and lawyers want clarity. I read somewhere that he presumably wanted something on the order of:

“A neighbour (hereinafter referred to as the party of the first part) is to be construed as meaning a person of Jewish descent whose legal residence is within a radius of no more than three statute miles from one’s own legal residence unless there is another person of Jewish descent (hereinafter to be referred to as the party of the second part) living closer to the party of the first part than one is oneself, in which case the party of the second part is to be construed as neighbour to the party of the first part and one is oneself relieved of all responsibility of any sort or kind whatsoever.”[2]

Jesus doesn’t answer this directly, but responds with the story we know so well.

A man is robbed and left for dead at the side of the road. The religious people see the man but pass by on the other side, presumably because they were afraid of contaminating themselves by touching a dead or dying body and then being unable to fulfil their duty. 

The Samaritan man sees the man and walks over the road towards him. He is moved with compassion, he treats and binds up his wounds, puts him on his animal, makes sure he’s cared for going the extra mile.

‘Go and do likewise’.

It’s a beautiful example of how we might live, loving and caring for those in need.

A few years ago on Christmas Eve my son cut his hand really badly whilst wrapping presents. We had to leave our evening meal to rush to the hospital and on the way a tire blew out. We’d left so quickly we hadn’t remembered to take a wallet (before the time when our phones were wallets!). A passing cyclist saw us and stopped. He not only helped get the car to the side of the road, but he hailed a taxi to the hospital and insisted on paying the taxi himself.  Truly a Good Samaritan.

But where we see ourselves in this parable makes a difference to how we read this.

On a good day we might see ourselves as the Samaritan helping the man, and I suspect this is the role we’d all like to think we play!

On a bad day we might see ourselves in the priest and the Levite walking by on the other side.

But there is a third option – we might be the beaten man, lying helplessly in the dirt on the side of the road.

So, where might Jesus’ Jewish hearers have seen themselves?

It is very unlikely they would have seen themselves in the Samaritan. In first century Palestine, Samaritans and Jews hated one another. This was a bitter and entrenched hostility along religious, geographic and ethnic lines.

They might be the priest or the lawyer, but Luke’s readers were more likely to have imagined themselves as the man in the ditch than the Samaritan. Jesus deliberately chooses an enemy to be the one who acted like a neighbour to make his point, adding another layer of challenge to his story.

‘Who is my neighbour?’ – in this situation the neighbour turned out to be the least likely person they could imagine.

This brings us to the heart of the gospel message of salvation. That Jesus, seeing our deepest need when we are in a metaphorical ditch, battered and bruised by life, sees us, is moved by compassion, binds up our wounds, picks us up and heals and cares for us, and pays what we owe so we don’t have to.

In this way of reading the parable we are not the Samaritan – Jesus is. We are the one in the ditch needing Jesus’ healing touch.

All of which makes me wonder whether there is yet another lesson in this parable: that God often shows up where we least expect God to be, and though the people we least expect.

Who, we might ask, do we have the hardest time imagining God working through? And then we should probably expect God to do just that!

The challenge in this parable is that Jesus pushes the very notion of boundaries or line at all. For Jesus, there is no ‘us’ and ‘them’ at all. The Samaritan and Jew were divided by history, culture and theology, yet their obligation to love supersedes it all.

All the boundaries we humans put up, be it race, sex, gender, sexuality, conviction, these are all challenged here. Our call to love God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength goes hand in hand with our call to love our neighbours. And this love looks like a man in a ditch being helped by his arch enemy.

And so, like the lawyer, we’re left not with the comfortable question, “Who is my neighbour?”, but with a far more afflicting one:
Will I allow myself to be loved by someone I would rather keep at a distance?

This parable isn’t just a call to compassion: it’s a challenge to our categories. It invites us to look again at who we are willing to receive love from, and who we are willing to become vulnerable before.

The story of the Good Samaritan reminds us that God’s grace and goodness can come from unexpected places, through unexpected people. And perhaps, the real test of neighbourliness is not only how we give love, but how humbly we receive it.

Let us pray:

Lord Jesus, we give thanks for this familiar parable and for the power it has to both comfort and afflict us. Thank you that you showed us the way to life and love, and that way is one that crosses boundaries and challenges assumptions. Help us to see you in those we encounter, and help us to both give, and receive love from those we least expect. Amen

Martha and Mary: Attentive Hospitality

Revd Clare Hayns
Trinity 5C
A sermon for Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford on 16th July 2022

Genesis 18.1-10
Luke 10. 38-end

Diego Velázquez: Christ in the House of Martha and Mary   (I love how grumpy Martha looks here!)

‘It’s not fair’

Last night I went to a milestone birthday party for my sister who’s 2 1/2 years younger than me. We are now the best of friends but our childhood consisted of almost constant arguments. I was the oldest of four and considered myself to be the one who was always expected to be helpful, to lay the table, to help my mother in the kitchen, to be responsible (I’m not sure I was particularly, but that was my perception!). My sister had a gift of always being absent when the table needed laying or a job needed to be done. Particularly if there was hosting to be done and just as people were arriving. She was normally to be found hiding away and reading a book, often in the bath where no one could find her, or sitting under a tree writing a poem about her feelings. It drove me mad.

‘it’s not fair’ was my regular refrain. I would often go to my parents and say a similar plea to that of Martha to Jesus:

Do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to help me.

Luke 10:40

There’s a lot of hosting going on in both readings from Genesis and Luke. In Genesis three angelic visitors turn up at the tent of Abraham and Sarah. They are on their way to Sodom and Gomorrah and have an important message to impart on their way.

And in Luke’s gospel, Jesus and his no doubt large group of disciples turn up at the home of Martha of Bethany and her sister Mary.

And the hosts spring into action to provide hospitality. Abraham rushes around, he runs to his guests, he runs to the herd, and he ‘hastens’ to give Sarah instructions.

And there’s Martha. Similarly rushing around to provide food for her guests. I love Martha. In my view she’s one of the best female bible characters in the New Testament. She’s feisty and not afraid to speak her mind.  In John’s gospel, it’s Martha who runs to Jesus after her brother Lazarus dies and she rebukes him ‘Lord, if you’d have been here my brother wouldn’t have died’ (John 11.21) She is loved by Jesus, clearly loves him, and feels comfortable with him.

And so when Jesus turns up with all his friends and she’s left alone to do everything because her sister has abandoned her, she doesn’t hesitate to speak her mind.

And can we blame her? We’ve probably all been there at some time or other.

It’s important to remember a couple of things of context here.

What Martha was doing was providing hospitality and welcome, and this was vitally important in the culture of the time. In first-century Palestine, hospitality was (and still is) about allowing the guest to share the sacredness of the family space. The women’s role was (and still is in many households) to do the cooking and food preparation. Martha was doing just what was expected of her.

What was unexpected was what Mary was doing.

It was very unusual for Jewish Palestinian women to join male guests before they are done with all the food preparation. And even more unusual for a woman to be sitting amongst the men in the posture of a disciple.

And can we blame Mary for taking this opportunity to sit with the male disciples and listen to Jesus? It was an unexpected and surprising gift.

But it is this that infuriates her sister the most.

It’s not fair.

And Jesus’ response? He points out her frustration. (rather a brave thing for him to do!)

Martha, Martha, you are worried and distracted by many things; there is need of only one thing. Mary has chosen the better part, which will not be taken away from her.

Luke 10.42

It seems as if Jesus is rebuking Martha for doing what was expected of her. The comment ‘the better part’ seems as if Jesus is creating a hierarchy where sitting and listening is ‘better’ than active service.

This has often been how we’ve read this passage. Where the contemplative life is seen as better than the activist life; where the call to a life of prayer as a nun or monk or priest is seen as being more spiritual than the call to being a parent or medic or homemaker.

Is this what Jesus meant by this? I think not.

The word for the ‘many things’, or in other versions ‘many tasks’ that Martha is distracted by is ‘diakonia’: service/ministry. It is where we get the word ‘deacon’ from.  It can mean all sorts of different aspects of ministry, from preparing food to looking after the poor.

Elsewhere in Luke’s gospel those who provide service (Diakonia) are commended. Last week we read of the Good Samaritan who was commended for his active service and the disciples surely had Jesus’ words ‘go and do likewise’ ringing in their ears as they went to Martha’s house. (Luke 10.37) Also, Jesus describes himself as ‘one who serves’.

So it can’t be right that Jesus is criticising Martha for also being one who serves. Or for doing what is essentially ministry.

So what is he saying?

We are told in John’s Gospel that: ‘Jesus Loved Martha’ (John 11.5). And in the context of love that he points out to her the truth.

Martha’s attention was in the wrong place, even if what she was doing was the right thing. Jesus is gently pointing out that her service, her ‘diakonia’, was being done with distraction, worry, and irritation. Her attention was on herself and on Mary not doing what Martha thought Mary should be doing.  

In her distraction, Martha was missing what was important right then.

Jesus was pointing out that what Mary was doing was, at that particular moment in time, was exactly what Mary should have been doing. She was paying attention to Jesus, to the Son of God who was right there in her home.

How often have we been in a conversation when we know we aren’t really focused on it. My kids always know when I’m pretending to listen to them but really my mind is on something else. When I’m talking to them and just saying ‘hm, hm’ – they can tell. They now call me out on it. 

Simone Weil, who was both political activist and contemplative, said that: ‘Attention is the rarest and purest form of generosity’. [1]

Can you remember when someone last sat and listened to you, giving you their full attention, and how that felt?

Paying attention to someone is an act of service, of generosity. It shows that they are of value to you.

Paying attention to God though is even more important. It can literally change our lives.

Sarah (Genesis) was paying attention whilst Abraham rushed about and she heard the angelic visitors telling her she was to have a child. We don’t know what Mary was hearing as she sat listening, but Jesus says it was ‘the better part’ and that ‘it wouldn’t be taken from her’.

I think Sarah and Mary were providing hospitality to their visitors by paying attention to them. What they were doing could be described as attentive hospitality. What Martha was doing was distracted hospitality.

What might attentive hospitality look like in our own lives and in the lives of our churches?

Do we pay attention? To one another, to Jesus.

Or are we so busy doing stuff or being distracted that we don’t notice that Jesus is in our midst, wanting to bless us?

Are we so anxious about what others are doing or not doing, so worried about fairness, that we forget to realise what we are being invited to?

And what are we being invited to?

A loving relationship with Jesus who, like Mary and Martha wants to spend time with us. Who knows and loves us even when we’re distracted and gently draws us back into relationship with him.

Perhaps that’s what we are being invited to, in this time as we head into the holiday season.

What might it be like to give Jesus attentive hospitality?

To put aside all our worries and distractions for a little while.

To respond to the invitation:

 ‘there is need (right now) of only one thing’.  

[1] https://lithub.com/simone-weils-radical-conception-of-attention/