One day, as a fifth grader, I completed my long hike to school across the hard-frozen tundra (not quite, but seemed it) of northern Iowa. It was a frigid January day, with temperatures below zero. The wind lashed us bitterly. Arriving at school, I was surprised to find one of the doors standing wide open. I gratefully sprung into the building, eager to get out of the cold and wind. I turned around and looked at the door. No one had been holding it open for me. Students streamed into the building, not noticing the open door at all. Finally, after pondering the odd situation for a couple of moments, I reached out and pulled the door shut. Within moments, one of the band teachers, Mr. Leeper, was at my side. With a kind smile he said, "Scott, I have stood here watching that door for the past eight minutes. I was curious to know if anyone would ever take a moment to do the thoughtful and responsive thing, and pull the door shut against the cold. You are the only one who even noticed it. I couldn't believe it. But you thought of more than just yourself, and took the effort to do something helpful. I'm proud of you."
I certainly appreciated his encouraging words, but I also thought silently, "Why didn't you close the door, sir?" There was a bit of irony in the teacher's test to see who would take some personal responsibility. Still, his point was well-taken; one of the symptoms of humanity's sin-sickness is the tendency to remain disengaged when one observes a person or situation in need of help, thinking, "someone else will do it." Some of the most disturbing examples of this have been observed in big cities. Police have responded to many situations of violence, sexual violence, or murder, carrying out investigations which revealed that many local residents saw or heard the crime right outside their windows, but chose not to get involved. They didn't shout, "leave that lady alone--I'm calling the police!" They didn't go out and get physically near the scene of violence, to bear witness or to help the victim. They decided not to get involved--to let someone else do it. They didn't want to take the risk. These scenes are tragic, but they are not new.
Luke 10 records Jesus' conversation with an expert in the Old Testament law. He asked Jesus for his opinion on the definitive list of things to do so that he could gain eternal life. The Lord asked him, first, what his view was, and the man answered with something Jesus had often taught, that there were two inseparable things. One must love God with all one's heart, soul, strength, and mind--but one must also love one's neighbor as oneself. Jesus affirmed the man's view completely. The expert of the law, however, asked, "but who is my neighbor?" It seems he was looking for the bare minimum, here. He did not wish to put himself out for anyone who was not truly his "neighbor." We know how Jesus answered this question; he told the Parable of the Good Samaritan.
A man was waylaid on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, beaten, robbed of everything he had, and left for dead. Both a priest, and a Levite, soon came traveling down the same road, and beheld the critically-injured man. Each chose to distance themselves from the man's need, passing along without getting involved. The beaten man might have expected for either of these to assist him--they were spiritual leaders and fellow Israelites. But, from the very ones he would expect to take the lead in matters of compassion, he was bitterly disappointed. We can speculate why the priest and Levite would choose to pass on by, but I would venture that they would have wanted to avoid risk. It was well-known that bandits would beat and rob a victim and leave him out as bait. When someone else would happen along and kneel down to assist the victim, those same bandits would leap out of hiding and do the same to the helper.
The truly interesting point of Jesus' parable is who did choose to get involved: a Samaritan, who was reviled by the people whose land he traveled through. The Samaritans were considered ethnically impure, only part Jewish, and religiously heretical. They were treated as pariahs. Pureblood Jews would avoid them entirely, treating them as an untouchable underclass. The Samaritan in Christ's parable would have been well-acquainted with the prejudice and hostility he'd receive from the people of this land. They certainly wouldn't help him if he was found beaten and left for dead. But he saw this victimized Jewish man, and he could not turn away. He took the risk upon himself, transported the victim to an inn, and paid for his care with his own money. Jesus then turned the question around and posed it to the expert in the law: which of these was a neighbor to the injured man? The expert could only reply that it was the one who had showed mercy. Jesus came back with the incisive command, "go and do likewise." He would not help the expert in the law to whittle down the list so that he could decide who was and wasn't his neighbor, to satisfy himself with loving only a few selected individuals. The issue wasn't, "who is my neighbor?" It was, "you go and be a neighbor to anyone God places in your life."
Our public debates often grapple with who deserves our help, and who doesn't. It repeats endlessly on the news, on Capitol Hill, and in states where refugees seek to escape violence and persecution from vicious tyrants and criminals at home. Those debates often turn on the issue of risk, as there is fear of those who come from countries that harbor terrorists and drug lords. That the refugees are actually fleeing such evil people is an important consideration, but there is always risk in being a neighbor to those in need. We are not residents of those border states, and we certainly have no clout when it comes to the debates on Capitol Hill. We have one arena where our actions and decisions can truly make a difference, and that is right where we live. We don't deal much with asylum-seeking refugees here in western Pennsylvania, but there are still plenty of people who are hurting, alone, and desperately in need of God's love incarnated through us. Just as it has always been through history, there is risk in reaching out in compassion to those who are hurting. But Jesus never allows us to sift through those who are our neighbors and those who aren't. He simply reaches across time and commands us: be a neighbor to any and all who God places before you.
So let me ask you: in your daily course of life, is there anyone you come in contact with regularly, someone who is lonely, or in need, who is in desperate need of a neighbor? What a blessing, then, that God brought you along, because a follower of Jesus is a neighbor to all. Others may pass by and refuse to take the risk or effort. But you will hear the still, small voice which urges you: go over there, and be that one's neighbor. Heed that voice, for it is the voice of He who came to you when you were as good as dead. He took your hurt upon himself, paid the price, and redeemed you to life.
