A Familiar Story and Unfamiliar Song

Psalm 82; Luke 10:25-37

A Familiar Story and Unfamiliar Song

 

       

        Psalm 82 begins with God entering the divine council of the gods and declaring judgment. This throws us for a bit of a loop. Who are these other gods? What is this divine council? I thought there was only one God. Charles Aaron, a Methodist minister from Texas, remarks, “Mythology is often just below the surface of OT thought. In Psalm 82, it bubbles to the top in plain view.” I believe while this phenomenon is certainly worth exploring, let’s put it on the backburner for a moment and concentrate on the song.

        God speaks, “How long will you judge unjustly by showing partiality to the wicked? When are you going to demonstrate justice to the weak and the orphan? How long must I wait for you act righteously toward the lowly and the destitute? When will you deliver them from the hand of evil?”

        While this Psalm may be new to you, I would like to suggest the prayer is one we have uttered many times. Even though the Bible proclaims it rains on both the just and the unjust, it seems too often the weak and the lowly endure hurricanes rather than a gentle spring shower. Civilian casualties in the Middle East have exceeded reasonable calculation and my only recourse is to pray. International airports have become killing zones and all I can do is lift my eyes toward heaven. Rivers and streams in West Virginia, often rerouted by coal companies, have become a torrent of death destroying anything in its way and all I can do wonder aloud why God would bring such misery on those who are already miserable. I don’t know about you, but God and I are constantly involved in a monologue about these things I cannot control. I say monologue because God has remained eerily quiet. Perhaps God has no answer for my rant. Perhaps the Almighty is waiting for me to shut up. Perhaps God has spoken and I haven’t been listening. Perhaps God is just as put out with the affairs of the world as I. Or perhaps God wants me to remember with every song of complaint comes a story of redemption.

        I hope this morning no one is hearing the parable of the Good Samaritan for the first time. It is one of those marvelous stories we teach to children. Then we have to teach it over and over again as the child becomes older. Our initial spin around the block depicts an unknown man who chooses to travel a dangerous road and suffers the consequences. Ironically, the pillars of the community see the man from a distance but choose not to respond. Then the Samaritan arrives. He sees the man and has compassion. Spending his own money and time, the Samaritan insures the wounded is given proper medical care. When the story is finished, all the children are asked to go into the neighborhood and be a Good Samaritan to those who need a helping hand.

        Later, we tell the story a second time. This time we divulge the real identity of the Samaritan. You see, when Jesus told the story, the original hearers weren’t too excited about the hero. A Samaritan was an outcast, an unclean reviled half-bred of the “real children of God”. Ever since the Hebrew people returned from Babylon 500 years earlier, the Samaritans had been despised. They were not the remnant. They were the leftovers.   So when we modernize the story,  we depict the Samaritan as an outcast from society. When I told the story to children in Charleston, South Carolina in the 70’s, the Samaritan was an Afro-American. When I told the story to kids in North Carolina in the 80’s, the Samaritan had Aids. When I was in Texas in the 90’s, the Samaritan was a Mexican. If I told the story today, the Samaritan would probably be a Muslim. Whatever role we place on the Samaritan, the hearer needs to be appalled.

        But we can’t stop there. We must tell the story a third time with our focus on the other travelers.  One was a Levite, a judge, on his way to court. We raise the question, “How can the law be fair if those sworn to uphold the law don’t practice it.”  

        One traveler was a rabbi, a minister, who couldn’t stop to get his hands dirty. Again we are appalled. “How can someone who preaches about the love of God and neighbor not stop when the opportunity affords itself?” We have a grand time pointing fingers at those who claim to be just and holy but are really neither.

        Normally, this is where we would end our excursion into the parable. Allow me to suggest, in light of Psalm 82, we need to visit the story once again. This time, in light of all that we know, let’s pretend we are the wounded man on the road.  That is kind of hard to imagine because the traveler must have been a complete idiot. Who in their right mind walks down a lonely stretch of road with more twist and turns than can be imagined? Every rock was the perfect place for a bandit.  Every shadow presented a new danger. Yet off we go, certain nothing could ever happen to us. But then it does.

        Now we have a huge problem. If someone doesn’t notice us, we will surely perish. But what if the person who discovers is would rather die than help us?  Well that is highly unlikely. After all we are good, friendly, and even influential folks. Who could anyone leave us in the ditch? On the other hand, what if the person who comes by is someone whom we would rather die than acknowledge? Are we willing to take help from just anyone? Who is our neighbor? If we will not take their helping hand, what would we do if the circumstances were reversed?

        In Psalm 82 God says to the divine counsel, “How long will you act unjustly and show partiality to the wicked?” God could have just as easily asked, “Who is your neighbor?”

        Just for fun, let’s finally explore the question I wouldn’t let you consider at the beginning of the sermon. Who is this divine counsel? In the days of the Psalmist, before the Hebrews had converted to the one God theory, it was generally believed there were a thousand heavenly beings under the authority of God. These beings were actively involved in the lives of humans, often interceding on humanities behalf. Some folks refer to them as angels.

        Does this divine council still exist? With the advent of the Age of Reason, this kind of language seldom emerges into any serious theological conversation.  And yet, I believe the counsel is still alive and well. Depending on whom you listen to America is still great or will become great by the end of November. Regardless, we as a people and we as a nation have the ability to make decisions that affect a lot of Samaritans. If you are in the ditch and in need of help but will not accept the hand of an immigrant, or a person of another religious background, or someone of a different sexual orientation, or one who is trapped by poverty or even someone you find to be disgusting, what are you going to do when 99% of the time the shoe is on the other foot. Oh we can be Boston Strong, or Paris Strong, or Orlando Strong or West Virginia Strong or even Istanbul Strong for 24 hours. But can we be their lifetime neighbor?

        Ironic isn’t it. For the past year I have been praying for God to do something to stop the insanity which seems to have knocked us into a perpetual ditch. Yet for an eternity God has been saying to those of us who wield unbelievable power, “How long will you judge unjustly? When will you show justice to the weak and the needy? Why do you ignore the lowly and the destitute?”     (stop)

When Jesus finished his story he turned to the young man who had begun the conversation and asked, “You tell me, who was the neighbor?” I find it interesting the young lawyer could not bring himself to say, “The Samaritan”. Instead, he whispered, “The one who showed mercy.”

That’s when Jesus had him, and that’s when Jesus has us.  Like God, speaking to the divine council, Jesus said to the young lawyer, and to us, “Go and do likewise.”                              

                                        Amen.