Dusting off the blog following my ordination at Manchester cathedral two weeks ago. This is my first full length sermon since last autumn and my first blog since March. This was based on Luke 10:25-37
I’m so excited to have the privilege of standing before you today, that my first service as a deacon is a celebration of Wholeness and Healing. As a nurse, with a particular calling to ministry in Christie hospital, where I work, it really is a joy to be able to explore a little of what that might mean.
And this will be a sermon about healing and wholeness, although maybe not in a way that you might think. When we pray for healing, and for a wholeness that comes from a more complete relationship with God, we’re often thinking about health- physical and mental- of ourselves and of those we love or care about.
That’s an incredibly important aspect of “good health”, and even if a physical healing doesn’t happen we know our prayers draw us closer to God and make our relationship more whole, fully rounded. But as Jesus demonstrates in today’s Gospel reading, all about healing and compassion, the healing that God brings is a reflection of the character of God; generous, gracious and much, much more vast than any of us can contemplate.
The parable of the Good Samaritan perhaps has the problem of being too familiar, too well known. We know it as the ultimate example of what it means to be a good neighbour, reminding us that everyone we meet is our neighbour, and how compassion can come from the most unlikely sources.
If in first century Palestine you’d put the words “good” and “Samaritan” together in a Jewish community they would’ve been outraged. It’s hard for us to get our heads around how radical Jesus was being here because “Samaritan”, through our familiarity with the parable, represents compassion, kindness and goodness.
The Jews hated the Samaritans. Hated. In the words of retired bishop and theologian Tom Wright Samaritans were wrong. Everything about them was wrong. Wrong worship, wrong theology and wrong behaviour. Religious division going back centuries caused this particular people to be despised by the Jewish community more than any other.
Now not only is this man from a despised people portrayed as the hero of our story, but the upright Jewish people – the priest and Levite – are the baddies. This would have been outrageous to the listeners.
Earlier this year as part of an exercise on one of my ministry training weekends we were asked to re-write this parable to contextualise it for today. How would you rewrite it? There are a variety of interpretations- the injured man is an Israeli Jew and the rescuer a Palestinian Muslim, a Christian is made redundant and helped by his Muslim neighbour, an elderly British lady is attacked by a gang of British teenagers and helped by a Polish migrant. These might not be overly imaginative but there’s a lot of twists we can give this to shake it up to make it relevant for today.
At the moment this feels like a very important time for to re-evaluate our own definitions of “neighbour”, and examine if we as a nation, like the people Jesus addressed, have inherited hostilities, ingrained in our very culture.
A report in the Independent Newspaper last week suggests that reports of Hate crimes have risen by 57% since the EU referendum vote. That is staggering. For someone who believed we lived in a tolerant multi-ethnic society I really am having to re-evaluate my own perceptions.
Part of my own interpretation is down to my own context. I work for the NHS, a wonderful example of a diverse multi-ethnic organisation, where on any given day that I walk onto the ward I might be greeted by colleagues of Polish, Hungarian, German, Swedish, Malaysian, Israeli, Pakistani, Indian, Jamaican, Moroccan, Somali and Spanish origin. I don’t experience racism, just a well-integrated team. This may be in part to our being a tertiary centre, who very rarely experience any degree of aggression or abuse, which sadly can be an issue in other NHS settings.
Despite by own bubble of idealism there clearly is a problem, whatever your opinion on the referendum, and this is not a sermon about that, it has stirred some very strong underlying emotions which have clearly been bubbling just under the surface waiting to burst forth.
What’s our response to this?
As Christians are we beyond the tribalism which facilitates fear and hatred of neighbour? Or have we created a tribalism of our own? Denis McBride writes that in society we maintain our identity through asserting our difference, whether through badges, flags, attitude, beliefs, stories or traditions. This is many ways is good for the church- we’re a people set apart, counter-cultural, but sometimes difference leads to the belief that one group is superior to another. Jesus is teaching that even when our beliefs differ from other’s we can still love “the other”.
In a recent interview leading writer in black theology Anthony Reddie stated that the basis of our faith is a radical appreciation of “the other” and a love of God which transcends our political and social limitations- faith is beyond tribalism, or should be. Our call to be counter-cultural is to counter the tribalism and assertion of identify which harms others. If our tradition invites us to fear or hate others we must reject that tradition, as it doesn’t belong to Jesus.
So how is this a sermon about healing? Well it’s about a healing which transcends the individual, although it begins with the individual. It’s about healing communities, healing a nation with deep wounds. This begins with our individual actions.
In the parable the injured man is healed with wine, oil and time. Wine and oil are two symbols we’ll encounter today; the wine of the eucharistic feast and oil of anointing which you may wish to receive afterwards. These symbols, alongside the prayers and time spent in worship, strengthen us, build us up, begin to facilitate an inner healing and form part of that more whole, or more rounded relationship with God.
What then are the oil and wine we share with the world to facilitate it’s healing? What can we anoint our communities with as a response to Jesus’ call to radical neighbourliness?
When the lawyer asks Jesus how he can get into heaven the answer is the shema, which is repeated in our liturgy each Sunday: “You shall 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 neighbour as yourself”. It’s that simple. That simplicity is too much, or maybe not enough for the lawyer. Where’s the catch? It can’t really be that easy? The difficult bit comes when Jesus explains the extent of who is our neighbour; each and every child of God.
The healing we need for a wounded people comes from love. Love as a verb. Love as an action. Loving our neighbour as ourselves. Our oil of anointing to take out into the world is love. Love leads to unity even where there is difference. An amazing image for this is in Psalm 133:
How very good and pleasant it is
when kindred live together in unity!
It is like the precious oil on the head,
running down upon the beard,
on the beard of Aaron,
running down over the collar of his robes.
Our call is to go out and not just anoint people with love, but pour it all over the place! Act lovingly in all that we do, towards all whom we meet.
If we do this, maybe others will want to do the same. Difference, whilst at times scary, can also be very attractive. It can get you noticed. It can spark a revolution.
Let’s be different by pouring out love in a time of fear. Healing our communities begins here, in this parable. Who was the neighbour in the story, Jesus asks the lawyer- The one who showed mercy. Jesus said to him “Go and do likewise”.
Amen.
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