Who Is My Neighbour?
Sermon
From time to time there are gruesome stories in the media about people who have died in their own home, and who haven't been discovered for several days, or even for two or three weeks. Mostly the deceased person has been old, and usually something of a recluse.
But there was a story a year or two ago about a young mother on one of the American airbases, who died from a sudden and unexpected heart attack. And, because her husband was away, and nobody had missed the young mother, her small toddler starved to death.
One of the common reactions in all these dreadful cases, is the shock and horror and guilt of the neighbours. They feel terrible because they simply didn't notice anything. They either didn't notice the person's absence, or if they did notice it, assumed that person had gone away.
All these stories always induce guilt in me, even though I've never been remotely near the vicinity where any of them have happened. But I don't see my neighbours every day. And although we always stop for a chat when we meet, I often have no idea whether my neighbours are at home or away, unless they happen to tell me.
Life now is so much more mobile than it used to be. Years ago, everyone not only knew their neighbours, but knew exactly what their neighbours were doing. Nowadays, most people drive and own their own car. And many people may have two or three holidays a year, or take off to see the family for the weekend, or jet away for a short break whenever they feel like it.
In this modern scenario, who are my neighbours, and just how much responsibility do I bear towards them? Am I totally my brother's keeper, or should my brother take some responsibility for himself?
In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus widened the whole concept of the neighbour. From being a friend, or a close acquaintance, or a kinsman, or a fellow countryman, Jesus enlarged the concept to include anyone who was in need, even an enemy.
At face value, the story is so straightforward. The priest and the Levite, members of the caring professions, people who ought to have shown concern, simply passed by. The humble Samaritan, the enemy, regarded by the Jews as not much better than a dog, took the trouble to stop and offer what help he could. And then went the extra mile by taking the injured man to hospital and paying for the man's treatment himself.
Whenever I've heard the story, I've always identified with the Samaritan, and felt shocked and indignant with the Levite and the priest. I'm quite sure that any of us who saw someone lying injured in the road, would act as that Samaritan acted. We don't need to be told what to do. We'd stop, and do all that was necessary. We'd go out of our way to help, as would any civilised human being.
So why did the priest and the Levite pass by on the other side?
When I was a teenager, I remember travelling through France with my parents and an uncle. At one very sharp bend in the road, we saw a little sports car come speeding round the corner much too fast, and crash into the grassy bank at the side of the road. Nobody climbed out of the sports car.
My parents and I waited for my uncle to stop, but he just kept on driving. When we tackled him about it, he said: "This is a busy road, someone will soon stop. We don't want to be caught up in this. None of us speak the language, we're in a foreign country, we could be held for days as witnesses. Leave it to the locals." We never found out whether that driver lived or died.
My uncle was a good man. He was a staunch churchgoer, he gave generously to charity, he was a pillar of the community. But he passed by on the other side.
People who have been mugged in broad daylight have often reported how others passed by, their heads averted. Perhaps it's not so easy to be a Good Samaritan, as it seems at first sight.
If I was in a really sleazy part of the city around midnight, and I saw a down-and-out with an empty bottle of spirits, lying in the gutter outside a pub, would I stop? Should I, a woman on her own, stop? If I saw someone being mugged by a large gang of teenage thugs, should I attempt to intervene? On the other hand, if I saw an elderly person trip over a paving stone, I'd have no hesitation in rushing to assist.
Perhaps the priest and the Levite were afraid. Frightened of being mugged themselves, if the robbers were still in the vicinity. Or afraid the man was drunk or on drugs, and therefore unpredictable or violent. Or perhaps they simply didn't want to be held up maybe for days with all the bureaucratic red tape that goes along with witnessing or rescuing.
Who is my neighbour?
It often feels easier to dispense neighbourly goodness at a distance. I have no difficulty in accepting inhabitants of poorer countries as my neighbours.
I'm happy to give a donation to Christian Aid and other charities which support third world countries, countries of the south. I'm happy to sign a petition to abolish world debt in Jubilee 2000. All of that is at a great distance, and even with the television bringing heart-rending pictures right into my home, it's still very far away. So I'm fairly safe in regarding inhabitants of the countries of the south as my neighbours.
But the closer to home it comes, the more difficult I sometimes find neighbourly goodness. It's easy to be neighbourly to people who present no threat. It's both easy and pleasant to be neighbourly with people who are delighted and grateful and who are good company. It's less easy and less pleasant to be neighbourly with people who make unrealistic demands or who are miserable and grumpy. It's very difficult indeed to be neighbourly with people who make it clear they don't want any help, who are rude or aggressive, and who slam the door in your face.
And for many of us, it's almost impossible to be neighbourly with people who are right outside own experience. Because it feels frightening and threatening. When I visited Cambridge recently, there was a filthy, unkempt man, sitting huddled on a doorstep. His eyes were staring and kind of blank, and his hair was long and matted and tangled. I thought he was probably on drugs. I hurried past.
When I returned, an hour or so later, he was still there. But somebody was sitting with him. It was a young girl, a student from the university. She may have known him, I don't know. But I do know she had more courage and compassion and caring than I had.
Who is my neighbour?
Everybody, said Jesus. There are no exemptions. All those people far away. All those people near at hand, both pleasant and unpleasant, both easy and demanding. All those people who seem to inhabit some alien culture, which is terrifying and threatening. They are all our neighbours.
Jesus told this story of the Good Samaritan in response to the question: 'What must I do to inherit eternal life?' "You must love your neighbours, " said Jesus. And that love includes being prepared to take risks, being prepared to forget myself. For Jesus said: "Whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake, he will save it." (Luke 9:24)
I want to finish with a poem by Jean Hackett. It's called: My Neighbours.
All kinds of people have lived next to me: A funny old lady who was scared of burglars, A toothless woman with bleached hair, A lonely divorcee, A frail clergy widow, A Christian Science family, A bitter old couple who would not say 'hello', A family whose daughter left because her stepmother did not love her, A husband and wife whom I never saw.
I have watched the news, And prayed for war-torn countries; I have heard of the needy, And given money for their support; I have read of prisoners of conscience, And written letters to their governments; I have seen that help was wanted in a charity shop, And volunteered.
But how much have I done for the people next door? Is it because they live right beside me That I have sometimes failed to see their needs?
Lord, forgive me for being caught up in a whirl of Christian activity And not having enough time for my neighbours; Forgive me for bearing the burden of the world, And neglecting the people on my doorstep.
But there was a story a year or two ago about a young mother on one of the American airbases, who died from a sudden and unexpected heart attack. And, because her husband was away, and nobody had missed the young mother, her small toddler starved to death.
One of the common reactions in all these dreadful cases, is the shock and horror and guilt of the neighbours. They feel terrible because they simply didn't notice anything. They either didn't notice the person's absence, or if they did notice it, assumed that person had gone away.
All these stories always induce guilt in me, even though I've never been remotely near the vicinity where any of them have happened. But I don't see my neighbours every day. And although we always stop for a chat when we meet, I often have no idea whether my neighbours are at home or away, unless they happen to tell me.
Life now is so much more mobile than it used to be. Years ago, everyone not only knew their neighbours, but knew exactly what their neighbours were doing. Nowadays, most people drive and own their own car. And many people may have two or three holidays a year, or take off to see the family for the weekend, or jet away for a short break whenever they feel like it.
In this modern scenario, who are my neighbours, and just how much responsibility do I bear towards them? Am I totally my brother's keeper, or should my brother take some responsibility for himself?
In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus widened the whole concept of the neighbour. From being a friend, or a close acquaintance, or a kinsman, or a fellow countryman, Jesus enlarged the concept to include anyone who was in need, even an enemy.
At face value, the story is so straightforward. The priest and the Levite, members of the caring professions, people who ought to have shown concern, simply passed by. The humble Samaritan, the enemy, regarded by the Jews as not much better than a dog, took the trouble to stop and offer what help he could. And then went the extra mile by taking the injured man to hospital and paying for the man's treatment himself.
Whenever I've heard the story, I've always identified with the Samaritan, and felt shocked and indignant with the Levite and the priest. I'm quite sure that any of us who saw someone lying injured in the road, would act as that Samaritan acted. We don't need to be told what to do. We'd stop, and do all that was necessary. We'd go out of our way to help, as would any civilised human being.
So why did the priest and the Levite pass by on the other side?
When I was a teenager, I remember travelling through France with my parents and an uncle. At one very sharp bend in the road, we saw a little sports car come speeding round the corner much too fast, and crash into the grassy bank at the side of the road. Nobody climbed out of the sports car.
My parents and I waited for my uncle to stop, but he just kept on driving. When we tackled him about it, he said: "This is a busy road, someone will soon stop. We don't want to be caught up in this. None of us speak the language, we're in a foreign country, we could be held for days as witnesses. Leave it to the locals." We never found out whether that driver lived or died.
My uncle was a good man. He was a staunch churchgoer, he gave generously to charity, he was a pillar of the community. But he passed by on the other side.
People who have been mugged in broad daylight have often reported how others passed by, their heads averted. Perhaps it's not so easy to be a Good Samaritan, as it seems at first sight.
If I was in a really sleazy part of the city around midnight, and I saw a down-and-out with an empty bottle of spirits, lying in the gutter outside a pub, would I stop? Should I, a woman on her own, stop? If I saw someone being mugged by a large gang of teenage thugs, should I attempt to intervene? On the other hand, if I saw an elderly person trip over a paving stone, I'd have no hesitation in rushing to assist.
Perhaps the priest and the Levite were afraid. Frightened of being mugged themselves, if the robbers were still in the vicinity. Or afraid the man was drunk or on drugs, and therefore unpredictable or violent. Or perhaps they simply didn't want to be held up maybe for days with all the bureaucratic red tape that goes along with witnessing or rescuing.
Who is my neighbour?
It often feels easier to dispense neighbourly goodness at a distance. I have no difficulty in accepting inhabitants of poorer countries as my neighbours.
I'm happy to give a donation to Christian Aid and other charities which support third world countries, countries of the south. I'm happy to sign a petition to abolish world debt in Jubilee 2000. All of that is at a great distance, and even with the television bringing heart-rending pictures right into my home, it's still very far away. So I'm fairly safe in regarding inhabitants of the countries of the south as my neighbours.
But the closer to home it comes, the more difficult I sometimes find neighbourly goodness. It's easy to be neighbourly to people who present no threat. It's both easy and pleasant to be neighbourly with people who are delighted and grateful and who are good company. It's less easy and less pleasant to be neighbourly with people who make unrealistic demands or who are miserable and grumpy. It's very difficult indeed to be neighbourly with people who make it clear they don't want any help, who are rude or aggressive, and who slam the door in your face.
And for many of us, it's almost impossible to be neighbourly with people who are right outside own experience. Because it feels frightening and threatening. When I visited Cambridge recently, there was a filthy, unkempt man, sitting huddled on a doorstep. His eyes were staring and kind of blank, and his hair was long and matted and tangled. I thought he was probably on drugs. I hurried past.
When I returned, an hour or so later, he was still there. But somebody was sitting with him. It was a young girl, a student from the university. She may have known him, I don't know. But I do know she had more courage and compassion and caring than I had.
Who is my neighbour?
Everybody, said Jesus. There are no exemptions. All those people far away. All those people near at hand, both pleasant and unpleasant, both easy and demanding. All those people who seem to inhabit some alien culture, which is terrifying and threatening. They are all our neighbours.
Jesus told this story of the Good Samaritan in response to the question: 'What must I do to inherit eternal life?' "You must love your neighbours, " said Jesus. And that love includes being prepared to take risks, being prepared to forget myself. For Jesus said: "Whoever would save his life will lose it, and whoever loses his life for my sake, he will save it." (Luke 9:24)
I want to finish with a poem by Jean Hackett. It's called: My Neighbours.
All kinds of people have lived next to me: A funny old lady who was scared of burglars, A toothless woman with bleached hair, A lonely divorcee, A frail clergy widow, A Christian Science family, A bitter old couple who would not say 'hello', A family whose daughter left because her stepmother did not love her, A husband and wife whom I never saw.
I have watched the news, And prayed for war-torn countries; I have heard of the needy, And given money for their support; I have read of prisoners of conscience, And written letters to their governments; I have seen that help was wanted in a charity shop, And volunteered.
But how much have I done for the people next door? Is it because they live right beside me That I have sometimes failed to see their needs?
Lord, forgive me for being caught up in a whirl of Christian activity And not having enough time for my neighbours; Forgive me for bearing the burden of the world, And neglecting the people on my doorstep.
