This morning I have been invited to St John’s in Winchester to preach about the Good Samaritan.

How well do you know the story of the Good Samaritan?

Pretty well I’m guessing. If you went to Sunday School, or had Assemblies at School you are bound to have heard the story as a child, and even if you didn’t, then the phrase has become a part of every day parlance when speaking of someone known for their acts of charity. In the UK The Samaritans is a well known charity offering free and anonymous support to those at the end of their tether. Other charities have also named themselves after this parable.

As you read this you are probably thinking of the traveller turned paramedic, who finding someone badly beaten stopped in his tracks and at great cost to himself took care of a the man, ensuring he was safe and well looked after. A great deed of love by an anonymous Samaritan to a stranger.

If you have come across this story as an adult, perhaps in a sermon or your own private study, you will know that the Samaritan wasn’t the first to come upon this person in great need. Indeed the Samaritan was the third person to see the man, but was the first to come close enough to care for him. You may know that the first two were religious leaders, who chose to ‘cross over’ to avoid coming into contact with this other person in dire need who would make them ‘unclean’. You may even know, that a person from Samaria, a Samaritan, would have been the last person a Jew would have expected to be the hero of such a parable, but Jesus uses this man and his race to shock his audience.

Today I want to look at the prologue to the Parable. The parable is, after all, just a story, the event never really took place. The story is prompted by a (religious) lawyer setting out to test Jesus. We might think, ‘why would he want to do that?’ why test Jesus and try to belittle him and discredit him when you could sit at his feet and learn from him? Why indeed! The religious leaders of Jesus’ day did not like him, to put it mildly. They could sense his integrity and could see that others did too; his entourage was growing daily, and with this growth of disciples was a growing disquiet and questioning of the established religion which, along with the occupying Roman forces, ruled the Jewish people.

I’m not sure what the lawyer was expecting from Jesus. The answer to the question asked of him was one that every Jew knew by heart. To love the Lord your God was the commandment above all commandments. Since the Israelites came out of the wilderness it had been tied in little boxes to the foreheads of devout Jews and wrapped around their arms. It had been written around the doorposts at the entrance to their homes (and still is), it was taught at home and in the synagogue. When Jesus answered the question

What must I do to inherit eternal life?

Luke 10:25

He was affirming that he was an Israelite, that he was Jewish, that there was nothing contentious about his own teaching. However, the lawyer pushes Jesus further, and asks him to elaborate on this teaching, as all rabbis liked to do, and asks who his neighbour is. So Jesus launches into this teaching story in which those who would culturally be classed as the heroes turn out to be the baddies, and vice-versa.

What strikes me about reading this parable afresh isn’t just that the Samaritan was willing to risk injury to himself to show love and compassion to his fellow traveller (after all it could have been a trap and the bandits were lying in wait for an unsuspecting do-gooder…), but that he was equipped to do so.

We may know that the most important thing we can do, in God’s eyes, is love others regardless of status, class, race, gender… but do we live our lives ready to do so?

Do we live our lives ready to love others?

As I leave the house today, am I prepared to love anyone I might meet? The Samaritan of the story set out on his journey with a first aid kit of bandages, oil, and wine. He set out with enough money to be able to help someone in need. He set out with a heart full of mercy.

Last week I set out for London with none of the above. It was, in essence, a religious day trip, a fact finding mission to see how we could help our neighbours here in Hampshire, and yet I am ashamed to say, I left mercy behind. I was approached by a Big Issue seller as I was eating my lunch, and I was annoyed. I was annoyed because I didn’t have any cash on me, and because he wouldn’t take no for an answer, and because our languages were different and I struggled to understand. Eventually he asked me to buy him a drink and I grudgingly did, and when I needed to bulk up my order to meet the minimum amount to pay by card, I bought the cheapest thing possible, despite him drooling over a custard tart.

I am still not sure why I didn’t just buy him that tart. Why couldn’t my generosity stretch to buy him sandwiches too, I could have splashed out on a feast for him and invited him to eat with us, instead of trying to get rid of him as soon as possible. Where was my sense of mercy? Where was my compassion? My love for my neighbour?

This morning I am travelling into a much smaller city to lead worship at a church I haven’t been to before. Before I leave the house I will ensure that I do have enough cash on me to be able to buy a Big Issue if I am fortunate to be offered one again; and I will also check my heart for mercy, for love for others. Perhaps I can make up for my earlier actions and set a banquet before someone else. Perhaps I can love my neighbour?