The Good Samaritan

Anne Herndon

December 29, 1996

Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church

Bethesda, Maryland

The first time I ever heard the parable of The Good Samaritan was at Mrs. Fox's house, when I was about eight years old. It was my friend Harriet who had invited me to Mrs. Fox's. "Would you like to go with me tomorrow to hear a Bible story at After-School Bible School?" she inquired. " I don't know," I answered hesitantly. "What else do you do?" "Well, the teacher talks with us about Jesus, and we sing songs about Jesus, and we pray." Somehow this proposal didn't seem to present much competition for my usual after-school activities such as riding my bike and playing with my friends.

Harriet must have sensed my uncertainty. "Oh yes," she added, "there's something else. When you walk into Mrs. Fox's house it always smells like she has cookies baking in the oven. And she probably does, because at the end of class, we all get to have cookies and a drink. We can have as many cookies as we want." With this bit of information, the invitation had now taken on a new sweetness. I decided that I'd give After-School Bible School a try.

Mrs. Fox was my friend Matty Fox's mother and every Wednesday afternoon she graciously hosted a Bible study group for elementary school children. The group was led by Miss Joanne from our local YWCA. Miss Joanne had a flannel board and each week she arrived with cut-out pictures which illustrated various stories from the Bible. I was fascinated by how skillfully she moved these figures across the flannel board, making the stories come alive by changing her voice to represent each character. I found her presentation to be quite spellbinding and I remember wishing that I had a flannel board myself.

Each week, Miss Joanne arrived with a new set of cut-out figures. She told us stories about Cain and Abel, about Noah and his ark, and about Jesus and his miracles. And at some point in our lessons, she told us about the Good Samaritan and the deeds that he performed while coming to the aid of a robbery victim, somewhere on that dangerous road between Jerusalem and Jericho.

With childhood righteous indignation our class was appalled that neither the priest nor the Levite had bothered to stop, but had just passed by on the other side. "Which of these three people do you think was the neighbor to the man who was robbed?" Miss Joanne asked after the paper figures had re-enacted the parable? "The man who stopped and helped," we all agreed. "Go and do likewise," Miss Joanne commissioned us.

In my youthful enthusiasm, I took her charge very seriously. My hero and role model had become the Good Samaritan and I was determined to be just like him. With Miss Joanne's guidance, I had a whole catalog of suggested activities that I could undertake which would place me in the Good Samaritan category, actions such as coming to the aid of a classmate who had fallen down on the playground, rescuing a bird with a broken wing, or loaning a pencil to a friend who had lost theirs. There was no doubt that I had developed a strong identification with the Good Samaritan, one that stayed with me in varying degrees, off and on, for at least several months.

The story of the Good Samaritan emerged in my life again about two years later when I was ten years old. It was August in my hometown of Atlantic City and everyone was enjoying the beach and boardwalk during the bustling tourist season. But that summer, I couldn't be with the crowds who were delighting in the summer sunshine and the ocean breezes. It fact, it was whispered that it was because of my exposure to crowds that I had contracted the dreaded disease, the disease whose name no one would utter in my presence. For I was in the hospital and I was very, very sick. And although no one would admit it in my presence, I knew from my parents' tears and terror-stricken looks, that I had polio.

After I had been in the hospital for several weeks, after the acute stage had passed and plans were being made to transfer me to a children's rehabilitation center, I had an unexpected visitor. It was Reverend Stratton from the Methodist church which I sometimes attended with my friend Jean! At that time in my life I had no familiarity with the concept of pastoral care and I was completely astonished that a minister would come by with the express purpose of seeing me.

I never realized that Rev. Stratton even knew who I was! I was certain that I had never spoken a word to him face to face. At no time was our relationship any closer than the distance between where I sat in the pew and where he stood in the pulpit. Rev. Stratton was known for the length of his sermons and each Sunday, after the service, the parishioners would roll their eyes and complain that he had gone over-time again.

And now, here he was, right next to me at my bedside. I hadn't the slightest idea why he was there or what I should say to him. But apparently Rev. Stratton had had experience in these situations and there didn't seem to be any awkward lulls in the conversation. At some point in his visit, he produced a children's book which contained stories from the Bible and asked me if I'd like him to read one. I requested my old favorite, "The Good Samaritan," and luckily it was in there.

This time when I heard the story I found my interest drawn, not to the Good Samaritan himself, but instead to the plight of the innocent victim of random brutality. I listened while Rev. Stratton read about the unfortunate traveler who had been attacked by robbers, beaten, and left in a helpless state by the side of the road.

When he finished the story I asked, "Do you think the man ever got better?" "Well", said Rev. Stratton, "it doesn't tell that in the Bible. But if you want my opinion, I think he did. The Good Samaritan cleaned and bandaged the man's wounds and I have a feeling that the innkeeper took good care of him. My guess is that he always had some scars, but that he eventually got better and was able to go on with his life." Rev. Stratton confided that this was one of his favorite stories because it was about God's love for people who are suffering. His interpretation was that God shows us divine love through the care and concern of others. And he also mentioned that "Good Samaritan" is a common name for hospitals because the doctors and staff at hospitals work hard to help people get well. I remember thinking how glad I was that Rev. Stratton had stopped by, even if I hadn't known him very well.

As I grew through my teen and early adult years, I started to question the trust that I had had in the Bible. Were all the things that the Bible said really true? I questioned the trust that I had had in the church. Was the church always right? And I questioned the portrait that I had had of God. Was God really a Trinity, three persons in One?

At that point in my life, I discontinued my church-going because I couldn't seem to find a church that was a comfortable fit for me. I put aside the Bible because I came to believe that it wasn't "real." Instead I spent time alone trying to decide what I thought about God. I was on an impassioned search for a faith that could sustain me. Gradually I came to find a spiritual connection with nature, with the ocean, and with the endless skies. Although I had decided that corporate worship, prayer, and the Bible held no purpose for me, I felt certain that there was an ineffable sacredness in the universe which reached from everlasting to everlasting, and I was comforted by that thought.

By the time I entered college, it was the early sixties and the civil rights movement was gaining momentum. One weekend several African American students on campus presented a program that touched me deeply. The format was very informal with each person speaking from the heart about what it had been like growing up black in a predominantly white culture.

The last person to speak was a young woman who was a dorm-mate. She described several incidents of discrimination that she had endured during her lifetime and then in closing, she referred to the Biblical parable of the Good Samaritan. Drawing a parallel between her race and the man who had been assaulted, she urged the white students to not "pass by on the other side" as did the priest and the Levite, but instead to help to bind the wounds and become involved in the struggle. Even though I had been successful in avoiding all associations with churches and the Bible, the Good Samaritan story had infiltrated my life once again, causing me to pause and reflect, and in this context, I identified with yet another set of characters.

For most of my adult years, I have had an uneasy relationship with the Bible. On the one hand I was quite uncomfortable with some of the literal interpretations that I heard. Yet, on the other, I was attracted to the beauty of its words, its cries of anguish, and its songs of praise. As my spiritual pilgrimage took many interesting turns, subsequently leading me to UUism, and then to seminary, a copy of the Bible was always on my bookshelf, although sometimes ignored for years at a time.

When I started seminary, the first class that I took was Christian Scriptures, or the New Testament. Eventually, our course of studies turned to the Gospel of Luke and I met the Good Samaritan once again. At that time my interest in the story was purely academic. As I read the interpretive explanations, I learned of the animosities between Samaritans and Jews. By Jewish standards, Samaritans were racially impure and were heretical in their religion, so the two central characters in the story, the Jewish traveler and the Samaritan man of charity, were people divided by great barriers of race, culture, and creed. This background information added another dimension to this story.

However, one of the most significant contributions that my seminary studies have made to my spiritual growth is to provide me with a new measure of comfort with the Bible. I've come to realize that I can look at the Bible with a new lens, and I've made an attempt to develop what UUA President John Buehrens calls "an interpretive relationship" with this important part of my Judeo-Christian heritage. I've reclaimed the Bible for myself. I now mine it for its messages of inspiration, as I discover, and rediscover its wisdom. I've come to realize that stories don't necessarily have to be real and factual in order to illustrate universal truths. And I've also come to recognize that the parable of the Good Samaritan is a story that has laid its claim on me.

For throughout my life I've identified myself successively with the Samaritan, the man who was assaulted, and then with those who passed by. It is only recently that this story has challenged me to identify myself with those who actually participated in the assault. I'm now prompted to examine areas of my life in which I have, perhaps unwittingly, contributed to the violence.

For example, is there anything about my behavior that has supported the perpetuation of the virus of racism? Do the hidden advantages and economic benefits of my white skin privilege impact on institutional racism? Do I, evenly remotely, bear any of the responsibility for the fact that 20% of the people of the world control 80% of the world's resources, or for the fact that two-thirds of the human family goes to bed hungry every night? Does my high standard of living contribute to the ecological crisis? Because of the food I eat, or the clothes I wear, or the products I use, do I cause helpless animals to suffer?

Back in third grade, when I was going to After-School Bible School with Miss Joanne, I never would have predicted that some day the parable I first learned with the help of a flannel board would provoke these questions in me. But I've come to recognize that, through the years this story has taken hold of me and woven its way into my soul. As the circumstances of my life have changed, I have interpreted this story in various ways, and it has interpreted me. It has alternately provided me with a sense of moral direction, challenged my participation in society, and granted me a profound sense of personal comfort when a minister I barely knew performed an extraordinary bit of pastoral care, giving me hope when there seemed to be little hope on the horizon.

However, this parable has not given me specific answers to some of the most difficult questions that I face when I consider what being a Good Samaritan means. As a person of faith, I take seriously the mandate to "Love thy neighbor." But in all honesty, there are many times in my daily living when I hesitate to intervene in certain situations either because I feel it would be personally unsafe or because I feel that in the long run it would prolong the problem, rather than solve it.

For example, poverty and homelessness are serious national problems and panhandling has become widespread throughout the country, in both urban and suburban areas. There are many people in critical need of assistance for a variety of reasons and some of these folks may be on the streets. But some poverty and homelessness are the result of addiction and mental illness and these people need a specialized kind of support. And in some cases, panhandlers are actually people who exploit others of a charitable nature, taking advantage of public concern over poverty and homelessness.

One of my friends told me of her feelings of guilt for having passed a man in her car two mornings in a row, who was holding a sign which said, "Will work for food." She was haunted by this vision during the day and vowed that if she ever saw him again she would pay him to rake her leaves. On the third morning he was still there so she stopped. To her offer he replied, "I'm not really interested in working but I'll take $10."

On the other hand, I had an experience with a different man carrying a similar sign. When he approached my car I handed him a can of tuna fish and a package of crackers. He called out a hurried "thank you," dropped the sign, and bounded over to a near-by tree where he sat down and tore into the package, devouring it in an instant.

Jesus didn't provide instructions to cover each aspect of every situation so we are left to struggle with many issues on our own. In terms of the homeless and those who approach me on the street, I've decided that I will never donate cash, but will give food and provide information to put people in touch with appropriate community resources. But I'm not always entirely comfortable with my decision, and sometimes I am left with a gnawing feeling that perhaps I have neglected someone that I could have helped.

The wisdom of the Bible cannot always enlighten our pathways in every regard. I also struggle in my relationships with my children, relatives, and friends, striving to decide when I am empowering and when I am enabling, when I am giving appropriate help for a real need and when I am promoting dependency.

I'm painfully aware that life is not as simple as it seemed to be when our After-School Bible School class developed our list of suggested Good Samaritan activities. But this parable has provided me with some important eternal truths and a strong sense of moral direction. The most that I can do is to make a conscientious reckoning with decisions, struggling to combine my best judgment with a fullness of heart. For my pilgrimage through life will undoubtedly continue to take me down that road of decision, the road between Jerusalem and Jericho.

Cedar Lane Unitarian Universalist Church
9601 Cedar Lane, Bethesda, Maryland 20814-4099
Tel: 301-493-8300    Fax: 301-897-5713
e-mail: office@CedarLane.org
Sunday Services at 10 a.m.
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