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“Who is my Neighbor?” Rev. Melissa St. Clair, 7/10/16

“Who is my neighbor?”
Based on Luke 10:25-37

A sermon preached at
Heart of the Rockies Christian Church (Disciples of Christ)
Fort Collins, CO
by the Rev. Melissa St. Clair
July 10, 2016

This week’s sermon evolved from the sermon I thought I was going to write when I chose a sermon title and bulletin cover quote to the sermon I started to write early in the week to the sermon I agonized over for hours at the end of the week.

It’s been a week, hasn’t it?

Even if you haven’t been feasting on a steady diet of the 24 hour news cycle, you’ve probably heard enough to know that this week was one blow after the next – two Black men lost their lives in separate police encounters in Minnesota and Louisiana, then, as a crowd in Texas was peacefully protesting these incidents, five police officers were killed by a lone gunman.

I’m headed to a week-long writing workshop this evening, and I’m hoping they’re able to do something to make some sense of the overload of thoughts racing through my mind about all of this. Because right now, it seems like there aren’t any words.

Didn’t I just preach a sermon on the heels of gun violence?

Are you as exhausted as I am from hearing bad news when the gospel promises us good news?

Our Christian tradition offers us lament as a response to times like these. A biblical lament, like we find in the psalms, is an expression of trust in the character, power, and previous action of God—an expression of trust that looks beyond our current circumstances to what will be and what is—the reality behind the reality.

Today, in lieu of the first scripture reading printed in your bulletin, turn with me in the Bibles underneath your seats to Psalm 90. We’ll alternate reading the verses responsively.

(TIME TO BREATHE)

Jesus never gives a direct answer when a story—or another question—will do. This morning, we read from Luke’s gospel the story often referred to as “The Good Samaritan,” which, in context, is the answer Jesus gives to a lawyer in response to his question, “Who is my neighbor?”

READ LUKE 10:25-37

People sure liked to test Jesus. Maybe when you seem to have all the answers, it’s fun to try and trip you up. Like so many times before this, Jesus doesn’t hesitate when he’s put on the spot. The lawyer, though, seems to be looking for a loophole. Some things never change, I guess.

We could say the same of Jesus.

Jesus was quite consistent when it came to “intentionally, purposefully, and passionately address[ing] very specific causes.”

The easy answer to the lawyers query, “Who is my neighbor?” would’ve been: “Everyone. All lives matter.”

That’s not the answer Jesus gave.

As Stephen Mattson puts it:

Instead of saying all lives matter, Jesus said, “Samaritan lives matter.”

The Samaritan, the one who is least like you, the one who you may fear and despise. The Samaritan is your neighbor.

And, if we read the gospels in their entirety, we see a pattern emerge:
In making a point to his disciples, Jesus said, “Children’s lives matter.”
Jesus said, “Gentile lives matter.”
Jesus said, “Jewish lives matter.”
Jesus said, and this is big one, “Women’s lives matter.”
Jesus said, “Lepers’ lives matter.”

There’s no question that Jesus loves everyone. In fact, he loved us—all of us—to the point of dying for our sins—all of them. Hallelujah!

And yet he went out of his way to intentionally help specific groups of people — the alienated, mistreated, and those facing injustice.

He wasn’t afraid to remind people that some lives were valued by society more than others. It wasn’t that those lives didn’t matter. It’s that he wanted to make sure the lives of those who invisible, disenfranchised, marginalized were seen as valued, too.

Last weekend, while I was back east, I had the opportunity to visit my college country coach, who now works at Washington & Lee University in Virginia. Lee served as the college’s president from 1865-1870. He and his family are buried in a crypt underneath Lee Chapel on the university’s campus in Lexington, Virginia. One of the many ways the university pays one of its namesake’s homage is the bus that shuttles students back to their dorms after late nights of…studying…in the library…. Its name is Traveller, the name belonging to Robert E. Lee’s trusty mount.

This weekend, as I read and read, desperate for a word that would spark even a tiny glimmer of hope after the week we’ve lived in our nation, I came across an article written by General Lee’s great-great-great-great-nephew, Rob Lee. Rob is a United Methodist pastor.

Rob writes, “I can’t do much about what that Robert Lee did in the 19th century. But this Robert Lee can do something different today. As a Christian pastor, on Sunday, this descendant of the Lees of Virginia will step into a pulpit in Raleigh, N.C., and say the names “Alton Sterling” and “Philando Castile.” Because enough is enough.”

Rob can be a descendant of a Confederate general who fought to uphold the institution of slavery in our nation AND work to fight the systemic racism that is present in the United States today.

I can be a white clergywoman who stands with the Black Lives Matter movement AND supports police officers, who daily dedicate themselves to the safety of others.

I can acknowledge that I benefit daily from white privilege AND use that power for good—to be an ally to people of color; to speak up when I see racism in action; to educate others and myself about racism as it manifests itself locally and nationally.

We can seek the contemplation quiet offers to process, reflect, and pray AND lend our voices, loud and clear, to causes for justice, peace, and reconciliation.

We can take time to rest and pray as a way of caring for our own souls in the midst of trauma and grief AND we can act in ways promote awareness, understanding, and inclusion.

We can gather for worship to sing and break bread together AND we can be the church in world, lobbying for change, protesting for peace, and marching for the things that matter.

We can laugh and celebrate joyful moments in our lives AND be keenly aware of empathetic to those who are crying and filled with anger.

We can be Christians AND stand in solidarity with people of other faith traditions.

Too often, we’re led to believe that it’s either/or.

The good news? Jesus makes it quite clear that it’s both/and.

“What is written in the law?” he asks.

Love God AND love neighbor.

It’s a both/and proposition. These two cannot be separated. We cannot do one unless we’re doing the other.

And, of course, the truth is this: Love wins.