Sermon: In the Ditch

Sermon preached by Rev. Emily Tanis-Likkel, Eagle Harbor Church, UCC        

July 15, 2007

Luke 10: 25-37             

              Anyone seen the movie Ratatouille?  It's the story of Remy, the rat who loved to cook and eat great food, but was part of a society that didn't share the same values.  Early on in the movie, he gets separated from his colony in a sewer.  He was offered a lifeline when he had almost caught up to all of his friends and family as they floated on makeshift rafts, but he just couldn't reach the spatula that was held out for him to grab.  Eventually he wandered off to a dryer spot, alone and in despair.  He felt like a nobody. What would he do now?  Then he realized that the lifeline he missed was not the one he needed.  His lifeline came as a cookbook, titled Anyone Can Cook.  This lifeline was offered by the chef who was his role model.  He encouraged him to get up, follow his passion, and start cooking.  This changed the course of his life.

              Sometimes a lifeline is the encouragement to be who God made us to be.  It is the knowledge that we are valuable, that as image-bearers of God we are precious and worthy.  Everybody: Our closest friends and those who are on a completely different wavelength than us.  No one is a stranger to God.  No one is a stranger at all.

              The Good Samaritan story is introduced by the words “just then.”  This is a clue that what comes before it is something we need to take a look at, because it follows closely on it's heels.  Jesus appointed 70 disciples (or a whole lot of disciples – 70 being the neat and complete number) to go out in mission, to “eat what is set before you; cure the sick who are there, and say to them, ‘The kingdom of God has come near to you. '”

              Wow, was this a rousing success.  These missionaries exclaimed that the evil spirits submitted to them because of the power granted to them by Christ.  Jesus told them that that was nothing to boast about; their true joy was the knowledge that their names were written in heaven.

              He turned to his inner circle of 12, and said, “Blessed are the eyes that see what you see! For I tell you that many prophets and kings desired to see what you see, but did not see it, and to hear what you hear, but did not hear it.”  Thank goodness you get it.  Most people don't. 

              Somebody was still stuck on that comment about their names being written in heaven.  It was a lawyer- not like a lawyer in a court of law, but a rabbi who was very concerned with following the law precisely. What do I have to do to make sure I have done what I need to get into heaven?  I better be sure to have my good-works portfolio grammar-checked and in pristine shape.  Hopefully I can cross off” love others” from my to-do list.  I certainly have enough other business to attend to. Well, let's see what the prophet has to say.  So he asked his question, “Teacher,” he said, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”  He held his breath, waiting to find out if he had indeed loved enough. 

              Jesus respectfully answers the lawyer in terms of law, and asked him what the law had to say about it.  Ironically, he answered correctly in terms not of law but of love: “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 neighbor as yourself.”  Yet then went back to law, back to trying to get out of loving, by asking, “And who is my neighbor?” He was hoping for a response in terms of the law.

              What the lawyer wanted, theologian Frederick Buechner wrote, was something like, "A neighbor (hereinafter referred to as the party of the first part) is to be construed as a person of Jewish descent whose residence is within a radius of three statute miles of one's own residence (hereinafter referred to as the party of the second part) unless another person of Jewish descent lives between the party of the first part and the party of the second part, in which case the intervening person shall be considered the neighbor to the party of the first part, hence relieving the party of the second part of any responsibility whatsoever."

              The lawyer was hoping for that sort of response from Jesus.  What he got was a story.  It has become one of the most well known stories to date.  Well-loved, greatly misunderstood, often misused.  For it is not so much a poignant story about a helpful stranger – as the media often uses the label “Good Samaritan;” it is not so much about the busy folks who passed on by, but is more about the guy in the ditch – the person with no name, no ethnicity, no religion, no age, no defining characteristics except for gender. 

              It's about the one in the ditch, because a neighbor is anybody – Jesus paints the most generic picture of him as possible.   A human being, gracefully made in God's image, that is your neighbor.  Middle Eastern, African, Asian, American; Christian, Buddhist, Muslim, Mormon; Fundamentalist or Progressive; Democrat or Republican; Gay or straight; Annoying or kind, that is your neighbor.  It's the one in the ditch.  It's anybody—it's everybody. 

              A lot of people are in the ditch.  Sometimes those people are in times of extreme crisis.  Open today's newspaper and you'll see examples of them.  Some are in the ditch because of illness.  Brett has a cousin, Melanie, who is in the ditch.  She is in critical condition at Children's Hospital after a battle with Cystic Fibrosis.  Melanie's family is in the ditch, too.  Others are in the ditch because of broken relationships.  A cousin of mine is getting a divorce – my heart aches for those two who are surely in a lot of pain.  Many in their everyday lives are in the ditch because of loneliness, depression, or just plain stress.  I often hear moms who are dropping their kids off at daycare hesitatingly admit that they are barely getting by on their short nights of sleep and juggling jobs, homes, and kids – not getting any time for themselves at all.  And we are privileged.  What about those who are juggling all these things and also wondering where there next meal will come from?  What about those neighbors? 

              Christians are in the business of holding out lifelines to neighbors.  A lifeline is . . . “an anchored line thrown as a support to someone falling or drowning . . . or “One that is or is regarded as a source of salvation in a crisis.” I've had a couple of extremely neighborly acts of love from people in this congregation this past week.  One gave me the gift of childcare and another the gift of house cleaning.  This was partly about grace, pure and simple, and partly the result of me being honest – I don't have any shyness about saying that the demands of parenting have been overwhelming. I've admitted to many of you that I'm in the ditch – and it's because of that that I've been given some lifelines. 

              I've also been given lifelines in the last week whose bearers probably had no idea what an impact they had on me.  A church member remarked at how healthy baby Day looks, and asked if I was nursing.  When I said yes, she squeezed my arm lovingly and said, “I'm so proud of you.”  I'd venture to say that even if I had answered differently, her response would have been the same.  She unknowingly offered encouragement, affirmation, and hope to a stressed-out mom.  Lifeline.  Later that same day, when Eva clambered onto my lap and snuggled against me while we waited on a bench at Kitsap Mall, a stranger beamed at us, and told me, “I can see how happy she is just to be with you, that is so precious. What affirmation, what a cup of cold water during a busy string of errands.  Lifeline.  A couple of days later I was upset and a friend noticed and came and sat right beside me.  Lifeline.  I've given out some lifelines, too.  But I'm sure that I've passed by some in the ditch because I did not see, or maybe I did, and was overwhelmed. 

              Who is my neighbor?  The lawyer asked.  Your neighbor is everyone.  The grace never ends; the love never stops.  Our whole lives through we are to love God and love our neighbor as ourselves.  There will always be someone in the ditch.  Will we see them?  Will we trust God to lead us into giving good care, and not get sucked into the situation in an unhealthy way?  God wants to guide us in our loving.  Crises big and small are soothed by the neighbor who stops, hunkers down right beside us, and offers some help and encouragement.  The gift might be a glass of water, a pack of tissues, a band-aid, a Bible, or a prayer.  When we are the one in the ditch, we would do well to accept help when it's offered – or come right out and ask for it if no one sees what is so obvious to us.  Sometimes the grace comes from the least expected source.  Sometimes we go right from grabbing a lifeline to offering one. 

              Grace gets us out of the ditch.  Grace is the lifeline.  A lifeline is an anchored line.  We are to love our neighbors as ourselves not just because it is the right thing to do or makes life flow more smoothly, but because the grace we receive and the grace we give is anchored in God.  The line that we throw does not fall into the ditch in vain, but is tethered to the rock.  We are to love our neighbors because God loves us; we are to show God's love in all that we do.

              Anne Lamott, in her new book, Grace (Eventually), described how her son took some time to get used to sleeping in a new house when he was ten. His room was a hallway down from her bedroom, so he started out on a sleeping bag beside her bed in her room. The next night they moved it to the foot of the bed, the next night three feet farther, and so on, until eventually he could sleep in his bedroom. She wrote, “A few times he called for me to come sit with him.  My nearness lifted him.  Sometimes grace works like water wings when you feel you are sinking.”  Sometime later, feeling hopeless with what was going on her life and in the world, Lamott found herself on the verge of a food binge.  She knew she should call a friend to talk her out of it, but instead she bought apple fritters.  When she finally called a friend, feeling awful after bingeing all day, she asked why her faith didn't protect her.  Her friend reminded her that it did.  She said “You found your way out of danger—and disgust—through humility, and even confession—to the love of safe people. You're a hero to me . . . You struggled through something really miserable.  You told the truth, when it's so tempting to cover up and disguise it.” Grace came like water wings--she grabbed the lifeline.  Giving someone a lifeline gives that person the buoyancy they need to keep on going. 

              So the lawyer was left holding a story.  And he seemed to get it, actually, that his loving was not finished.  Perhaps he saw that in the story, Christ was reaching out to him with a lifeline of hope, an invitation to join in his mission of love.  For the one in the ditch in the Good Samaritan story, grace came to meet his physical needs.  Grace came to dust him off and give him the message: you are worthy; you are beloved.  Jesus comes to us as the ultimate neighbor.  The lifeline is extended, that as image-bearers of God we are all precious.  Everybody.  No one is a stranger in God.  We are all neighbors.

http://cep.calvinseminary.edu/thisWeek/viewContent.php?iID=103&sID=1

Anne Lamott.  Grace (Eventually): Thoughts on Faith.  London:  Penguin Books, 2007.