Chosen For Purpose - Amos 7:7-17; Luke 10:25-37

I recently learned that Arkansas is one of 40 U.S. states that has a Good Samaritan law. Good Samaritan laws provide legal protection for people that assist a stranger who is injured, ill, or in peril. These laws are put in place to encourage bystanders to offer aid in an emergency without fear of prosecution for unintentional wrongdoing. For example, if a bystander with medical training administers CPR to an unresponsive individual, that individual cannot later sue the bystander over a bruised or broken rib.

The name “Good Samaritan law” is based on sound theology. It recognizes that in the parable, the Samaritan assists the injured man at great potential cost to his own wellbeing. He sacrifices his time and his money, and he sacrifices his safety by engaging with people in a land far from home, where most of the population harbors ill will towards him. The Good Samaritan law also acknowledges a key tenet of the parable, which is that in the Kingdom, help often comes from the most unexpected places. 

This week, I pored over the parable of the Good Samaritan for the umpteenth time in my life, wondering how I could possibly say anything new about one of most well-known Gospel stories. Eventually, I had a small revelation about the passage, and in true Good Samaritan style, it came from somewhere unexpected: the book of Amos. 

Amos is one of the earliest recorded Israelite prophets. He was active in the 8th century BCE, during the time of the divided kingdom. This was still a couple hundred years out from the Babylonian Exile, but the nation of Israel, the people of the God of Abraham, had split into two geographically and theologically opposed nations: Judah and Israel, the capital of which was Samaria. Clearly, the feud alluded to in our Gospel passage was ancient and deep. 

Amos was born in Judah, the southern kingdom, but when he was called by God to prophesy to the people, he moved to the northern kingdom. One might think that this move indicates a problem in the north. Surely the people there must be more troubled, more violent, more blasphemous, and Amos needed to leave home and prophesy there. But in fact, 8th century Israel was a largely stable, thriving, peaceful place. 

As it turns out, this is precisely why Amos is drawn there. Throughout his ministry, Amos spent a lot of time recalling the history of Israel, reminding the people that they are God’s chosen nation. In today’s passage, Amos gets into an argument with a priest in the city of Bethel. The priest defies Amos’ proclamations. Yes, we are God’s chosen people, and we are clearly doing fine. Why don’t you go home and mind your own business?

But Amos will not back down. He is determined to reiterate that the people are chosen not for privilege but for purpose. But because they continue to rest in their privilege and ignore the needs of others in their community, a reckoning is on its way. Salvation, Amos practically screams, is not a result of privilege. It is not even a side effect or accessory. Being chosen is not an easy or comfortable journey.

As things continue to get worse for the two kingdoms in the coming years, the exile will seem more and more inevitable. It becomes easy to forget that the beginning of the Israelites’ downfall was not military defeat or rampant poverty. It was their own complacency. Amos was largely ignored because so many people were convinced: we have everything we need, our lives are comfortable and satisfactory, this prophet surely cannot be talking to us. 

As I read about this encounter at Bethel in the book of Amos, I felt a tinge of recognition. Perhaps when it comes to the parable of the Good Samaritan, I, like the people of Amos’ day, am confused about where to place myself in the story and more importantly, confused about how God is speaking to me through it.

After Jesus has finished telling the parable and the lawyer begrudgingly admits that the merciful Samaritan is the neighbor in the story, Jesus tells him to go and do likewise. These are important marching orders for the lawyer and for us. But in our blindness, we take these instructions as a sign that the character we are meant to identify with is the Samaritan, the man who takes a risk on behalf of a stranger in need. We take on the hubris of our Israelite ancestors and assume that because we are comfortable, safe, and without much need, we cannot possibly be meant to see ourselves in any of the unfortunate or unlikeable characters.

But perhaps we should exercise more caution in passing judgement on these characters. When it comes to the Levite priests who pass by the man in the ditch, one scholar explains, “while their behavior was certainly not commendable, neither was it without reason.” Oh how often this applies to us all. I am a priest in God’s one, holy, catholic and apostolic church, and for a million small reasons, I drive right past more than half of the people I see asking for help on the side of the road. How could I have been so blind to my place in this parable? 

The truth, that same scholar says, is that the only people who can fully and deeply understand the parable of the Good Samaritan are those who have been in the ditch with the helpless man. It is only there that we are capable of discovering who and what a neighbor is, and will likely surprise us. 

I suspect that many of us have spent time in life’s ditches, and have learned the hard truth that often, our only way out is the very last path or person we desire. I imagine that the disgruntled lawyer was frustrated to hear Jesus proclaim that the person he must love, the person who might very well be his salvation, is his sworn enemy.

If this parable were written today, Jesus might say something like this. A member of Christ Church was stranded on the side of the highway with a flat tire. Two vehicles with Episcopal Church bumper stickers drove right past. Finally, someone stopped to help. It was a biblical literalist and evangelical. It was a convicted felon. It was their ex-spouse. It was their state representative to congress. 

We are so quick to place ourselves in the comfortable spots in the grand story of God’s people. We think our privilege is a sign of our salvation. We forget, just like the Israelites Amos preached to, that we are chosen by God not for privilege but for purpose. This does not mean that we should never be safe or fulfilled or joyful, but it does mean that these are not our primary goals, they are the natural result of living a life in the image of Christ, devoted to caring for those in need. 

So let us reconsider our marching orders from Christ, “go and do likewise.” Let us imagine that Jesus’ meaning is broader than we first thought, as is often the case. Let us seek the Kingdom of God wherever we find ourselves in this story. Let us be open to discovering who are neighbors are. Let us be patient and renewed in our purpose when we find ourselves in the Levites’ shoes. Let us be quick to recognize when we have fallen into the comfort and complacency of the lawyer. And of course, whenever we have a chance, let us be Good Samaritans. Amen.