Passing By

Joshua J Sander
7/11/10
7th Sunday after Pentecost—15th in Ordinary Time
“Passing By”

Amos 7:7-17
Luke 10:25—37

The last time we had the story of the Good Samaritan as the morning scripture was Youth Sunday, when we got to hear all about last year’s Mission Trip and see pictures of the Senior High Youth group working in a food bank and putting up roofing and so forth. And of course, that was an appropriate choice of scripture for that service—after all, the annual Mission Trip is one of those times during the year when a large group of us intentionally takes the time to seek out our neighbors and do something for them. But if you were here for Youth Sunday, you already know this. What you probably don’t know, is that the story of the Good Samaritan almost wasn’t used as the scripture for Youth Sunday. When the Senior High Youth group was discussing scripture, one of them pointed out that the Good Samaritan has been way too overdone. And it’s true. This is one of Christianity’s favorite parables, and we’ve probably all heard it a million times. So it’s awfully tempting to give it a pass, right?

The problem with giving it a pass, though, is that you could fall into the same category as the lawyer at the beginning of the story. Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he said, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?" And Jesus answered the lawyer's question with a question, "What is written in the law? What do you read there?" The lawyer answered, "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." And Jesus answered, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live."

But the lawyer wanted to hear that what he was doing was good enough, he wanted to be able to adhere to the letter of the law and give the spirit of the law a pass, so he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?" And that's when Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho..." It kind of feels like there’s a lawyer joke in there somewhere—something about how the slick lawyer tries to turn the words of the law around to suit his own purposes only to be verbally smacked down by Jesus with a real-world example.

Only it isn’t funny. To tell you the truth, I was never much for lawyer jokes anyway. I think that they exist—in part— because so often a lawyer’s job is to make arguments, to use their command of language to turn things to the advantage of their clients, even if their client is in the wrong. I think one of the reasons Jesus ministered as a storyteller and not as a lawyer is because a storyteller infuses words with as much meaning as possible where a lawyer reduces words to the most specific meaning possible. The lawyer in the story tries to twist the words of the law until they lose their intended meaning—and Jesus responds with a story that so clearly expresses the intent of the law that the lawyer can make no further argument.

And I think that this is important to note because words matter. On the surface, this scripture is a theoretical discussion. The lawyer and Jesus are having a scholarly debate about scripture. The kind of discourse that threatens to be “…full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” If Jesus had simply said, “Well, everyone is your neighbor,” then the argument would have continued and the words, "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," could have gained so many different interpretations as to lose all meaning. And that matters. And the story of the Good Samaritan shows how it matters by reminding us that theoretical discussions can have huge implications on real-world situations.

It isn’t every day that we’re faced with a literal Good Samaritan situation. But the theoretical discussion about such situations matters. Take for example the concept of the Bystander Effect. Have you heard about this? The Bystander Effect is the phenomenon in which the greater the numbers of people present, the less likely people are to help a person in distress.

The reasons for this reality are complex, but there are two main reasons. The first is a diffusion of responsibility; when there are other observers, individuals tend not to feel as much pressure to take action because the perceived responsibility to do so is shared among all of those present.

The second is a need to behave in correct and socially acceptable ways; when other observers fail to react, individuals often take this as a signal that a response is not needed or appropriate. This is simply the way most of us are wired—to respond to situations according to the social cues of those around us. This is not the same thing as saying we cannot help doing nothing. But knowing the theory behind why people sometimes do nothing can help us break out of the Bystander Effect and take appropriate action when necessary.

Another example of how theoretical discussion matters is to know what appropriate action might be. In Connecticut, Good Samaritan laws protect emergency personnel, trained medical personnel, and even those simply trained in CPR from being sued for anything less than gross negligence while administering emergency care. So unless you’re one of those folk—and you know who you are—it’s best not to try to touch or move someone who needs medical attention. However… it is appropriate to call 911 and then stay on the scene to guide emergency care to whatever the emergency is. I recently saw an article that said that something like 95% of all 911 calls are made by passing motorists who don't bother to stop. But you should. And you can even attempt to direct traffic, if that’s necessary.

So why am I giving you all this information about social psychological theories and Connecticut State Law in a Sunday sermon? Because it’s a low down dirty rotten shame that over twenty people passed by Hugo Tale-Yax as he lay bleeding to death on a sidewalk in Queens last April. He was stabbed when he came to the aid of a woman being attacked by a knife-wielding assailant and the disturbing security video of people passing by his prone body has been circulating the internet ever since.

Equally disturbing was the footage of the hit & run accident on Park Street in Hartford in May of 2008 which paralyzed and later resulted in the death of Angel Torres. The fact that four people called 911 within the first minute after the accident and that police showed up within moments does little to ameliorate the footage of gawking bystanders and cars simply driving around him.

And it’s so easy to say to ourselves, “Well that’s not me, I would have done something to help.” But unless you understand the psychological theory—unless you already know how you can best do something to help—unless you know, in other words, why people might pass by—you could easily end up on one of those security cameras wondering why the people around you aren’t helping or afraid of doing something wrong. What I’m giving you this morning is only words. But words matter.

The prophet Amos knew that words matter. And so did Amaziah, the priest of Beth-el as well as King Jeroboam of Israel. Few people know how much and how quickly a few words can destroy you as politicians do. So when Amos took the word of the Lord into Israel, and that word was “I am setting a plumb-line in the midst of my people Israel; I will never again pass them by… Jeroboam shall die by the sword, and Israel must go into exile away from his land,” well, Amaziah tells Amos to take his words and make his living off them elsewhere.

But Amos isn’t one of those fancy professional prophets. He’s the real deal, a farmer who was told by God, “Go, prophesy to my people Israel.” In essence, Amos’ counter-argument is “You say, ‘Do not prophesy against Israel,” but these words are important. They are true. And I will continue to say them.

Now this is a Good Samaritan situation that happens every day. You may not be hearing literal voices from God telling you to prophesy against the government. In fact, if you are, we maybe ought to talk. But words matter, and I bet there are words that you hear every day that you should speak up about.

Within the Christian tradition, one of the most common of these things is the phrase OMG. “Oh my God!” Now, I’m not saying that it’s never ok to say “Oh my God.” In fact, I’m pretty sure that I myself have said “Oh my God” three times in the last 30 seconds. But words are important. And God is important. So when people toss off “Oh my God” as if it were nothing more than an exclamation point, it bothers me. So at the risk of being unpopular with the youth I work with, every time I hear the phrase “Oh my God,” I try to assume that he or she is starting a prayer—and I ask them what they’re praying about.

Now that’s just a small example of not letting language pass you by that happens to be important to me. I’m aware that it’s a losing battle—I’ve even seen advertisements with the letters OMG everywhere. But I bet you can think of times when people say things that you wish you’d had the courage to dispute. Like when a friend makes an off-hand comment that seems a bit racist. Or when an acquaintance uses the word “gay” to be synonymous with the word “bad.” Or when a co-worker refers to a bad idea as “retarded.”

These are all situations that are easy to pass by. Especially since the victims aren’t literally bleeding to death on the sidewalk. But I’ve known too many good people who have been negatively affected by racism. I have too many close friends who are queer. And I have to tell you that I grew up with a friend who has a retarded sister, and she’s one of the sweetest people I know. What I’m trying to tell you is that it’s easy to be the lawyer, and focus on the words, and argue yourself into why they’re ok. But when you tell a story, put a face on it, bring it back into the real world, understand that those words are likely to be hurting actual people—suddenly you get it.

I had the opportunity to be delegate to the United Church of Christ’s General Synod 23 in 2001 which was held in Kansas City. That was one of the years that we literally worked side-by-side with the Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) as they had their General Assembly at the same time in the same place. One of the things their denomination was working on was their stance toward Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender people—and the United Church of Christ already had a reputation of being Open and Affirming.

So you can see why Fred Phelps’ people saw it as a wonderful opportunity to show up and protest. I have never seen such hatred up close before or since. Many horrible things were screamed at us as we came and went from the convention center—but I particularly remember the signs. Signs that said things like “AIDS is a Gift from God.” And signs with words describing the queer community that I won’t even repeat here. Several striking stories came out of that experience, but the one that applies here went like this:

When Synod broke for lunch, the people would pour out of the convention center, past the screaming protesters, and into the streets of Kansas City in search of a restaurant that wasn’t so crowded that they would be late to get back. Many people in official General Synod name badges swamped local fast food places—and so it was that one of our delegates was standing in line for a burger. And when he reached the girl taking the orders, she had a question for him.

She’d seen the protesters. She’d read the signs. And she wanted to know what was going on. So he explained about Fred Phelps, and the reputation the United Church of Christ has concerning the queer community, and why Phelps’ people might want to send protesters to the national meeting of a Christian denomination. And the girl behind the counter burst into tears. And she said to him, “You mean…? There’s a church for people like me?”

Those protesters had no idea that their words were hurting the girl that served them burgers at the fast food restaurant across the way. That delegate had no idea that his response to a simple question would have such a deep and personal impact on the person asking the question. But they did. Words matter. Don’t let them pass you by.

Please be with me in the spirit of prayer. Loving and challenging God, help us to hear the story of the Good Samaritan anew. Help us to always think of our neighbors, and having thought, help us act. Give us the strength that you gave your prophet, Amos, so that we might stand up for our neighbors who may be silent and hurting from the painful misuse of words. And help us to always remember that our words really do matter. We pray these things in the name of the Creator and of the Christ and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.