| “NOT THE USUAL SUSPECTS!” 4th in the series, “Underappreciated Gifts” Luke 10:25-37; Matthew 25:31-46 Olivet Covenant Presbyterian Church, Philadelphia, PA © Rev. Linda Jaymes, 6/27/10 |
I once read a story about a seminary professor who, unbeknownst to his students set up one of his preaching classes in an
unusual way in order to conduct an experiment. Every student was scheduled to prepare a sermon on the Parable of the Good
Samaritan. But on the preaching date the professor sent the students, one at a time, from the regular classroom to another
room to give the sermon. In addition, each student was given a different amount of time to move between classrooms, forcing
some of them to rush to make it in time. What they didn’t realize was that in the hallway between the two rooms the professor
had planted a bum who was very obviously in some kind of need.
The results of this experiment were sobering and more effective than any of the sermons themselves. The percentage of
those “good” seminarians who stopped to help was very low and especially low for those who were under the pressure of a
shorter time period. The tighter the schedule was, the fewer who stopped to help the indigent man. It was supremely ironic
that in rushing to preach a sermon on the Good Samaritan, they had walked past the victim at the heart of the parable.
Of course you and I would never do that—would we? When we read this story, and consider which character best
represents us, we are always the Samaritan, never the Levites or the priests, right? We would never be that cold and unfeeling
or oblivious as to walk by someone who had been beaten up and left for dead at the side of the road—would we? Or is it
possible that our opinion of who we are is a little rose-colored? Would it surprise us to find that our capacity for mercy and our
willingness to risk ourselves in deeds of mercy are not as great as we think?
I’ve had some experiences that have made me think twice about gifts of mercy and how I look at the Parable of the Good
Samaritan. There was a somewhat frivolous situation that took place my second year in seminary while I was summer chaplain
at Presbyterian camp. It was just before camp opened and the approximately 125 counselors, directors, health care personnel
and maintenance workers were assembled for the mandatory week-long staff training event. This training was aimed at
teaching us how to handle virtually any situation that might come up during the summer. Lots of skits and role-playing
exercises were used to show us how to handle these situations, like dealing with homesickness or arguments between campers
or campers who refused to participate in the activities. And for the most part, they were very helpful and uplifting. Except for
the time they did a skit on the parable of the Good Samaritan, and used specific camp personalities for the characters.
The counselors silently acted out the parts while an off-stage narrator informed us of the “supposed” identity of each
character who came walking by the pretend victim. Instead of a Samaritan, the hero was portrayed by an international student
from Nigeria who was the camp’s assistant cook for the summer. But in this modern interpretation, they identified the two bad
guys as the camp director and the seminarian—me! How dare they think that I would behave like that priest! Actually, I don’t
really think they meant it personally, seeing as the summer hadn’t even started yet—we didn’t really know each other yet—and
so it was too early to tell whether this seminarian would actually behave that way.
But as uncomfortable as it was, that little exercise has made me think twice about my behavior and how the rest of the
world perceives who I am. These are the kinds of experiences that drive home the saying, “Tell me whom you love and I will
tell you who you are.” (Houssaye) And just like in the biblical parable, the sad reality is that “who we are” doesn’t always
match what we consider ourselves to be. Those whom we expect to have and demonstrate certain kinds of gifts and behaviors
do not always live up to our expectations. What I’m saying is that those who have and use the gift of mercy very often are
not “the usual suspects.”
Of course that doesn’t let those without the gift of mercy off the hook. Even if we don’t have that gift we don’t really
have the option to pass by those in need and say, “Sorry, mercy isn’t my spiritual gift. Someone else will have to do it.” I
wish it were that way, but it isn’t. Christ calls all of us to be merciful, even if we don’t have the gift of mercy; even if it doesn’
t come naturally and it’s not our passion in life. And like it or not, the Lord always seems to be giving us opportunities or
perhaps they are actually tests to see whether we will be merciful even if, for many of us, it’s an ongoing struggle.
Here in this big city we have all kinds of opportunities to show mercy because there are poor and homeless folks all around
us, often with their hands out. How many times have you passed just such a person on the street? We all experience this from
time to time, and I can guess how most of us handle this. We never look directly at the person. We fix our gaze somewhere
ahead, as if he or she wasn’t even there. After all, the chances are very good that this person would only spend our hard-
earned money on drugs or booze. And we don’t want to be a party to that.
When they ring the doorbell here at the church, however, it’s impossible to look away. So I will confess that I have, on
occasion, given a few dollars to someone who shows up here and has such a good story that even though I don’t believe it, I
figure the performance is worth a couple of dollars. Or sometimes I do it because once in a while they promise to pay the
money back, and I always say to God, “Just once, Lord, let someone pay the money back, not because I care about those few
dollars, but to remind me that sometimes these needs are real and some of the people are honorable and will keep their word.”
Unfortunately, in the 12+ years I’ve been in Philadelphia no one has ever returned as promised.
Maybe you don’t have the gift of mercy and even if you do perhaps you still struggle with these kinds of things. I think
we all do. But even if you don’t have that special gift, I hope you’ve seen mercy demonstrated by folks who do have the gift,
and I hope we’ve all experienced mercy firsthand when we’ve been hurt or wounded. When we feel like we’ve been beaten
and left for dead on the side of the road, we need those special people with the gift of mercy to stop and bandage our wounds
and get us to the nearest inn where we can rest and recover our strength. Thank God for these special folks with this
remarkable gift, a gift which allows them to feel deeply the pain and suffering others are experiencing and do everything
possible to alleviate and remedy the conditions that cause that pain.
Most of the time, people with this gift respond immediately to the need without asking questions about whether the need is
legitimate or the needy one is worthy. There are no screening interviews to determine whether the pain was brought on by the
needy one’s own stupidity or foolishness, and there is no discrimination between color or creed or intelligence or attitude. Like
the Samaritan in the parable, there is only compassionate, caring response to the need at hand. There are no questions asked,
like why the man had been so foolish as to travel alone on that dangerous Jericho road, or whether his theology and doctrine
were exactly right. And there is certainly no expectation of payback somewhere down the road. In fact, genuine mercy occurs
between two “unequal” parties, where there is no chance whatsoever that the one receiving mercy could ever pay back the one
giving it. Of course, we can hope that somewhere down the road, the one receiving mercy will be merciful to someone else,
but at present, he or she is not in a position to turn around and repay the one who has just ministered mercy to them.
It’s a lot like the relationship between the Lord and us. If you think about it, we aren’t worthy of the time and compassion
and love He spends on us. But He pours Himself—and all the resources of heaven—out on us anyway, to bind up the wounds
of our sins and save us from death. And then He carries us to a place where his other once-wounded servants can help nurse
us back to health and strength. That’s what the gift of mercy looks like. And passing on Christ’s gift to others is one of the
most important ministries of the Church.
The most touching part about those who truly have the gift of mercy and pass it on is that they are usually unaware of
what they are doing. They don’t have to make conscious, agonizing decisions about whether they’re going to extend mercy or
not. They just do it without thinking and without counting the cost. And they certainly never “lord” it over the people they help
or brag about it to anyone else. Did you notice how surprised the sheep were in that parable of judgment we heard? In it,
Jesus commends the sheep for their ministries of mercy, and refers to them as the “righteous.” Yet while extending
compassion and love toward the hungry and poor and imprisoned, they had never even noticed that they had ministered God’s
mercy. They didn’t seem to realize that it had been such a big deal. They were “not the usual suspects,” meaning that in this
parable of the judgment, no one expected them to be the ones who really pleased God and received heavenly rewards. And yet
they did.
But those who neglected mercy didn’t even get into the kingdom! Not because getting in depends on “good works.” NO!
But because true faith is more than a verbal claim that we believe in Christ. True faith can be seen, and genuine love for the
Lord will show itself in service to others. “By their fruits you will know them,“ Jesus said. In this parable of the sheep and
the goats, the “goats” had exhibited lip service but no true faith. They were only going through the motions. Something like
the Pharisees who had tithed mint and dill, but had neglected the weightier matters of the law, which are justice, mercy and love.
For some of us, getting from lip service to being true “Samaritans” may never come without effort. When doing deeds of
mercy, we may never get beyond a sense of “duty” to the deep compassion that those with the gift of mercy feel for others.
But even if we don’t we shouldn’t be discouraged, for real Christian love isn’t measured by feeling, but by action. We should
keep working at being merciful even if it’s not our inclination or our gift. Christ calls us to be merciful, to be more and more
like Him, even if we have to strive and struggle to do it. It’s not easy and it doesn’t happen overnight. Before we ever see any
fruit, it takes effort and a constant determination to surrender more and more of ourselves to Christ and to his Holy Spirit, the
One Who empowers us to use all of our gifts to build up the Body of Christ and minister in the world.
And while we’re growing in Christ and waiting to see some of that fruit, we can thankfully remember that the Lord isn’t
saying that only those with the gift of mercy, (or for that matter, any particular gift) will get into heaven. What He is saying is
that whatever our gifts, we need to use them within the church to help build each other up, so that attitudes and deeds of mercy
will flow from all we do, both here in the church and out into the world. Those among us who have and use their gifts of
mercy can be a real inspiration to those of us who don’t. But whatever our gift or role or office is in the church we should all
be watching and trying to learn from those who have the precious gift of mercy. They may not be the usual suspects, like
priests and Levites; seminarians and pastors and elders. For that matter, who ever would have dreamed that the God of heaven
would lower Himself to our level, and through his life, death and resurrection, minister mercy to us? But He did. And because
He did, we know what the gift of mercy looks like. We know that it’s possible even for unusual suspects like Samaritans and
sheep to show mercy to others. From their example, whether we have the gift or not, we can learn how to reach out and
minister in mercy and love. And if we do that, eventually those qualities will become part of our nature, just as they are for our
Lord Jesus Christ, who continually showers them on us.
Let us pray.
unusual way in order to conduct an experiment. Every student was scheduled to prepare a sermon on the Parable of the Good
Samaritan. But on the preaching date the professor sent the students, one at a time, from the regular classroom to another
room to give the sermon. In addition, each student was given a different amount of time to move between classrooms, forcing
some of them to rush to make it in time. What they didn’t realize was that in the hallway between the two rooms the professor
had planted a bum who was very obviously in some kind of need.
The results of this experiment were sobering and more effective than any of the sermons themselves. The percentage of
those “good” seminarians who stopped to help was very low and especially low for those who were under the pressure of a
shorter time period. The tighter the schedule was, the fewer who stopped to help the indigent man. It was supremely ironic
that in rushing to preach a sermon on the Good Samaritan, they had walked past the victim at the heart of the parable.
Of course you and I would never do that—would we? When we read this story, and consider which character best
represents us, we are always the Samaritan, never the Levites or the priests, right? We would never be that cold and unfeeling
or oblivious as to walk by someone who had been beaten up and left for dead at the side of the road—would we? Or is it
possible that our opinion of who we are is a little rose-colored? Would it surprise us to find that our capacity for mercy and our
willingness to risk ourselves in deeds of mercy are not as great as we think?
I’ve had some experiences that have made me think twice about gifts of mercy and how I look at the Parable of the Good
Samaritan. There was a somewhat frivolous situation that took place my second year in seminary while I was summer chaplain
at Presbyterian camp. It was just before camp opened and the approximately 125 counselors, directors, health care personnel
and maintenance workers were assembled for the mandatory week-long staff training event. This training was aimed at
teaching us how to handle virtually any situation that might come up during the summer. Lots of skits and role-playing
exercises were used to show us how to handle these situations, like dealing with homesickness or arguments between campers
or campers who refused to participate in the activities. And for the most part, they were very helpful and uplifting. Except for
the time they did a skit on the parable of the Good Samaritan, and used specific camp personalities for the characters.
The counselors silently acted out the parts while an off-stage narrator informed us of the “supposed” identity of each
character who came walking by the pretend victim. Instead of a Samaritan, the hero was portrayed by an international student
from Nigeria who was the camp’s assistant cook for the summer. But in this modern interpretation, they identified the two bad
guys as the camp director and the seminarian—me! How dare they think that I would behave like that priest! Actually, I don’t
really think they meant it personally, seeing as the summer hadn’t even started yet—we didn’t really know each other yet—and
so it was too early to tell whether this seminarian would actually behave that way.
But as uncomfortable as it was, that little exercise has made me think twice about my behavior and how the rest of the
world perceives who I am. These are the kinds of experiences that drive home the saying, “Tell me whom you love and I will
tell you who you are.” (Houssaye) And just like in the biblical parable, the sad reality is that “who we are” doesn’t always
match what we consider ourselves to be. Those whom we expect to have and demonstrate certain kinds of gifts and behaviors
do not always live up to our expectations. What I’m saying is that those who have and use the gift of mercy very often are
not “the usual suspects.”
Of course that doesn’t let those without the gift of mercy off the hook. Even if we don’t have that gift we don’t really
have the option to pass by those in need and say, “Sorry, mercy isn’t my spiritual gift. Someone else will have to do it.” I
wish it were that way, but it isn’t. Christ calls all of us to be merciful, even if we don’t have the gift of mercy; even if it doesn’
t come naturally and it’s not our passion in life. And like it or not, the Lord always seems to be giving us opportunities or
perhaps they are actually tests to see whether we will be merciful even if, for many of us, it’s an ongoing struggle.
Here in this big city we have all kinds of opportunities to show mercy because there are poor and homeless folks all around
us, often with their hands out. How many times have you passed just such a person on the street? We all experience this from
time to time, and I can guess how most of us handle this. We never look directly at the person. We fix our gaze somewhere
ahead, as if he or she wasn’t even there. After all, the chances are very good that this person would only spend our hard-
earned money on drugs or booze. And we don’t want to be a party to that.
When they ring the doorbell here at the church, however, it’s impossible to look away. So I will confess that I have, on
occasion, given a few dollars to someone who shows up here and has such a good story that even though I don’t believe it, I
figure the performance is worth a couple of dollars. Or sometimes I do it because once in a while they promise to pay the
money back, and I always say to God, “Just once, Lord, let someone pay the money back, not because I care about those few
dollars, but to remind me that sometimes these needs are real and some of the people are honorable and will keep their word.”
Unfortunately, in the 12+ years I’ve been in Philadelphia no one has ever returned as promised.
Maybe you don’t have the gift of mercy and even if you do perhaps you still struggle with these kinds of things. I think
we all do. But even if you don’t have that special gift, I hope you’ve seen mercy demonstrated by folks who do have the gift,
and I hope we’ve all experienced mercy firsthand when we’ve been hurt or wounded. When we feel like we’ve been beaten
and left for dead on the side of the road, we need those special people with the gift of mercy to stop and bandage our wounds
and get us to the nearest inn where we can rest and recover our strength. Thank God for these special folks with this
remarkable gift, a gift which allows them to feel deeply the pain and suffering others are experiencing and do everything
possible to alleviate and remedy the conditions that cause that pain.
Most of the time, people with this gift respond immediately to the need without asking questions about whether the need is
legitimate or the needy one is worthy. There are no screening interviews to determine whether the pain was brought on by the
needy one’s own stupidity or foolishness, and there is no discrimination between color or creed or intelligence or attitude. Like
the Samaritan in the parable, there is only compassionate, caring response to the need at hand. There are no questions asked,
like why the man had been so foolish as to travel alone on that dangerous Jericho road, or whether his theology and doctrine
were exactly right. And there is certainly no expectation of payback somewhere down the road. In fact, genuine mercy occurs
between two “unequal” parties, where there is no chance whatsoever that the one receiving mercy could ever pay back the one
giving it. Of course, we can hope that somewhere down the road, the one receiving mercy will be merciful to someone else,
but at present, he or she is not in a position to turn around and repay the one who has just ministered mercy to them.
It’s a lot like the relationship between the Lord and us. If you think about it, we aren’t worthy of the time and compassion
and love He spends on us. But He pours Himself—and all the resources of heaven—out on us anyway, to bind up the wounds
of our sins and save us from death. And then He carries us to a place where his other once-wounded servants can help nurse
us back to health and strength. That’s what the gift of mercy looks like. And passing on Christ’s gift to others is one of the
most important ministries of the Church.
The most touching part about those who truly have the gift of mercy and pass it on is that they are usually unaware of
what they are doing. They don’t have to make conscious, agonizing decisions about whether they’re going to extend mercy or
not. They just do it without thinking and without counting the cost. And they certainly never “lord” it over the people they help
or brag about it to anyone else. Did you notice how surprised the sheep were in that parable of judgment we heard? In it,
Jesus commends the sheep for their ministries of mercy, and refers to them as the “righteous.” Yet while extending
compassion and love toward the hungry and poor and imprisoned, they had never even noticed that they had ministered God’s
mercy. They didn’t seem to realize that it had been such a big deal. They were “not the usual suspects,” meaning that in this
parable of the judgment, no one expected them to be the ones who really pleased God and received heavenly rewards. And yet
they did.
But those who neglected mercy didn’t even get into the kingdom! Not because getting in depends on “good works.” NO!
But because true faith is more than a verbal claim that we believe in Christ. True faith can be seen, and genuine love for the
Lord will show itself in service to others. “By their fruits you will know them,“ Jesus said. In this parable of the sheep and
the goats, the “goats” had exhibited lip service but no true faith. They were only going through the motions. Something like
the Pharisees who had tithed mint and dill, but had neglected the weightier matters of the law, which are justice, mercy and love.
For some of us, getting from lip service to being true “Samaritans” may never come without effort. When doing deeds of
mercy, we may never get beyond a sense of “duty” to the deep compassion that those with the gift of mercy feel for others.
But even if we don’t we shouldn’t be discouraged, for real Christian love isn’t measured by feeling, but by action. We should
keep working at being merciful even if it’s not our inclination or our gift. Christ calls us to be merciful, to be more and more
like Him, even if we have to strive and struggle to do it. It’s not easy and it doesn’t happen overnight. Before we ever see any
fruit, it takes effort and a constant determination to surrender more and more of ourselves to Christ and to his Holy Spirit, the
One Who empowers us to use all of our gifts to build up the Body of Christ and minister in the world.
And while we’re growing in Christ and waiting to see some of that fruit, we can thankfully remember that the Lord isn’t
saying that only those with the gift of mercy, (or for that matter, any particular gift) will get into heaven. What He is saying is
that whatever our gifts, we need to use them within the church to help build each other up, so that attitudes and deeds of mercy
will flow from all we do, both here in the church and out into the world. Those among us who have and use their gifts of
mercy can be a real inspiration to those of us who don’t. But whatever our gift or role or office is in the church we should all
be watching and trying to learn from those who have the precious gift of mercy. They may not be the usual suspects, like
priests and Levites; seminarians and pastors and elders. For that matter, who ever would have dreamed that the God of heaven
would lower Himself to our level, and through his life, death and resurrection, minister mercy to us? But He did. And because
He did, we know what the gift of mercy looks like. We know that it’s possible even for unusual suspects like Samaritans and
sheep to show mercy to others. From their example, whether we have the gift or not, we can learn how to reach out and
minister in mercy and love. And if we do that, eventually those qualities will become part of our nature, just as they are for our
Lord Jesus Christ, who continually showers them on us.
Let us pray.
