Homily: 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C
Sisters and friends, in this Gospel passage
our Lord Jesus gives us this incredible allegory that is both practical and
theological. Practical, because it is a
shrewd answer to the scholar’s question, right?
This “scholar of the law” was trying to bait Jesus into a debate about
the law in an attempt either to show himself the better teacher or to discredit
Jesus as a teacher (probably both).
After Jesus deflects his first salvo by first inviting him to answer the
question that he himself posed and then agreeing with his answer, Jesus doesn’t
directly answer his follow-up question about who one’s neighbor should be. If Jesus would have responded directly
(saying something like, “Your fellow Jews” or “Jews and God-fearing Gentiles,
but not the Samaritans”), the scholar could have entered into a debate with him
about it. Instead, Jesus tells a parable
that answers the question beyond the question, which is: “What does it mean
that we are all sons and daughters of the same Father?” and “Doesn’t it mean
that we are called to be ‘neighbor’ to everyone?” On a very practical level, it was a shrewd
answer that defeats the scholar’s prideful intentions while at the same time providing
an abiding lesson for everyone, including us here today.
Theologically, this parable is an amazing
allegory about the story of humanity, the fall, and salvation. Let’s walk through it and see how. Jesus starts by saying “A man…” Who is this man? A Jew?
A Gentile? We aren’t told. Therefore, we can presume he is a representative
of all mankind. This man was on the road
heading down from Jerusalem to Jericho.
Now Jerusalem is the most sacred place for the Jews and so to be walking
away from Jerusalem is analogous to walking away from Eden. He was heading to Jericho, which is one of the
lowest cities of the region (and also, historically, a place of crime and depravity)
and so to be heading to Jericho is analogous to walking towards hell. Presumably, this man is making this trip
willfully, which is a symbolic of sin: that is, willfully turning away from God.
On his way, he’s attacked by robbers. Again, are these Jews? Gentiles?
We aren’t told. Thus, we can
imagine them to be symbolic of Satan, who attacks man, strips him of all of the
goods with which God endowed him, and brutally beats him so that he can no
longer return to Jerusalem on his own (that is, to God and the Garden of
Eden). (Are you all with me so far? Are you seeing this? Okay.
Let’s keep going.) As the man
lies helpless and dying on the side of the road, the priest and Levite pass by
without helping. This is a sign
indicating that religion alone cannot save a man. He needs something more. He needs a personal savior. Enter the Samaritan.
Why a Samaritan? Because it is the most extraordinary and
unexpected source of help for the Jew.
The Jews thought they knew where and how and from whom their savior
would come, but this parable reveals a different idea. Although you could conclude that this
indicates that the savior wouldn’t be a Jew, it’s more likely that the intention
was to show that the savior would come in the most unlikely way. What does this savior do? First, he has pity on the man. In other words, he shows personal care for
the dire situation he is in. Is not this
the attitude of the Savior (an attitude we’d want anyone helping us to have)? Then, he draws close and begins to treat the
man’s wounds with oil and wine. Does
that ring bells for anyone here? Aren’t
oil and wine central elements in a number of our sacraments: the very
instruments that God has given us to heal us of our spiritual woundedness? The savior then brings the man to an inn
where he pays for his stay and ongoing care.
It shouldn’t take much effort to recognize that the inn represents the Church
and the two silver coins represent the ransom that our Savior paid for our
salvation. Finally, the savior promises
to return and to restore everything in total.
This is way more than just a simple
moral story about being charitable to everyone, even those you consider your
enemies, right? It’s a mythological-level
story, wrapped in a moral lesson, originally meant to defeat a prideful debate. Incredible, right?
Sisters and friends, I believe that we
should be spending time weekly reflecting on this parable: for it is our lives
in a nutshell. In the beginning, we dwelt
in communion with God in the holy place (Eden, Jerusalem, etc.). Foolishly, we leave that place, pursuing our
own way (which only ever leads to Jericho).
Pridefully, we think that we’ll be fine along the way and can turn back
if we want to. We don’t anticipate the
attack, however, and we’re disabled: both to continue on our way (and, thus, to
achieve what we set out to do) and to return to the holy place. We are dismayed to find out that mere religion
won’t save us. In other words, praying
the right prayers and doing prescribed penances alone won’t resolve the
situation. Only the extraordinary
intervention by one from outside of us can save us. This “one”, of course, is Jesus—the Son of
God who took on our humanity so that he could come close to us and save us—literally,
the a savior in the most unexpected way and from the most unexpected place. He has dressed our wounds in the sacraments
and has brought us to the inn, the Church, so that we might be safe and cared
for until he returns in glory to take us back to the holy place.
It is of paramount importance that we
remember this and call it to mind frequently.
This, for two reasons: 1) so that we never fail to give thanks for what
God has done for us, and 2) because of Jesus’ admonition at the end of this
Gospel passage—“Go and do likewise".
Sisters and friends, what God wants
from us is not “high in the sky” and hard for us to discern (as Moses taught
the ancient Israelites in the passage from the first reading). Rather, what he wants is simple and right in
front of us: “Have you been rescued?
Then go and do likewise.” “Who around
you needs this extraordinary mercy? Pay
attention and you’ll see him/her right there in your path.” “Do this, and you will live”. (Sisters, I dare say that this is even more blatantly
obvious for you. You can’t escape your
neighbor!)
This is the Kingdom of God, here and
now: this rescue project that is ongoing until our Savior returns. Therefore, as recipients of God’s
extraordinarily generous mercy, let us give thanks today with our whole hearts
in this Mass; and then let us renew our commitment to “go and do likewise” in
our lives.
Given at the
Monastery of the Poor Clares: Kokomo, IN – July 13th, 2025
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