The Power of Narrative: A Sermon for 5 Pentecost, Proper 10

When we moved to Jacksonville in 2012, Emily had to go before her Presbytery’s Commission on Ministry for an examination. The purpose of the examination was to determine if she would be allowed to serve as a clergyperson in that Presbytery. The odd thing is, they examined her after she had started her new job at Lakewood Presbyterian Church. Prior to her examination, Emily was sent a three-page list of questions that she would need to be prepared to answer in front of the committee. The questions were along the lines of  "What distinctive elements of the Reformed faith would you describe as “essential,” and how do they impact your life and ministry?" and "What is the place of the sacraments in worship (in terms of both your theology of worship and the placement in the order of service)?" … Great conversation starters. Long story short, Emily passed her examination and she was allowed to keep the job she already had.  

Now when Jesus was faced with going before committees to answer tough questions, the stakes were usually a little bit higher, because it wasn’t his job that was on the line…it was his life. And when the Pharisees, the Temple authorities, or the Roman authorities were questioning him, they were usually attempting to trap him, or better yet, to see if he would trap himself by giving the “wrong” answer. They did this to Jesus because they didn’t trust him. Even though he was a devout Jew - a Rabbi no less - they weren’t convinced that he was truly one of them. And perhaps they were right.

The tough question that Jesus is asked in today’s lesson is actually posed by a lawyer who employs the same strategy that these other folks used. It appears that he wasn’t truly longing for a deep conversation with Jesus about matters pertaining to eternal life. It appears that he was simply testing Jesus to see if he was one of them or not. 

When answering the lawyer about what one must do to inherit eternal life, Jesus actually turns the tables and responds with questions of his own: “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” which is was a good start. After all, in Judaism, if you stick to the law, you’re probably safe. It’s kind of like if you’re a child in Sunday School class or VBS and your teacher asks you a question – any question – it’s not a bad idea to go ahead and shout out “Jesus” for your answer.  There’s a good chance you’ll be right!  But anyhow, the lawyer gave his best Jewish version of the Sunday School answer -  “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.” Jesus agreed with the lawyer, and my guess is that he was hoping that that would be the end of the interrogation so that he could go about doing whatever it was he was doing in the first place. 

But the lawyer kept at it, and followed up with the question, “And who is my neighbor?” This devout Jew likely had a list in his mind of who the acceptable neighbors were in those parts, and he wanted to see if Jesus’ list was the same. After all, you can tell a lot about somebody by looking at his or her list – they are easy ways for us to size one another up. And this lawyer doing just that - testing Jesus to see if he was one of them or not. If he could get Jesus to claim just one outsider to the Jewish community as a neighbor, he would have confirmed his suspicion. This guy Jesus is not “one of us.”

But as usual, Jesus is a step ahead of his antagonists. This time, Jesus doesn’t respond with a list. He responds with a story. And as it turns out, this story is the probably best-known story that Jesus ever told. Folks who have never even graced the door of a church know the story – or at least the premise of the story – of the Good Samaritan.  And I think that it has stood the test of time because like any good teacher or therapist or spiritual director, Jesus invites his conversation partner out of the world of easy answers and into the world of narrative. Because with narrative, we as listeners have the opportunity to be invited in to the drama, and participate in the truths it may reveal, shocking though they may be. In this case, the shocking truth is that it ended up being a Samaritan – an outsider - who was the answer to the lawyer’s question, “Who is my neighbor?” But how would this truth have gone over if Jesus had simply responded to the lawyer’s question by saying that Samaritans are our neighbors, without inviting the lawyer into the narrative?  I’m guessing not so good.

 So perhaps our takeaway from today’s lesson isn’t to go and do charitable deeds. Of course, kindness and mercy are terrific. But somehow, I think eternal life is more profoundly complex than simply doing good deeds. Just ask Martin Luther. Rather, I wonder if our “going and doing likewise” is more about entering into the world of narrative with other people, and allowing ourselves to be transformed by these encounters. After an initial, rather testy exchange with the lawyer, Jesus decided to go deeper into the world of narrative, and the lawyer allowed himself to be transformed by that encounter, which I’m guessing changed his life forever. For us, going and doing likewise might involve allowing ourselves to be transformed by narratives – both in telling them and hearing them. 

Or if someone asked me what it means to be a Christian, rather reciting a list of my doctrinal non-negotiables, I might try to tell them a story about I have experienced the healing power and love of Jesus Christ while participating in prison ministry in the Death Row prison in Georgia and Kairos here in Florida, or counseling addicts about anger management at a treatment facility in Atlanta. Upon first glance, I never would have considered the folks I encountered in those contexts as being my neighbors so to speak. But after hearing their stories, I realized that we had quite a bit in common, and we weren’t as different as we may have seemed.

Or the next time somebody asks me a litmus test question like, “What is your stance on the death penalty,” I might say, “At church, our adult Sunday School class just finished reading a book called the Sun Does Shine. It was written by man named Anthony Ray Hinton who was wrongfully convicted of murder, and sentenced to death. Let me tell you about the impact that Hinton’s story had on me.

Or maybe someone could share a story about how they never truly “got the whole Christianity thing” until they gathered around the font for their child’s baptism, or when they held a loved one’s hand as they breathed their last breath. Perhaps a story could emerge about how you and your spouse never would have weathered those difficult few years of marriage without the help of God and your church community as a support system. Or on the other hand, one might share how they never could have made it through a difficult divorce without the steadfast love of God and support from their church community. The stories are endless, and they are much more interesting, and much more inviting than lists of what it means to be a Christian.

Usually, when you make yourself vulnerable enough to share these types of experiences, it opens the door for deeper, more transformative encounters with one another, and with God.  The lawyer in our story today oftentimes gets a bad rap, and I actually gave him a hard time a little bit earlier. But I must hand it to him. When Jesus launched in to his story about the Samaritan, the lawyer hung in there with him. And by the end, when Jesus followed the story with the question, “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” the lawyer’s response revealed to Jesus and reveals to us the power of a good story. Let us go, and do likewise.