The Samaritan & The Gorilla
The Samaritan & The Gorilla
Jessica Joslin
Luke 10:25-37
25Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 26He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” 27He 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.” 28And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.” 29But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. 31Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. 32So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. 34He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ 36Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” 37He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
Lions roaring, elephants trumpeting, wolves howling – I bet romance is not the first thing that comes to mind when you think of these sounds, but for my parents it was just that – they met in a zoo. My mom was the veterinarian and my dad designed the tropical Asia exhibit at Brookfield Zoo, right outside of Chicago. Perhaps then, it is not surprising that I spent most of my young life wandering around zoo exhibits, curiously watching the animals.
Of the thousands of animals in the zoo, my favorite was a walrus named Olaf. The walrus keeper showed me how to get Olaf to do tricks. I would twirl around like a ballerina and watch Olaf stick his nose in the air and spin around his big hulking body with ease. I would tell Olaf my secrets and believed that when I listened closely I could hear him whisper back. Looking at us, we must have seemed like an unlikely pair, a four year old girl with Shirley Temple curls and a two-ton walrus, but I was convinced Olaf and I were best friends.
In this morning’s Gospel reading Jesus tells us a story of another unlikely pair. A Samaritan is walking down the street and sees a Jewish man looking battered and bruised along side the road. The Samaritans and the Jews were not known for getting along and yet, despite whatever social expectations that may have been present in this Samaritan’s mind, he chose to ignore the differences between them and go to the man’s aid. The Samaritan dismissed the disapproving glances from others that were likely shot his way while he was tending to the man’s wounds – instead he focused only on the caring work that needed to be done. Once the man was cleaned up a bit, the Samaritan brought him to an inn where he could rest and recover.
Now, on the surface this seems like a wonderful story of caring and connection, but underneath the parable of the Good Samaritan and my friendship with Olaf, we remember that both sides of the pair were not evenly matched. Olaf was in a cage and really had no choice but to associate with his human captors – however well intentioned they may be. And the Good Samaritan, despite the fact that he and all the Samaritans were subject to their own handful of discrimination, was still blessed with the powerful combination of good intentions and a little money, so that he could not only spend the time to help the man clean up but pay for him to stay in an inn for as long as he needed.
Moreover, there is something complicated about a person in a position of social power in a particular moment believing that they can come in and rescue or support someone seen as at a different rung on the social totem pole. Think of the missionaries in our own country who believed they were helping the Native Americans through converting them to Christianity. Many missionaries likely saw their motives as deeply altruistic, but in retrospect their “helping” seems misguided, even selfish.
Yet, despite the ways in which one person reaching out to help and to connect with another can become complicated, the call to reach out and help others is repeated throughout the Bible. Take the following passage from Deuteronomy: “If there is among you a poor man…you shall not harden your heart or shut your hand against your poor brother…You shall give to him freely, and your heart shall not be grudging when you give to him; because for this the Lord your God will bless you in all your work and in all that you undertake.”[1]
The basic call to help the others we share our planet with is undeniable. But beneath the basic suggestion to live generously is another, arguably more profound call – one that asks us to widen our understanding of community. The parable of the Good Samaritan is indeed a story of profound giving and it is also one where the line is blurred between the traditional categories of us and them. The Samaritans and the Jews were historically known for their passionate dislike of one another, but the Samaritan in looking at the injured man did not see the divide between himself and the Jewish people – instead he only saw we.
We is a little word whose power is greater than two letters. In her poem, “The Low Road,” Marge Piercy describes just how powerful the little word “we” can be. She writes:
Alone, you can fight…
but they roll over you…
Two people can keep each other
sane, can give support…
Three people are a delegation,
a committee, a wedge. With four
you can play bridge and start
an organization. With six
you can rent a whole house,
eat pie for dinner with no
seconds, and hold a fund raising party.
A dozen make a demonstration.
A hundred fill a hall.
A thousand have solidarity and your own newsletter;
ten thousand, power and your own paper;
a hundred thousand, your own media;
ten million, your own country.
It goes on one at a time,
it starts when you care
to act, it starts when you do
it again after they said no,
it starts when you say “We”
and know who you mean, and each
day you mean one more.
Piercy’s poem reminds us the power of broadening our connections, of understanding others as partners instead of simply others. Through an ever-widening understanding of what is meant when one says “we” she articulates all that is possible.
Now, it goes without saying that Piercy’s poem is an overly idealistic view of what we humans are like when we get together. It could be easily rewritten to read something like, “With two you can fight, with three you can triangulate, with twelve you have a hung jury, with any odd number you have an angry minority.” And we Congregationalists often pride ourselves on our independent-mindedness – perhaps you have heard the joke, “What happens when you get two Congregationalists in a room? You have three opinions.”
These challenges, the potential of disagreement should not keep us from trying – from working to broaden what we mean when we say “we.” And when it seems reaching out to another seems scary or intimidating, this parable reminds us that God is with us every step of the way. And when we choose to throw caution to the wind and see our differences as places for connection – powerful things can happen.
Take the story of another one of the animals that lived in Brookfield Zoo, a gorilla named Binti, a Swahili word for “Daughter of Sunshine.” In 1996, she was eight years old, full grown by gorilla standards, and had recently given birth to a son, baby Koola who experienced much of his small world through riding comfortably on his mother’s back. Binti’s popularity was overshadowed by that of her world famous aunt Koko who lived in California and was known for being able to communicate over a thousand words in sign language, but all of that changed on August 16th of that year. A curious three-year-old boy climbed over the wall around her zoo enclosure and fell to the concrete floor below knocking him unconscious. The mother of the boy was in hysterics, screaming, flailing uncontrollably - her yells were supported by a quickly growing crowd. Binti ran to the boy, and the closer she got the louder the crowds screams became as images of the violent creatures in King Kong and Planet of the Apes flooded through their minds. But Binti was not the cruel animal they expected, instead she scooped up the boy in her arms and cradled him as if he were her own child. She carried the boy to an access entrance where he could be rescued by zookeepers often growling defensively at any other gorillas who appeared to be interested in harming the boy.
From the moment the boy fell into Binti’s enclosure she became a living example of what can happen when one’s understanding of we is broadened. Watching a young boy fall into the gorilla exhibit onlookers expected the worst. But by choosing to lift up the boy and delicately care for him until he could be rescued she reached out to the humans that shared her world. She felt compelled not only to care for her own child and the other gorillas in her troop, but in that moment her we included the people that surrounded her.
The Jewish people at the time of the parable of the Good Samaritan despised the Samaritans – believing them to be to be dirty, almost beast-like people. So the thought of a Samaritan reaching out to help a Jewish person in trouble, must have been for them almost like the scene that August day of watching a gorilla holding a little boy – a moment where the compassion shockingly, and beautifully comes to light from an unexpected source.
It is undoubtedly hard to stare down another that once seemed scary and begin to see them as a partner. The feeling of fear must have been present on both sides as the Samaritan and man on the side of the road as they felt their paths crossing. They had to push through years of conflict and mistrust to make a connection. And it in that, in taking that risk – even when it is scary, even when it is hard –Jesus reminds us that we have the chance to experience eternal life, to experience heaven here right now.
The kind of heaven where divides between rich and poor, divides between those certain kinds of education and those without, divides between people who spoke a certain way and another, fade away. And what a heaven that would be!
Let us follow the Samaritan’s example, follow Binti’s example for that matter, and broaden our understanding of we. And in the words of Marge Piercy, “It will start when you say “we” and know who you mean, and each day we mean one more.” Amen.