Luke 10:25-37 · The Parable of the Good Samaritan
The Nearest Hand
Luke 10:25-37
Sermon
by Carveth Mitchell
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Two women were sitting in church. One woman said to the other, "I’ve always wished that God would touch me, but I suppose that’s too much to ask."

The other woman replied, "That sounds like a reasonable desire. Have you prayed about it?"

"Well, no. Of course not."

"Why not? There’s certainly nothing wrong with a prayer like that. You should pray about it."

"All right. Maybe I will sometime."

"Not sometime. Now. What better place to pray than here in the Lord’s house?"

Thus persuaded, the woman reluctantly folded her hands, bowed her head and closed her eyes in prayer, asking that God would touch her. About ten seconds later the other woman gently laid her hand on the folded hands of the friend at prayer. She responded as most of us would do. She jumped and said, "He did it! He touched me." Then, after a moment’s thought "But that felt an awful lot like your hand."

"It was my hand," her friend replied.

Disappointment was on the other face. "And I thought God had touched me."

"He did touch you. How do you think God touches people? That he comes down like a fog blanket or a pillar of fire? When God touches people he takes the nearest hand and uses that."

That sounds good, doesn’t it? And it’s almost right. Almost, but not quite. She left out one word. When God touches people he takes the nearest willing hand and uses that. The Gospel for today is a case in point. The nearest hand to the stricken traveler was the hand of the priest, but it wasn’t a willing hand. The next nearest hand was the hand of the Levite, but it was not a willing hand, either. The nearest willing hand was the hand of the Samaritan, so God took that hand and touched the stricken traveler in the ditch.

Jesus said of himself, "The Son of man came not to be served, but to serve." (Matthew 10:28) He said of us who follow him, "Whoever would be great among you must be your servant." (Mark 10:43, 45)

When God touches people he takes the nearest willing hand and uses that. This is one of the basic outgrowths of the Christian faith. When we forget that basic principle some dire consequences result. One such consequence is that we fail to see the hand of God at all.

In our city a husband and wife and two children lived in a small frame bungalow. Their heat was supplied by a potbellied stove. In the severe winter weather the house caught fire, destroying most of the structure, as well as furniture and clothing. The family was not injured. The newspaper told about their plight. Neighbors and church people from all over the city responded. Soon they had a place to live, useable furniture and sufficient food.

When I visited the family to see if anything more was needed, the wife said, "The Lord really has been good to us in our trouble."

The husband chuckled a bit and said, "I ain’t seen the Lord doin’ much, but the neighbors really kicked in."

You see? Because he had not realized that when the Lord touches people he takes the nearest willing hand and uses that, he failed to see the hand of God at all.

There is a second consequence of our failure to remember this basic principle: when the nearest hand is our own, if it is not a willing hand we deny our Lord and blunt the work that he would do through us.

It is our Christian faith that God reveals himself to us in three ways: as Creator, Redeemer and Sanctifier. To sanctify means to "make holy" - to lead us to become instruments of God, through whom he does his work, to be his willing hands.

Antonio Stradivari lived a long time ago. (1644-1737) Even now people both inside and outside the music world are familiar with the name and the. fame (and the enormous cost!) of Stradivari’s violins. He is reported to have said,

When any master holds twixt chin and hand a violin of mine, he will be glad that Stradivari lived - lived and made violins, and made them of the best - God choosing me to help him. If my hand slacked, I should rob God, since God could not make Antonio’s violins without Antonio.

When our hand is the nearest to some need, if it is not a willing hand, we rob God - blunting some work that he would do through us.

Why should we be God’s willing hands, helping to meet the needs of broken travelers on life’s journey? Not because they are deserving (they may or may not be). The Samaritan didn’t know whether the man in the ditch was deserving. Not because they are grateful (sometimes they are not). The Samaritan didn’t know whether the man in the ditch would be grateful. Not because it’s good social policy; not because it’s tax deductible; not because it makes us "feel good" - but because we are part of the body of Christ, his hands and feet and lips and pocketbooks.

I am indebted to my friend, Dr. Kenneth Sauer, Bishop of the Southern Ohio Synod of The Evangelical Lutheran Church in America, for the following. During a severe flood in a midwestern community, the water had covered the streets several feet deep. A man was sitting on his porch, where the water was up to that level. Two men came by in a rowboat, pulled over to his porch and said, "Hop in, Brother, we’ll take you to safety." He replied, "Not me, thanks, the Lord will help me."

The water continued to rise to the level of his porch roof, and he was perched up there. Two men came by in a motorboat. They pulled over to his porch roof and said, "Hop in. Brother, we’ll take you to safety." He replied, "Not me, thank you. The Lord will help me."

The water rose to the roof of his house, and he was sitting up there when a helicopter came by. The pilot hovered above and let down a rope ladder. "Climb in, Brother, and we’ll take you to safety." He answered, "Not me, thank you. The Lord will help me." The water continued to rise and the man drowned.

When he got to heaven, he spoke to the Lord. (How Bishops know what goes on up there I don’t know.) The man said, "I’ve always gone to church, read my Bible, given my tithe, and said my prayers. There I was in great need of your help. Where were you when I needed you?" The Lord replied, "Where was I? I sent you two boats and a helicopter. What more do you want?"

The man had failed to realize that when God touches people he takes the nearest willing hand (or rowboat or helicopter) and uses that.

In the Samaritan story there is a subtle indictment of the institutional church. As is evident in his description of the priest and the Levite, as well as in other places, Jesus had no great admiration for the church leaders of his day. In his story he makes the one who was a real person, doing God’s will, a Samaritan - a sort of halfbreed, upon whom Jesus’ own race and institutional church looked down their noses.

In our day, the indictment against the institutional church has risen anew. The name and activity of "social ministry" is becoming part of every Christian congregation, insisting (and rightly so) that the organized church must not be simply a selfserving, self-perpetuating institution. Rather, it is to be a compassionate traveler on the road of life - a sort of corporate Good Samaritan. Wherever people are robbed of goods, well-being or the opportunity for a full life, there the church must be to champion their cause, to minister to their needs and to encourage their efforts. The church, like the Samaritan, must be willing to pay the cost - in cash, in caring, in whatever form is appropriate.

Most of this clamor today comes from within the church itself. Redirection and renewal are demands which the church is making of itself. Because this is so, in some places it has become the focal point of turmoil. To bind up the wounds of humanity on a collective scale, to improve the lot of whole classes of people faces us with many complications. It cuts across historical patterns, social structures and economic strata.

Not only is it costly in cash, it is unsettling to the emotions, disturbing to security and dynamite to the status quo. No wonder there is disagreement. On the one hand, there are people within the church who fear that the church of our day is irrelevant, not concerned enough with the plight of humanity. On the other hand, there are those (also within the church) who ask, "Why is the church concerned so much with social problems? Let the church stick to explaining the Bible and nurturing the spiritual life. Let the social problems be the concern of other agencies."

An emphasis on ministering to human need is long overdue in the institutional church. However, Jesus’ story of the Good Samaritan reminds us of something that in all our arguments over mass programs, in all the frantic busyness of modern life, we are apt to forget: the need for personal daily kindness and compassion has not diminished.

We must not let our zealfor social programs take the place of our personal witnessing, nor let our antagonism to social programs poison our personal compassion. It’s no use saying, "let them fend for themselves." The people who need us most are those who in one form or another have been beaten until they are no longer able - mentally, physically or financially - to fend for themselves.

The old principal is still the modern principal, and is relevant to our day, our society and our religion: when God touches people, he takes the nearest willing hand and uses that. When your heart’s need is touched by the compassion, forgiveness or encouragement of another person; when your life is strengthened by the spiritual, mental or physical support of someone else, this is God, taking the nearest willing hand - or lips or purse - to express his love, his mercy, his concern for you.

Praise God when his modern Samaritans touch our lives, as they so often do. More important, praise God that we can be (must be) his Samaritans, touching life’s needy travelers with our willing hands for him.

Almighty and most merciful God, help us to remember all those whom it is too easy to forget - the homeless, the destitute, the sick, the aged, and all those who have none to care for them. Prod us one by one as Christ’s people, and together as Christ’s body, the church, to remember Christ’s nail torn wrists on the Cross, to be his willing hands today. Amen

CSS Publishing Company, The Sign in the Subway, by Carveth Mitchell