“The Hotel Compassion”
A sermon by Sid Burgess, for Edgewood PC
July 15, 2007
Text: Luke 10:25-37
We have passed the midway point of summer. The start of school is less than one month away. You may have already taken your vacation, but there is still time for another short trip. And today the Gospel of Luke wants to take you on a journey. Imagine St. Luke as your travel agent! Look down and examine your itinerary. You’ve have been ticketed to the ancient city of Jericho--known as the City of Palms, as in lovely palm trees. This is one of the most ancient of inhabited sites in the world, dating all the way back to the time of Moses. You remember Jericho as the site of Joshua’s great triumph, where once upon a long, long time ago, the “walls came a tumblin’ down.”
According to your itinerary, you’ll be staying at the Hotel Compassion.1 Not a familiar brand name in the lodging industry, but you can trust travel agent Luke. Your journey is set to begin in the Holy City of Jerusalem. You’ve always wanted to go there--see the sacred sites of the Holy Land. But the Middle East today is a dangerous place-- frayed nerves on “hair triggers.” Not to worry, it’s only 17 miles from Jerusalem to Jericho--17 short miles and down hill all the way. You can do this, and off you go!
Sure enough--the road is downhill, easy coasting all the way. But the road is narrow, and there are lots of twists and curves--accidents, attacks just waiting to happen. One minute you’re cruising down the road, next minute you’re staring up at a cracked windshield, blood trickling down your face. How in the world did this happen? The car in the ditch, smashed beyond repair. Was it an accident, a blow-out, or a bomb? You check around you and find that your billfold is missing, and with it, all of your credit cards, plus your cell phone.
What’s a person to do? A stranger in a strange land, there is nothing you can do but wait for someone to come to your aid. After all, it’s well-traveled road--this road to Jericho. Surely, soon, someone will come, stop, send for help. Meanwhile, there is only the wait, the agonizing, interminable waiting!
You are a red-blooded American. You not accustomed to waiting, and surely not to being a victim! In St. Luke’s famous story of the Good Samaritan our guy is the one wearing the “white hat.” The Good Samaritan is our role model. We love nothing better than imagining ourselves as heroes, our nation as the world’s rescuer. But I have it on good authority . . . . I have it on the recommendation of one of the early church fathers, St. Augustine, from the Fourth Century, that we might benefit from looking at this story from the perspective of the victim. This link to St. Augustine comes from my colleague and friend, Patrick Wilson, former pastor of Shades Valley Presbyterian, writing in the current issue of CHRISTIAN CENTURY MAGAZINE. “Before we go rushing down the Jericho Road, imagining ourselves the heroes (and heroines) of the story,” there is much we can learn by looking up from the perspective of the wounded traveler.2 So, I know this is hard, but trust me--you can do. You can, just for this once, imagine yourself in need. Humor your pastor! Just pretend. Just this once, looking out from that wrecked vehicle, just imagine yourself in need of help!
And, sure enough, help is one the way. Here comes someone. What a relief! It’s a priest--you can see the collar. Surely the priest will stop. The priest, the teacher, the principle, the doctor--these are members of the helping professions, authority figures. You can always count on them, right?!
Wrong! Quicker than you can say, “Alleluia, amen!,” the priest zips by pretending never to have seen you! Happens all the time to the poor. It’s the norm for the beleaguered masses of the world--out-of-sight, out-of-mind. But this is new for you. You are a middle class American. Your Triple-A card, your Blue Cross/Blue Shield and Medicare cards normally assure you of being taken care of--and quickly. You are not use to being ignored. But now, down here deep in the ditch, deep in whatever your hurt may be, you have no choice, but to wait.
So, keep looking, keep your eyes peeled. See if that is not another traveler coming your way. Oh, what a relief! This time it turns out to be a police offer--thank goodness!!! Your lucky day! Who’d have ever thought-- stranded out here on Jericho road, second car by is an officer of the court. Surely this good person will stop! Summon help. Right? You can always count on law enforcement--especially if you’re are the right race, the right class, in the right place at the right time!
But that is not this time. Not this day. This time, you are in the wrong place at the wrong time. You are the wrong color and, perhaps, the wrong nationality. And so the second car zooms on by. The second driver ignoring you just like the first. It’s a second rejection--and it stings more than the first.
Are these people blind? Callous? Cruel? No, not really, but maybe
just too busy. In too much of a hurry. Places to go, people to see,
deadlines to meet, appointments to keep.
Everyone has a full plate these days. A hundred expectations in
every day--24/7. You can’t stop for every broken down car beside the
road. Otherwise, a person’s work, a person’s mission, would never
get done. We all know that.
Still, the world looks a whole lot different from the wrecked car and the injured body, alone beside an unfamiliar road. Amazing just how quickly a person’s perspective can change. One word can do it: Cancer, or Divorce, or Fired; or Addicted. One minute you’re on cruise control, next minute you’ve lost control. A deadly diagnosis can do that. So, too, the loss of a job, the breakup of a marriage, the death of a loved one, strained relations in the family, and the lonely absence of anyone to love--or to be loved by.
Look up from that lonely perspective, see the world rushing by, everyone but you on the move, everyone but you with a partner, everyone but you with a future. And no one stopping to help.
But hold on! Wait a minute. Here comes another traveler. This one is slowing down; this one is stopping! His vehicle is not what you would have expected. It’s neither shinny nor new. No emergency lights, nothing official looking. In fact, it’s not a car at all. It’s . . . , uh . . . . It’s a book. A book? Yes, a Bible! Your rescuer comes to you in your time of most urgent need on the pages of ancient scripture. He doesn’t look at all like you have imagined him. A “white knight” on a handsome steed. No he’s got the dark skin and dark eyes of the Middle East--he’ll never pass airport security. Why, he’s as out-of-place in our modern world-- as out-of-place as the Samaritan would have appeared to the first readers of Luke’s gospel.
But, oh, the distance your rescuer has traveled! Oh, the suffering your redeemer has endured, the pain he has borne to come to you--straight to you-- in your time of need. He treats your injuries with sacred oil and consecrated wine. He gently wraps your wounds in his own bandages--his bandages from the cross he bore for you. Now, he gathers you in his strong arms, and lifts you up from your broken life, and he gives you his own seat--the seat of his highest honor--and leads you on to your destination.
Do you remember what it is? What is the name of that hotel? Does anyone remember? Ah, yes, the Hotel Compassion. And there it is, up ahead. Now coming into view. How strangely familiar! It can’t be! But it is! The Hotel Compassion-- “where broken travelers may rest and be refreshed”3--where the lonely find companionship; where outcasts find acceptance; where sinners find forgiveness; where the troubled find peace. Jesus Christ, your Lord, your rescuer and redeemer, brings you home to the Church, your Hotel Compassion. With his own life, your ultimately Good Samaritan has paid the bill in full for all the loving care you shall ever need.
Jesus is Lord.
He has been Lord from the beginning.
He will be Lord at the end.
Even now, Jesus is Lord.
1 Willson, Patrick, “Who We Are,” CHRISTIAN CENTURY, June 26,
2007, p. 19.
2 Ibid.
3 Ibid.