I've been slowly reading a remarkable intellectual biography of the Jesuit historian, theologian, philosopher, social critic Ivan Illich (d. 2002) by the Canadian journalist David Cayley. If you've been hanging around me for any period of time, you've probably heard me mention Ivan Illich. Every once in a while I try to repeat something he said, or wrote, as best I can. I taught some of his work unsuspecting to undergraduates when I was a college chaplain. I often forget his influence when I get caught up in daily work and live the way most of us live in modern life. But when I remember, I'm touched again by extraordinary insights he worked out throughout his extraordinary life.
A theme that weaves its way through Cayley's interpretation of the thinking of Illich is the implications of the so-called Parable of the Good Samaritan for how we think about society, church, history, and conflicts that tear us apart. Illich believed this parable to be the essential parable, carrying a key theme of the gospel. He thought it set a frame by which we can understand the power of the good news of faith.
Remember the story? The setting is first century Palestine.
Luke 10:25 Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” 27 He 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.” 28 And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”
Luke 10:29 But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30 Jesus 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. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. 34 He 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. 35 The 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.’ 36 Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” 37 He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
Why this story? Because at its heart is surprise, crossings, flipping, and repositioning.
Surprise in encounter. Gospel is found in how people relate to each other, not the rules they follow. Rules matter, but not as rules—only as context for acts of love.
Crossings in upsetting expectations. Ethnic and religious expectations matter less than mercy.
Repositioning in refocusing our attention on the man in the ditch. For while we want to identify with the people outside the ditch, Jesus identifies grace not in what the Samaritan did, but in the relating of the person in the ditch and the one who helped. Identify with each, and the moment. Receive mercy before you give mercy. Accept your own need. Know that you are a creature of God, then treat others as creatures of God too. Be free, not by imposing but by living well with others—with God.
As we plan, as we learn, as we order the world, as we shape the church, as we act in freedom and in love, let's not forget this insight and the gospel story that displays it:
Let's stay open to surprise.
Let's cross the lines we draw, not to sow chaos, but to rediscover grace and freedom.
Let's keep our focus stretched and broad—seeing what's up and what's down; what's reasonable and what's wonderfully, imaginatively, extraordinarily possible; what God is seeing even if we first miss it.
