Quite some time ago while serving at another parish, I was called to anoint an elderly lady who was dying. Now, in many ways she was lucky because she was able to remain at home surrounded by loved ones. She was also lucky because she was conscious and could receive Communion.
After Anointing her, offering Communion and praying with her and her family, I asked if she would like to make a Confession. Before she could answer, her daughter called me aside to express her feeling that my invitation was judgemental. How could her loving mother be a sinner in need of Confession, especially while bedridden? I suggested that the decision should be left to her mother alone, promising that I wouldn’t judge her mother to be a sinner or saint. When asked again, the elderly and dying mother said she would like to make a Confession and received that very day a healing no doctor could provide: the forgiveness of sins and a restored relationship with the source of all life.
The familiar parable Jesus tells in today’s Gospel, of course, clarifies who we should consider our neighbour, who it is we should care and be concerned for. But, the climax of the parable tells of a healing, it contains a lesson not only about who our neighbour is, but that being a good neighbour involves healing.
Jerusalem, the city the poor victim left, symbolizes the promised land, the place where God dwelt with his people, a place of joy where every need was met. It makes no sense that someone should ever want to leave Jerusalem, especially for Jericho, a symbol for this fallen world and the final obstacle between God’s people and the promised land.
Because they carry God’s message, will and law to the people of the world, lawyers and priests can travel freely between Jerusalem and Jericho; it’s part of their job. But in this parable, we hear of another who, perhaps believing life apart from God would be somehow better, leaves Jerusalem for Jericho, paradise for this fallen world, and it doesn’t take long before they fall victim to bandits who rob the unprotected of faith, health and even dignity.
The lawyer and priest who pass by the suffering man aren’t necessarily cowards, bad or unsympathetic. Maybe they pass by because, on their own power, they’re unable to heal or help the stricken man. We’ve all been there. In our weakness we’ve also walked past the evils of homelessness and addiction, poverty, injustice and war, disease and death. Sometimes it seems as though the road between Jerusalem and Jericho, where we often find ourselves, is filled with those who have been beaten by these powers. Maybe we even find ourselves to be one of those in need, one of those left half dead by bandits who have forcefully taken and crushed.
Finally, the parable introduces the Good Samaritan, one who does have the power to do something for the wounded. The Good Samaritan offers healing and the work begins. First, the beaten victim brushes aside all fear and pride to reveal his wounds and accept the Good Samaritan’s help, a symbol for the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Oil and wine are then poured over the injuries of the stricken, a symbol for the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick.
But he’s not to stay; if the afflicted man is to have his faith, health and dignity restored, he cannot remain in that space between Jerusalem and Jericho. So, using his own animal, a symbol for the Sacrament of the Eucharist, the Good Samaritan brings the wounded man to the inn. The inn is the Church to which we all belong, the place where faith is nurtured and the wounds of sin are healed. The innkeeper who welcomes in everyone, may not be the owner of the inn. It’s possible that the Good Samaritan brought the injured man to his own inn and placed him under the care of the innkeeper, a kind of manager,