The Pesky Postulant

Proper 10, Year B — Morning Prayer Homily

Luke 10:25–37, Psalm 82

A homily by Ericca Cavender-Caldwell

The Gospel this morning is one of the most familiar stories in all of Scripture. But that familiarity can sometimes make us overlook its discomfort. We know the narrative: a man is attacked and left half-dead on the side of the road. The priest and the Levite, both respected religious figures, pass by without stopping. Then the Samaritan appears, the one least expected to be the hero.

And yet, it is the Samaritan who reveals a core value of our baptismal covenant: to respect the dignity of every human being. This story confronts our assumptions. In Jesus’ time, Samaritans were seen as outsiders, heretics, foreigners, those who worshiped differently and lived in the “wrong” places. Society labeled them as other. And yet, Jesus makes the Samaritan the one who sees truly.

Not the priest.
Not the Levite.
But the Samaritan.

Perhaps Jesus chose him precisely because of that reversal. The religious figures had roles of holiness and learning. They likely had reasons for passing by: ritual purity concerns, fear, busyness. But reasons do not change the result. They chose inaction.

The Samaritan chooses otherwise. He does not assess whether the man is worthy. He does not ask for credentials. He sees suffering and responds, not with hesitation but with mercy. He tends the wounds, carries the man, and ensures his continued care.

This is where the parable becomes deeply challenging. The Samaritan’s mercy is not performative. It is not loud. It is not transactional. It is quiet, costly, and inconvenient. And it flies in the face of every narrative that tells us someone else will help, or that some people are simply not our problem.

The Gospel does not demand perfection. But it does call us to presence.

Psalm 82 echoes this call. It shows us a God who is not merely comforting, but actively judging injustice.

“How long will you judge unjustly, and show favor to the wicked?”

“Give justice to the weak and the orphan; maintain the right of the lowly and the destitute.”

This is a vision of divine justice that does not tolerate neutrality. God stands among the powerful and calls for equity. God does not look away, and does not accept our looking away either.

When Jesus tells us, “Go and do likewise,” it is not an assignment. It is an invitation to live the Gospel with our hands and feet. Justice, when shaped by love, does not always announce itself. Often, it looks like a Samaritan who simply chose to stop.

In a few weeks, I will be heading to seminary. It is a gift I do not take lightly. But I want to acknowledge this congregation as one of my greatest teachers. You have shown me how to carry one another, how to stay present in difficulty, and how to love in the midst of complexity.

You have taught me how to be a neighbor.

If I carry forward one lesson, it is this: justice often looks like a quiet choice. It is not always a protest sign or a speech. Sometimes it looks like lifting someone up. Sometimes it looks like refusing to look away.

Perhaps the Kingdom of God begins just there: in mercy without qualification, in compassion that shows up without applause.

So let us pay attention this week. Who lies in the ditch? Who walks by? Let Psalm 82 remind us that God takes injustice seriously. Let the Gospel remind us that dignity is not theory; it is practice.

This is the Gospel:
Dignity is given by God, not granted by us.
Neighbor is not a category.
Love is not optional.

When the world says, “That is not your problem,”
Remember the Samaritan.
Remember Psalm 82.
And remember this: we are not called to perfection.
We are called to presence.

Thanks be to God.
Amen.