This is what [the Lord God] showed me: the Lord was standing beside a wall built with a plumb line, with a plumb line in his hand.
And the Lord said to me, “Amos, what do you see?” And I said, “A plumb line.” Then the Lord said, “See, I am setting a plumb line in the midst of my people Israel;
I will never again pass them by;
the high places of Isaac shall be made desolate,
and the sanctuaries of Israel shall be laid waste,
and I will rise against the house of Jeroboam with the sword.” [The Prophet Amos 7.7-9]

I have noted previously there are biblical stories about which people have already made up their minds. These are usually well-known, like Easter and Christmas, or tales of prodigal sons. Preaching on these is like cracking concrete, as opinions – often well-considered ones – have been formed. New reflections do not penetrate easily.

Thus, this week’s gospel reading, about a Jew who is assaulted and left for dead in a dangerous neighbourhood. Two Jewish leaders, who we would expect to offer help, move swiftly aside. A little later, a man from the Palestinian West Bank, stops; he dresses the victim’s wounds, and carries him to the nearest accommodation, paying the bill.

This story has a context; Jesus has been asked what must be done to inherit eternal life. Jesus takes a plumb line and measures our lives against the commands of the Law. “Love God with everything we have, and our neighbour as ourselves”.

Tell me, who is my neighbour?

Jesus, a faithful Jew, is debating one who serves the Law faithfully and, it appears, has come equally faithfully seeking an answer. Thus, like many good lawyers and rabbis, Jesus turns the question around; who behaved as a neighbour for the victimised man?

The measure of the answer is mercy. A plumb line indeed.

There is a crisis in the Middle East, which could be a headline from any time in the last six decades, and longer. Stepping out this history can lead to despair. As with so many social and historical crises with which we live, the simple answers, some of which emerge from the school playground as much as the United Nations, are commonplace.

We cannot speak about the horrors of the Hamas attack on 7^th October 2023, or the appalling reprisals engineered by the Israeli Government as if there is no larger history of fear and violence, pogrom and persecution, threat and retaliation.

Youth workers have, for generations, tried to find a contextual parable to match that of the Jewish victim, the negligent clergy and the merciful outsider. There is no need to look too far distant; Jesus’ parable is crying out for enactment on his front lawn.

At the root of the Gaza horror story lies Jesus’ parable, and Amos’ prophecy almost eight hundred years before Jesus spoke. Amos offers a polemic against those who trample the needy and bring ruin upon the poor, who bargain deceitfully and shackle in debt those who will never find a way out.

There is a reason that this is the most famous of Jesus’ parables. It is a radical departure from how we commonly act – retaliation and reprisal. Blame. Excuses.

A South American theologian argues that the reason the Samaritan stops is because he knows the danger on this road; he has been assaulted here before. And no one stopped to help.

Jesus’ words are, as always, a radical departure from our standard response. God expects more of us. The God of Amos, of Abraham and Sarah, Isaac and Rebekah, expects more. And I risk myself by assuming that an equal demand is made by the God of those who are descendants by faith of Ishmael.

I am neither sufficiently naïve, nor foolish, to assume that my words will affect any action in Gaza. I will be audacious enough, however, to hope that they may affect how we pray, how we debate and how we act in mercy toward our neighbours, our family, in Israel, Gaza and the West Bank.

Who acted as a neighbour? The one who showed mercy.
Jesus said, Go and do likewise.