“An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman…” It’s a classic opening for a British joke. It’s very common in various parts of the world as well; in my home country, it would usually feature a Pole, a German, and a Russian, with the latter often the butt of the joke. There are also versions with different professions, such as a priest, a minister, and a rabbi. Whatever the original setup, these kinds of jokes rely on stereotypes. And, jokes aside, broadly speaking, that’s how we all view our reality – we are “preprogrammed” or “preconditioned” to see things in a particular way. It helps us to go through the day on autopilot, while our limited mental capacity can handle unexpected, non-typical situations, events, or circumstances – funnily enough, most often in our own, stereotypical way.
The parable we heard in today’s gospel is one of the most iconic and familiar, even to those who don’t know much about Christianity. It’s heartwarming and offers a reassurance worthy of a Hollywood happy ending. It is based on a triad familiar to Jesus’ audience, who saw their Jewish society divided into three levels: the temple priests (the highest social rank), the Levites (designated as religious officials), and the rest of the community. The first two could be seen as aloof, unapproachable outside their official roles. So, when Jesus, in response to the lawyer’s question “who is my neighbour?” started telling the story of the man in trouble, the audience instinctively anticipated that when the priest and the Levite failed to help him, the third one coming would be the good one, and of their lower rank of commoners. They had already started to feel good about themselves when Jesus then shocked them to the core by introducing a Samaritan as the good one. These days, when we hear “a good Samaritan”, we envision someone caring for others and going the extra mile to help, a perception strengthened by the existence of a registered charity in the UK and Ireland that provides emotional support to anyone struggling to cope or feeling suicidal, the Samaritans. That wasn’t the case when Jesus first told the parable. There was no love lost between Jews and Samaritans; their hostility and loathing were mutual, and the other side barely accepted their coexistence while they each kept to themselves. They didn’t mingle, and neither side had any desire to do so. Think of the Israelis and Gazans before the current armed conflict – that’s roughly how unfriendly the Jews and Samaritans were in Jesus’ times. The depth of hatred was clear when the lawyer in today’s story responded to Jesus’ question, “Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbour to the man who fell among the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” To praise the Samaritan by name couldn’t pass his lips.
The key phrase in today’s gospel is the lawyer’s question: “And who is my neighbour?” He had started the conversation with Jesus to embarrass him, only to find himself embarrassed. The lawyer proudly presented his knowledge of the Law by reciting its two fundamental principles (the love of God and of neighbour) but found himself unsettled by Jesus’ straight-to-the-point conclusion: “Do this, and you will live.” As if trying to recover his footing, the lawyer asked: “And who is my neighbour?” It’s the question we too raise in our minds every time we face challenging social situations and weigh up our possible responses. The crucial word here is MY neighbour. It means I am in charge of determining who deserves what from me, and I control the situation. The simplest and quickest way for me to refuse is by diminishing the person in question by attaching a belittling label or calling them names. It’s particularly apparent in high-intensity conflicts; the opposing sides use derogatory, insulting terms to refer to their opponents. As this dehumanises them, it becomes mentally easier to hurt or even kill them. The parable turned this dynamic on its head; instead of deciding who deserves to be my neighbour, I must see a fellow human being even in those easily dismissed. The main character in the parable turned out to be the hated Samaritan, rather than the man he helped.
Should the parable directly guide policies on addressing society’s challenges? Such as managing highly-charged opposing views, illegal immigration, armed conflicts across various regions, and so on? I don’t believe so, as doing so might lead to naively romantic but impractical solutions. Nonetheless, the lesson of this parable is that at the core of any discussion, whether on an individual, community, national, or global level, must be the recognition of the shared humanity of all involved, no matter how flawed and imperfect we all may be.
The man dying on the side of the road in today’s parable must have been English. How do I know? An Englishman, an Irishman and a Scotsman got kidnapped by highwaymen. “You are all going to die. But we will grant you each one final wish,” said the thug. The Scotsman: “I would like a hundred bagpipes playing ‘Scotland the Brave.’” The Irishman: “I would like 100 people performing the river dance.” The Englishman: “Can you kill me first, please?”
