Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read Luke 10:25–37
“I can’t talk now, I am integrating chickens.”
Add this to my list of “texts I never thought I’d send.” When the recipient shared that she had no idea what I was talking about, I explained that we were introducing our new flock of chickens to the old and that this required constant supervision because, as the chicken experts warn, things can go awry. This was news to me, but as a new backyard chicken owner, everything about these birds is news to me. The latest fun fact I have learned, which is actually not fun at all but incredibly upsetting, falls under the topic of “pecking.” When a chicken is pecked to the point of bloodshed, one must remove it from the flock immediately. A wounded chicken is a sign of weakness and becomes a threat to the flock’s safety. When a chicken sees red on its flockmate, its instinct is not to show compassion on the wounded, but to kill it. Visibly disturbed by this, my husband continues to remind me: “They are chickens. Not humans.” But I wonder.
Are we more compassionate than chickens? I’m not so sure.
In Luke’s gospel, we find the well-known parable of the good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37). A man takes a journey from Jericho to Jerusalem and is robbed, stripped, beaten, and left for dead on the side of the road. Both a priest and a Levite choose to pass by him, but a Samaritan goes to him, sees what has happened, and has compassion. I’ve meditated on this passage many times. Sometimes, I see myself in the story as the good Samaritan, the one who goes out of the way to care for others. At other times, I am the priest or Levite, as I recognize those times when I have failed to show mercy. Most recently, however, the role that I gravitate toward, the one in whom I see myself so clearly, is neither the Samaritan nor the priest and Levite, but rather, the one who has been robbed; the wounded and humiliated on the side of the road.
I have been robbed.
And you have, too.
In the beginning, we were robbed by sin. As Father Altier writes, “When they were created, Adam and Eve had what is called ‘original integrity,' meaning that their minds and their wills had complete mastery over their bodies and senses. The choice to sin brought disorder into their minds and their wills. Confusion was introduced as their senses began demanding to be stimulated, and Adam and Eve lacked the ability to push aside disordered desires easily.”[1] Does this strike a chord? Can you see a similar pattern in your life? Because this is what sin does to all of us. It humiliates us by stripping us of our dignity, while simultaneously beating us with shame. We can become so disfigured by our wounds that we no longer recognize ourselves. This is the perfect scheme of the enemy of our soul; the thief who comes to steal, kill, and destroy (John 10:10), who delights in watching the way sin tears us apart and steals our identity.
Have you ever been so torn apart by your sin that you can’t bear to look at it?
It can be tempting to question the compassion of the priest and Levite. We shake our heads at their callousness, trying to fathom any good reason for their passing by; what excuse could they possibly give for such a lack of compassion for the wounded? And yet, let me ask: when you look at the wounds created by your sin, your choices, your disobedience, do you show yourself compassion? When you come face to face with your human weakness, do you run to the Father and praise Him for His mercy? Or has shame lodged itself so deep inside of you that the minute you journey down the road of past mistakes, you turn around and walk the other way?
Why would we pass by the wounded, we wonder? Because wounds are a sign of weakness. Because wounds threaten our place in God’s flock. Because wounds are hard to look at, especially when they are our own.
In a final sweeping of this passage, the Holy Spirit illuminated a verse I had paid little attention to, and it brought me to tears: “But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion” (Luke 10:33 RSVCE). Did you catch the first part? He came to where he was. If I had a stage and spotlight, I would reach for the mic and shout this next part from the rooftops, not to draw attention to myself, but to the One who never fails to blow my mind over and over again. Listen up, friends, because this good Samaritan is not me, nor is it you, no matter how much we believe we deserve the starring role. He is our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. He is the innocent victim who was wounded and beaten to death willingly for our sins. The hero in every story ever told from the beginning to the end will always be God; the God who sees our sin before we reach for it, the God who knows our disobedience before we delight in it, the God who sees the future pain as we consent to it, and yes, the God who lets it happen anyway, not so that He can leave us half dead in our shame, but so that He can come to where we are and restore us back to life.
I don’t know what sin has wounded your heart, but I know that it wounded God’s heart first, and He is longing to heal it. Would you let Him do for you what He does for the man in the gospel? Allow Him to bind your wounds and pour the healing oil of the Holy Spirit upon you through the sacrament of Penance. Receive His divine comfort and regain your spiritual strength through the Eucharist in Holy Communion. Rest in the “inn” which is the one, holy, Catholic, and apostolic Church. Do this, and you will no longer be half dead (Luke 10:30). “Do this, and you will live” (Luke 10:28).
In case you are wondering how my chicken integration is going, I am happy to report that they have been sharing the same space for a week now. While there is more pecking than I would like, there have been no wounds. Last night, however, I found myself outside the coop at dusk, eavesdropping on the squawks and squabbles, and had to refrain from getting inside myself. “But what if one gets hurt?” I fearfully asked. And as my husband made his way back up to the house, he matter-of-factly said, “They need to work it out themselves. Remember. They are chickens.” After a few minutes, I, too, walked away, accepting the way of the chicken while praising God for making me human; a daughter of a good Father Who may permit us to feel the wounds of sin, but will never leave us to work it out ourselves; Who goes out of His way to come to where we are, see our wounds, and have compassion.
Food for thought or journaling …
What wound are you trying to work out on your own? Do you trust that the Lord sees you, loves you, and desires to heal you? What action can you make today to show yourself compassion?
Jesus, my Rescuer, I know how to have compassion on others, but when it comes to myself, I feel nothing but shame and humiliation. When I can’t stand the sight of my wounds, You come to me and love me as I am. Only You have the power to bind and heal the wounds of my sin. Give me the strength to run to You in my woundedness. I want to remain in Your flock. Amen.
[1] Fr. Robert J. Altier, God’s Plan For Your Marriage (Sophia Institute Press, 2022), 32.
