September 27, 2026 - Eighteenth Sunday after Penteconst: Compassion: Whatever is Just

September 27, 2026 Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
Ladue Chapel Presbyterian Church
Philippians 4:8-9Luke 10:25-37 
“Compassion: Whatever is Just”
Melissa K. Smith

Two people can look at the exact same thing and see something completely different.
A person walking down the street might see a stranger. Someone else might see a neighbor.

One person might see a problem. Another might see a person who needs help.

One might see an inconvenience. Another might see an opportunity to love.

What we see—and perhaps even more importantly, how we see it—shapes the way we live.

In Paul's letter to the Philippians he says, “Whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, pure, pleasing, commendable… think about these things.” Paul is talking about the things we allow to occupy our minds and shape our hearts. Our sermon series this fall is looking at each of these words, and today we are exploring whatever is just.

The Greek word for “justice” is δίκαιος (dikaios). I remember in my first semester of Greek in college learning that the word δίκαιος meant both justice and righteousness. Discovering that those words are related threw both definitions into reconsideration and it gave me the motivation to look more carefully at what is just and what is right – and what is meant by the word that is used.

The parable of the Good Samaritan begins with an expert in the law testing Jesus and asking him what he must do to inherit eternal life. In the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, it is Jesus who names the Greatest Commandment. But in Luke’s gospel it is this expert in the law who names it.

26 [Jesus] said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” 27 He answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind and your neighbor as yourself.” 28 And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

But the expert “wanted to vindicate himself” and asks Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

The Greek word that is translated and interpreted as “vindicate” is δικαιῶσαι – the same root word for “whatever is just”. But what this man is asking Jesus is not right or just – and that is probably why the translators for the NRSV interpreted the word to mean “vindicate”.

Jesus uses this as an opportunity to share a parable that re-orients that question. In this familiar story, a man is beaten and left for dead on the side of the road. A priest sees him. A Levite sees him. A Samaritan sees him. All three see the same thing. But only one acts on what is just. Only one allows what he sees to move him toward compassion.

The Samaritan doesn't simply see a man lying in the road. He sees a person whose life and dignity are worth protecting. The text said he was “moved with compassion”. The man saw injustice. He saw someone beat up, left for dead, and receiving no help. He did not see his societal enemy. He did not see an inconvenience. He saw an opportunity to be a neighbor.

What the Samaritan likely does not know is that there were two missed opportunities by two likely sources of support. First, a priest walked by. This is fortuitous – surely someone who serves God could serve a wounded traveler. But he didn’t. He passed by on the other side and offered no assistance.

Thankfully, a Levite was passing by shortly after. One scholar explains that “the tribe of Levi was responsible for oversight of the central sanctuary of Israel by assisting the priests, preparing sacrifices, cleansing and caring for the sacred courts and vessels, serving as porters, gatekeepers, singers, and musicians, and also by interpreting Torah.” Surely this Levite would have the skills and desire to care for the man who was left for dead. But he didn’t. He too passed this man on the other side.

The societal hierarchy in post-exilic Israel had the Priest at the top, the Levite next, and then all the people. In Jesus’ story, the logical next person to walk towards the man lying on the road is a person, a Jewish person. Perhaps someone not dissimilar to the expert testing Jesus.

But not only does Jesus not name the obvious next person, he names an absurd suggestion – the idea that a Samaritan would be in this story is unexpected – but the fact that in Jesus’ parable this is the next man who is suggested…that solidifies the man on the road’s fate. Surely a Samaritan would not stop to help. As one scholar puts it, “to Jews, Samaritans were not simply outcasts, they were enemies.” But as we read and as we know, the Samaritan is one the one who stopped, who helped this man, who tended his wounds, and ensured his continued care.

During the pandemic, I was working at my home church in Los Angeles. Because of the relatively good weather year-round, we were able to worship outside in an open tent. There was one particular Sunday when we invited our Executive Presbyter to come and preach. He had not yet put his robe on, and he was walking around saying hello to congregants before worship. He was wearing a suit, carrying a briefcase, and looked very professional. And pretty quickly, a congregant came running up to me and said, “There's a stranger in our tent. He doesn't belong here.” He wasn't the only person who noticed that there was someone they didn't know in our midst—and apparently, that was a problem.

Instead of a preacher, they saw a stranger.

Instead of a welcome guest, they saw someone who didn't belong.

They looked quite surprised when Rev. Sarmiento walked onto the chancel in his robe moments later. Now, there was nothing inherently wrong with not knowing who this man was. There was nothing wrong with noticing that someone new had entered the tent. But what struck me was how quickly a person had been categorized as stranger, outsider, and someone who did not belong before anyone had even met him.

The expert wanted Jesus to tell him where he can stop caring for others. “Who is my neighbor?” Where does the classification of “neighbor” end? Is it just the people on my street? My subdivision? My zip code? Who counts? Where does the boundary fall? Who am I actually responsible for? Who belongs inside the circle of my obligation—and who is outside it? In other words: What does justice require of me?

In our pandemic tent, the congregation was more focused on who was in and who was out – who belonged and who did not.

Paul urges the Philippians to see the world through a lens of compassion – through a lens of whatever is just. And in the story of the Good Samaritan, Jesus is inviting us to let our new vision influence the way we act. The Samaritan isn’t colloquially named “good” because he saw the man. He is “good” because he stopped to care for the man. He let his compassion move him to just and righteous action.

Presbyterian Minister Fred Rogers taught the world what it means to be a neighbor. On Mister Rogers' Neighborhood, Mister Rogers had a neighbor named Officer Clemmons, played by François Clemmons. One of their most memorable moments was also one of the simplest. On a hot day, Mister Rogers invited Officer Clemmons to cool his feet in a small plastic wading pool. They sat side by side with their feet in the water, then used the same towel to dry them. It may not sound remarkable, but the episode first aired in 1969, when racial segregation remained deeply entrenched in American life. Viewers saw a white man and a black man sharing a pool, talking as neighbors, and sharing a towel. Mister Rogers and Officer Clemmons helped demonstrate what it means to be a neighbor while expanding America’s view of who our neighbor is.

The expert asks, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus doesn't answer by drawing a smaller circle. Instead, he tells a story about a Samaritan who crosses a boundary of religion, ethnicity, and hostility to care for a wounded stranger.

My college professor, Rev. Dr. Jim Edwards, puts it this way: “For Jesus, one does not have a neighbor; one is a neighbor, or better, becomes a neighbor. The parable does not require hearers to convert enemies into friends, to do everything for everyone, to solve the problems of the world. To be a neighbor is not a condition one inherits, in other words, but a choice one makes to render the tangible assistance one is able to render to those in need of it, and to render it irrespective of ethnic, religious, cultic, or racial differences.”

Becoming and being a neighbor is our call to love and our call to justice. The Greatest Command is to both love God with all of who we are and to love our neighbors as ourselves. Our next question need not be “who is my neighbor” but “how can I become a neighbor?”

Paul tells us to change our perspective, to dwell on and think about whatever is true, honorable, just, pure, pleasing, and commendable. He tells us to view the world with a lens of compassion. And it is Jesus’ command that we are to love – to let our new sight ignite our action to go out and tangibly love our neighbors.

May we do justice as we look upon the world God so loves. May we become a neighbor. May we be moved with compassion and respond with action.

Thanks be to God.

Amen.