The Witness: On Shepherds, Samaritans, and Other Scapegoats

On Shepherds, Samaritans, and Other Scapegoats
By Nigel Taber-Hamilton
Tuesday, May 2, 2006

Lectionary Reflections for the Fourth Sunday of Easter (B)

Readings for the Fourth Sunday of Easter (B), May 7, 2006

Acts 4:5-12
Psalm 23
1 John 3:16-24
John 10:11-18

"I am the Good Shepherd", says Jesus. Familiar, beautiful words that have birthed a name: "Good Shepherd Sunday." There is much to be mined here.

But the treasure we see is not always the one that Jesus buried for us!

To truly understand the core meaning of this wonderful discourse we must go back to the Exodus story, and also examine a parable of Jesus.

Our study begins with Moses, Aaron and Miriam leading slaves out of Egypt and into freedom. Learning as they went, these ex-slaves came to appreciate the value of a nomadic life.

They learned, first, that everything is gift from God, symbolized by the manna, the first Bread of Life. And they learned, too, that worship need not be centered in one place. They thus came to value Tent over Temple and sheep over settled land. To be a shepherd was a noble occupation - a continuing theme in Jewish history.

Entering the Land of Promise these nomads found themselves surrounded by nations whose powerful elites and regal aristocracy ruled through subjugating the poor and weak. Yet this nascent community understood themselves completely differently: as equal partners with each other. And they were equal partners because -- as they learned in their wilderness school -- they were partnered with God, the true owner of the land, whose manna way called them to share in common all that they had.

More than being a "Chosen People" they were a "Partner People" who valued equality and mutual respect calling out leaders from within the community, who returned to it when their task was done.

From the beginning, therefore, these ex-slaves understood themselves as one people -- a "Contrast Society" to their neighbors, a community that lived in an equal partnership with each other and with Yahweh God by holding fast to the values of the manna way.

... they were equal partners because -- as they learned in their wilderness school -- they were partnered with God, the true owner of the land, whose manna way called them to share in common all that they had.

By the time of Jesus this had all changed: with development of a royal aristocracy and the adoption of temple worship under King Solomon, nomadic values had faded and social divisions appeared.

What else could happen, after all? Social strife and class warfare -- the oppression of the many by the few -- were the natural consequences of the disappearance of any understanding of land as an equally shared resource belonging to God.

Such strife had consequences. The Israelite kingdom split into two nations: Israel and Judah.

And Jewish faith itself split into rival branches, some centered around the Temple in Jerusalem, but Samaritan Judaism having its own rival temple on Mount Gerizim. With rivalry between two kingdoms and then two temples came mutual hatred. The earlier "Contrast Society" required no person to serve as scapegoat among those who worshipped the god of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob because all were one, a people in partnership with God. Now that was no longer true.

Fear and hatred are never far below the surface when there is injustice and inequality, and human beings will often look for ways to take out their anger on those who cannot defend themselves -- particularly on those who are not (they think) like them.

For the Judeans, convenient scapegoats were close at hand: Samaritans.

Understanding how much Judeans hated Samaritans as the epitome of the kind of religious compromise that, in the view of figures like Ezra and Nehemiah, had led to Israel's exile adds real power to Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan in Luke's gospel. It can no longer be understood as only about compassion, about the 'nice guy who did good.'

Rather it is a parable of radical inclusion.

Social strife and class warfare -- the oppression of the many by the few -- were the natural consequences of the disappearance of any understanding of land as an equally shared resource belonging to God.

As such it calls for a deeper analysis of the need to have scapegoats and the self-justifying attitudes that lead people to condemn individuals simply by lumping them into a particular class of human being: "Those damned Samaritans!"

Jesus' parable offers radical and disturbing answer to the question "who is my neighbor?": "Everyone is your neighbor -- and especially those you hate."

The Samaritan of Luke's gospel represents a middle layer of the Jesus tradition, coming later and after many additional years of reflection than Mark's earlier gospel. John's gospel was written even later than Luke's, and reflects additional christological developments and a very different style from those of the earlier gospels. In John we find a profound and powerful reflection on the meaning of Jesus, a long, extended sermon on "the Word [become] flesh...full of grace and truth." (John 1: 14). We also find a gospel reflecting a different historical and cultural context from that of other canonical gospels. If John simply repeated the Good Samaritan parable, then its real, radical meaning would likely be as lost on his audience as it often is on us.

But the gospel of John has another tradition serving a function similar to that of the parable of the "good Samaritan" in Luke: namely that of the "good shepherd." In John's time, as in Jesus' time, shepherds were the dispossessed, the lowest rung of society. No longer owning their own land, then losing their sheep, they often ended up as the hired hands of the Rome-oriented wealthy urban dwellers -- those absentee landlords of Jesus' parables.

These hired shepherd-servants depended for their livelihood on work that required them to be out in the fields and away from their mothers, wives, sisters, and daughters, whom an honorable man with the means to do so would have stayed home to protect. As a result, shepherds were considered the epitome of questionable honor among men -- unreliable at best, borderline bandits at worst. In such a context, a good shepherd, like a good Samaritan, was a contradiction in terms. Dispossessed shepherds of John's time were despised much as were the traitorous Samaritans.

And yet Jesus says, "I am the Good Shepherd."

As in the story of the "good Samaritan," Jesus in this Sunday's gospel uses a despised external identity to challenge the reader's preconceptions about others. The invitation, for us as for Jesus' earliest hearers and the gospels' earliest readers, is to think about what is really important in human relationships. And Jesus' answer is always the same: compassion, individual moral character, and generous, inclusive action.

We are not to condemn by assigning human beings to hated categories. Rather, we must look first into the eyes of those we hate or despise, reject or condemn -- those we are tempted to scapegoat -- and embrace them as creatures of God, and equal partners in life's endeavors.

The invitation, for us as for Jesus' earliest hearers and the gospels' earliest readers, is to think about what is really important in human relationships.

"I have a dream," said Martin Luther King Jr., "that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character."

But King's dream wasn't necessarily a new one. Jesus had a similar dream, which he challenged his followers to live out as he consistently placed himself among the ranks of those who his contemporary society rejected by class: tax collectors and sinners, Samaritans and shepherds.

The message of the "good shepherd" for today is thus contemporary as well as ancient. To understand it we must be willing to recast it as Mark, Luke, John, and subsequent generations of Christian thinkers did for their communities. For many of us, that will mean saying something much less bucolic:

The international community of the West must hear Jesus say "I am the good Muslim."

Dominant cultures in the United States must hear Jesus say "I am the good homeless person."

And the Anglican Communion must hear Jesus saying: "I am the good homosexual."

We must recover the manna way -- that joyful celebration of God's gifts that require no scapegoats -- a cosmic koinonia that lies at the heart of true resurrection.

And we can do so in this Easter season if we understand the true power of Jesus' great words: "I am the good shepherd."

Nigel Taber-Hamilton is rector of St. Augustine's-in-the-Woods Episcopal Church, Freeland, Washington, on beautiful Whidbey Island, where he shares his home with his wife Rachel -- also a priest and hospital chaplain -- two collies, and two cats. When not enjoying parish life, Nigel can be found with Rachel walking their dogs on local beaches, and feeling smug about his wonderful island paradise. He can be reached at rector@whidbey.com.