"Well, did you ask him?" Sam had been waiting for Ted to come to work, and now he wanted to hear all about it even before they got to their offices. Ted said, "Good morning" to the receptionist, then, to Sam, "Walk with me." Sam was a little surprised; Ted’s voice did not have the tone of triumph Sam expected to hear.

The day before, they had discussed at great length just what Ted would ask, and what his follow-up would be. Ted was Sam’s mentor–hero, really. Not about business matters, but about religious matters. Ted had studied with all the greats (even if it had been at seminars with ten thousand people present); he had been a leader of his Bible study class; he knew the Scriptures cold; he said the prayer of Jabez every day; and no matter what question one asked, Ted had the answer (almost always from Scripture, which he could quote effortlessly).

Ted was a man of answers, a man who could not be surprised, a man who had structured his life around what the answers told him about what was right and what was wrong. Sam admired him. Ted was a deeply spiritual man who had things figured out. He knew precisely where his loyalties were to lie and how God had intended things to be ordered. It gave him great comfort. Sam wanted to be like him.

So Sam was puzzled at Ted’s "Walk with me" tone of concern, even conflict, as if Ted had not been looking forward to talking to Sam. It didn’t make sense. Sam and Ted had talked at length about this new preacher who was upsetting everyone. They had discussed how inappropriate his behavior was , how he hung out with prostitutes and crack addicts, and, most importantly, how he defied the Tradition in so many ways. He was a danger, a menace. He led people to be unclean, to be defiled.

So when a friend invited Ted to a party and mentioned that the new guy would be there, Ted had jumped at the opportunity to meet him. And he told Sam of his plan to trap him. He would go to the heart of the matter and ask: "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" Then, if necessary, his follow up would surely expose this dangerous charlatan.

"So, did you ask him?" Sam repeated as they walked down the hall. "Yes." "WELL?" "Well, he’s very clever." Sam had never heard Ted sound this way, especially about anything remotely religious. Sam asked cautiously, "What happened when you asked him."

"He’s very clever," Ted said.

He asked me what I thought I should do to inherit eternal life. Of course, I knew the answer, "Love God and love your neighbor," so I told him, quoting exactly from Scripture. He, of course, told me that I was correct, and said, "Go do it." But I quickly realized that by getting me to give the answer, the question had not served it’s purpose of smoking him out. So I used my follow up: "And who is my neighbor." I was sure he would prattle on in soft-hearted, misguided ways that would reveal him to be someone who did not respect Tradition, or patriotism, or the natural order.

"Well, did he?" Sam asked. "Not exactly," Ted said. "He’s very clever." Sam noticed that Ted kept saying that. Ted had never said that about anyone else, ever.

"Yes, very clever," Ted continued. "He didn’t answer the question directly. Instead, he told one of his infuriating stories." Then Ted told Sam the story. Ted was a man of integrity, and even though it made him wince, he told it accurately. About the man who had been mugged and left for dead on the dangerous road from Jerusalem to Jericho. About the priest and the Levite who passed by without helping. (Ted couldn’t help but add a little commentary at that part, pointing out that these men were no doubt on their way to Jerusalem to serve in the Temple and that by touching the mugged man, they risked ritual defilement which would have made their service impossible. "It’s . . . unfortunate," he said, "but it is understandable.") Then he told the part about the Samaritan who came and nursed the sick man and paid for his care.

"What?!" Sam asked in disbelief. "A Samaritan? Taking care of a Jew? Are you kidding?" They both knew that Jews and Samaritans had hated each other for hundreds of years. Jews would not touch Samaritans; Jews traveled a long, difficult road to go around Samaria so they wouldn’t have to come into contact with Samaritans. Samaritans were unclean, heretics, disgusting. It was your religious duty, it was your civic duty, it was your social duty to avoid them.

"How did you react?" Sam asked. "Well, of course I was deeply offended that he had portrayed priests and Levites, good men who know and live the law, in such a negative light, and I was outraged that he would compare them unfavorably to a—Samaritan," (the centuries old disgust was in his voice), "but, when he asked me who was neighbor to the mugged man, what could I say? I had no choice: ‘The one who showed him mercy." (He remembered that he had not been able to make himself say, "the Samaritan.")

"What did he say then," Sam asked, totally swept up in the drama of the scene. "He said the same thing he said when I gave the right answer about what I had to do to inherit eternal life: ‘So do it.’ I think he actually said, ‘Go and do likewise.’"

"Well," Sam said. He didn’t know what to say. He was glad they were still walking and he didn’t have to look in Ted’s face. Hearing the tone in his voice was confusing enough. Finally, just to say something, Sam asked, "Are you going to see him again?"

Ted stopped walking and looked into the air. Sam followed his line of sight, but of course, nothing was there, and Sam felt foolish for looking as soon as he had done it. Sam was a little frightened; it was almost as if Ted were in a trance.

Am I going to see him again?" Ted repeated, clearly talking to himself.

I saw him yesterday, and I’ve spent all evening and all morning rethinking my whole life. He answered my question, my perfect question, with that infuriating story that I can’t get out of my mind. It’s haunting me, like some virus destroying the boundaries I’ve built my life around. Do you know that it’s made me rethink my patriotism?

He looked at Sam, but Sam looked down. Ted continued, again talking to himself:

What if people in other countries are my neighbor? Will I bind their wounds? It’s made me rethink how I spend my money. Will I pay for an enemy to be healed? It’s made me rethink all the ways I distinguish between groups. What if people of different races, people of different sexual orientations, people of different religions, what if they’re all my neighbor?

He stood still for a while. Then he sort of shook himself, as if he were coming out of the trance. With renewed energy and confidence, he said, "I hate that story. That story threatens to undermine everything I’ve learned about social and political and religious boundaries. We need boundaries to maintain order. The world is too uncomfortable, too unpredictable, too dangerous without them." Sam recognized the voice, the confidence, of his mentor. "And imagine," Ted continued, "telling me that I should emulate a Samaritan.

"Will I see him again?" he asked. This time the question was directed to Sam. "No." he said confidently. "I’m still capable of being taught, and I’ve learned that even a brief encounter with that man is dangerous. Will I see him again? I certainly hope not."

They continued walking. Ted was over his brief but disturbing moment of confusion. As they walked down the hall, he began to teach Sam, quoting, of course, from Scripture.

That’s the end of that story, but it is not the end of our story. Today we will baptize a new brother in Christ, and we will recite the Baptismal Covenant. You will be asked the question: "Will you seek and serve Christ in all persons, loving your neighbor as yourself."

Be careful. Your answer can be dangerous.