A Gospel That Insists on Love
The Eighteenth Sunday after Pentecost
October 12, 2025
The Rev. Josh Evans
St. John’s Lutheran Church
Albany, NY
We don’t like to imagine a racist, xenophobic Jesus –
and that’s probably not what’s going on here,
though it’s always hard to convey tone in the written word, isn’t it?
It’s a challenging question to digest,
particularly in such a politically charged environment as ours:
“Did none of them return to give glory to God…except this foreigner?”
So what of this foreigner?
This…Samaritan, as Luke identifies him,
not by name,
but only by ethnicity.
Luke mentions Samaritans and their home region of Samaria
more than any other gospel writer.
To say that Jews and Samaritans had a rocky relationship
is to put it gently.
By Jesus’ day, the animosity between them dated back hundreds of years,
and their long-rooted hostility toward one another
had become so entrenched that Jews traveling from Galilee (to the north of Samaria)
on the way to the temple in Jerusalem (to the south of Samaria)
would go completely around Samaria,
even though it added significant mileage to their journey.
Samaritans were not just outsiders –
they were enemies to be avoided at all costs.
So what does it mean that this enemy outsider
is the only one to come back?
“Did none of them return to give glory to God…except this foreigner?”
Now, it’s easy for us, in this story, to wonder
about the other nine lepers who were healed
but didn’t come back.
Why?
Were they not grateful for what Jesus had done for them?
The truth is we just don’t know.
Luke – for as admittedly thorough of an investigative reporter as he claims to be –
never tells us.
Still, I would venture to guess:
Of course they were grateful –
cured of a disease that was not only painful and life-threatening
but also socially ostracizing.
Those who had been unclean were made clean.
Those who had been cut off from their communities had been restored.
Of course they were grateful.
So grateful, in fact, that I imagine they ran to their families and friends
to be reunited,
to catch up on everything they had missed,
to be a part of each other’s lives again.
But Luke doesn’t tell us any of that.
Instead, Luke focuses on the one,
the Samaritan,
the enemy outsider,
the foreigner.
Already in Luke’s gospel, we’ve heard the parable of the “Good Samaritan.”
When his fellow traveler has been beaten, robbed, and left for dead,
it is explicitly a Samaritan who extends love and care to his neighbor,
without regard to their identity as a foreigner.
Now, in today’s story, a Samaritan becomes the recipient
of that same indiscriminate love as Jesus heals him.
By singling out this one,
Luke is showing us what God’s love looks like:
God’s love is indiscriminate and all-inclusive and wildly expansive.
God’s love extends as far as we expect and then even a step further.
God’s love goes straight through the region of Samaria
and doesn’t take any detours to avoid the foreigner.
By shifting our attention away from the usual suspects
to this one,
Luke is showing us:
God’s love is even for the Samaritan,
for those who are pushed aside…
and for those who do the pushing aside.
There is power in that narrative –
a narrative that is sorely lacking
in a cultural climate that is quick to vilify the foreigner,
to scapegoat the other,
to demean our fellow human beings.
***
Maybe you too have seen the images –
whether in Chicago or Portland or elsewhere.
One of the most troubling – and there are many –
shows a pastor, in full clerical garb,
being pepper sprayed in the face by a heavily armed and masked ICE agent,
all while peacefully protesting and praying at a detention facility in Broadview, IL.
There is no doubt that the intensified focus
on our immigrant neighbors in recent weeks
has left many scared,
afraid to leave their homes,
afraid of being abruptly taken and separated from their families.
In response, many clergy and others from faith communities
have taken to showing up,
peacefully assembling, protesting,
praying, and advocating
for those who have been detained.
Now, I’ve been to Broadview –
alongside several of my seminary classmates and professors,
as well as other area faith leaders whom I trust and respect.
When I was in seminary, we gathered at Broadview regularly,
early on the first Friday of the month,
as buses filled with individuals about to be deported
were set to depart for the airport.
Our vigils ten years ago looked nothing like the images I’ve seen in recent days.
They were quiet and uneventful.
There was no pepper spray or tear gas.
We gathered, read scripture, and prayed.
My colleagues who could speak Spanish fluently
were even invited aboard the buses to offer prayers with the detainees.
And today,
Broadview, a once little-known Chicago suburb,
has captured national attention.
Pastors are pepper sprayed for praying,
and others who have attempted to bring the Sacrament of Holy Communion
to detainees inside are forcibly turned away.
But here’s the remarkable thing:
Despite the danger,
these leaders continue to show up –
to be a visible presence,
and to pray –
even for the ICE agents who violently attack them,
as the Rev. David Black, pastor at First Presbyterian Church of Chicago,
the very pastor whose image of being pepper sprayed captured my attention,
has said in a recent interview:
“One of the chants that has become ubiquitous
at these protests at Broadview is,
‘Love your neighbor, love your God,
save your soul and quit your job.’
Everybody chants that.”
***
In a cultural climate fraught with fear,
and plagued by bitter division
and scapegoating and violence
against our fellow human beings,
the gospel offers another way.
In a gospel story that singles out
the one,
the foreigner,
the Samaritan,
we see what God’s love looks like:
a love that is indiscriminate and all-inclusive and wildly expansive,
a love that extends as far as we expect and then even a step further,
a love that includes even the ones we don’t expect…
and the ones we don’t want.
This gospel insists on love –
indiscriminate, all-inclusive, wildly expansive,
and wholly redemptive
love.
“In this time of division and fear, we,
as people grounded in our faith,
insist on love,”
as 52 out of 65 synod bishops in the ELCA,
our own Bishop Lee Miller among them,
write in a recent letter to the church.
“This commitment flows from our faith in Christ crucified and risen—
the One whose love breaks down barriers,
confronts hatred, and transforms hearts.
Love insists on the dignity of every human being.
Love insists on justice for the marginalized and oppressed.
Love insists that the church must reflect God’s diverse, life-giving community.
Love insists that we listen, speak, and act with respect, even in disagreement.
Love insists on hope, trusting that God’s kingdom of justice and peace will prevail.”
And because of this insistent love,
our call is clear:
“To proclaim the God-given dignity of every human being.
To resist systems and ideologies, including Christian Nationalism,
that oppress, dehumanize, or erase.
To stand shoulder to shoulder with those who are targeted or harmed.
To bear public witness that the love of Christ is stronger than fear,
stronger than hatred, and stronger than death.”
This is our call:
To love –
in our words,
in our actions,
in our public witness,
in our life together.
Love.
Love.
Love.
