The Unexpected and the Agenda
Marco Pozza - Three men were in a hurry, while another lay wounded and abandoned. Only the Samaritan, stopped by a pang of compassion, saw God in the ditch.
All three travelers had busy schedules. If we had asked them, they would have said they were extremely busy: committed, anxious, and leafing through their diaries to see if there was a free slot to schedule an appointment with happiness. "All full," the diary replied in its own way, "already full until December 31." It did not, however, specify which year.
That day, all three had rolled up their sleeves to earn their daily bread: the priest, the Levite, and the Samaritan. No one could accuse any of them of having lazed around on the sofa that morning. They were men of purpose and duty, each on the road for his own reasons. Here they were: "A priest was going down that road... also a Levite... a Samaritan who was traveling." All three, though different in background and status, were journeying that day on the same road as a poor man who, poor soul, "fell into the hands of robbers." The criminals beat him severely, "took everything he had, beat him, and left him half dead."
The priest, by profession, was one who spoke politically correct words from the pulpit: "God is love, and we must love our neighbor as ourselves. Let us become each other's Simon of Cyrene." Then, one day, he had the perfect opportunity to show his people that he lived what he preached. He failed. "When he saw him, he passed by on the other side." Even the Levite, who was in charge of the liturgy and the care of the tabernacle, did not notice the walking tabernacle by the side of the road. "When he came to that place, he saw and passed by." He polished the marble tabernacle and even knelt before it, but he left the tabernacle of flesh to its fate, crushed and neglected.
That is how it is with God: what you do not expect is what, without knowing it, you are waiting for. The Samaritan, in spite of his schedule, stopped. He rescheduled his appointments, stood someone up, and perhaps lost some clients with his delay. "The joy given survives what causes it," he might have thought as he loaded the man onto his donkey. It takes so little to resurrect everything, to put a man back on his feet. Unshaven, beaten, and broken, the man was a pitiable sight; only the Samaritan, that day, realized that God did not have the golden halo of ancient processions but the swollen face of someone in distress.
That evening, the priest received applause for his homily at Mass. The congregation congratulated the Levite because the tabernacle was decorated with Chinese hibiscus flowers. No one saw the Samaritan as he opened his wallet at the inn. Only the innkeeper, noticing his devotion to this crucifix in the flesh, asked him curiously, "Is this man you care so much for a relative of yours?"
He received a fitting reply: "The most heartening experience is to find yourself one day taking care of someone with whom you had no appointment in your diary."
"Go and do likewise" (cf. Luke 10:25–37). Angels sometimes wear strange clothes; they are like an unexpected inn in the middle of the desert.