Good afternoon. The first item of business today is time for reflection. Our time for reflection leader this afternoon is the Rev Joe Barnard, the minister of Kiltarlity Free Church, Inverness-shire.
First of all, I thank the Presiding Officer and members of Parliament for the opportunity to be here.
On Saturdays, when we are tidying up the house, my children often ask me, “When can I be done?” I used to give them a list of to-dos, but I have realised that their question is itself a problem. The problem is this: they are thinking of a family activity in selfish terms. My strategy as a parent now is to teach my kids that the important question is not “When can I be done?” but “How can I help us finish the task?” I have to admit that, thus far, I have been a total failure at this.
Jesus understood the importance of helping people ask the right questions. Like Socrates, he was a master at revealing hidden assumptions and enabling people to shift their mental categories. One of my favourite moments in the gospels is when a really intelligent man, seeking to look good in front of his peers, and reflecting upon the ancient command “Love your neighbour as yourself”, asks Jesus the question, “Who then is my neighbour?” As Jesus often does, instead of giving a direct reply, he answers with a story.
I will not repeat the story, because you know it—it is the story of the Good Samaritan. I just want to point out the mind-shifting idea hidden within a story that has become a moral cliché. A selfish assumption was lodged within the question of the young man. To ask “Who is my neighbour?” is to attempt to draw a circle around a limited set of people to reduce the sphere of my personal responsibility; if these are my neighbours, I am accountable only to them.
However, Jesus has no taste for self-interest. The explosive idea within the parable is that responsibility is not something that can be measured, quantified and validated, but something that moment by moment is either fulfilled or neglected. In other words, a neighbour—my responsibility—is never an object that is detached from me, but a relationship of fidelity that I find myself in and which I must maintain.
Perhaps your job is not wholly dissimilar to mine. As a minister in the church, I sometimes fall into the trap of trying to appraise my work by measuring the number of people whom I have helped. This parable of Jesus is a goad to thinking differently. The true criterion of responsibility is not how much I have done, but whether I recognise the need staring into my eyes right now and whether I act on behalf of this woman, this man or this child with grace, justice, and mercy. Only then will I have fulfilled my God-given calling to be a neighbour.