In 1961 a young seminarian named Gerry Pierse left Ireland, his family and friends, and traveled to the Philippines. Gerry was ordained as a Redemptorist priest in 1964 in Cebu, the capital city of the Philippine island of the same name. In the early years of Father Pierse's ministry he served mainly in rural missions. Later he was parish priest in three city parishes. Father Pierse specialized in giving retreats, and moved ever more deeply into his own practice of contemplative prayer. He formed, and led, Christian Meditation groups in his parishes and in the Provincial prison. He eventually became prefect of the major seminary in Cebu. Father Pierse was also a prolific author. One of his books, "Sundays into Silence, a Pathway to Life," contains reflections on readings from the lectionary. Years of contemplative prayer enabled Father Pierse to slip below the words on the surface to the spiritual heart of the scripture. And this brings us to a story he told:

"A student took the boat from Iligan to study in Cebu," the preacher told the students. "Soon after the boat pulled out from the shore she found that her bag with her money and all of her belongings were gone. Obviously, some one had stolen them and taken them ashore at the very moment they were leaving. She felt totally abandoned and powerless and began to cry. After some time a politician came along. When he heard her story he said that what happened was a disgrace and he would advise the owner of the shipping line to place more security guards to protect the passengers. A priest also heard about what happened and told her that it was indeed terrible how people now-a-days have no respect for honesty. He promised to pray for her.

All this time there was a Muslim chewing betle nut on a cot nearby. After a while he came over and offered her some of his food. Before they reached Cebu he said to her. "I know you will find it difficult to get to your relatives' place on arrival in Cebu. Please take this [100 pesos] to use for your fare when you get there." Then the preacher asked the students, "which of these three - the politician, the priest or the Muslim - was a Christian?" To this the students shouted back, "The Muslim, of course." Then they seemed shocked at what they themselves had said.

I am sure that the preacher could have spoken to the students about baptism and the technicalities about how one becomes a member of the Christian church. But I am equally sure that the students inherently understood the distinction between promises made by the font and actions taken in daily life.

The preacher wasn't asking whose name is recorded in a baptismal register somewhere, but who was living out the words of the promises. Perhaps his question is more clearly phrased like this: "Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor?" But however one asks the question, the surprise to the speakers was in hearing their own answer. They could see the correct answer, and it didn't fit their firmly held cultural assumptions. There was what a psychologist would call a moment of "cognitive dissonance" but Father Pierse would recognize as an opportunity to drop to a deeper level of spiritual awareness.

People are sometimes less than we hope they will be, but they are also sometimes far more than we have allowed ourselves to consider.

A person who loves God and tries to follows Christ's teaching is likely to be a good neighbor. The road to Jericho runs through every place on the planet. There are people left half dead by robbers, real and metaphorical, in every neighborhood. The deeper question isn't the one the lawyer in Jesus' parable asked: "who is my neighbor?" The question that gets to the heart of it all is "am I willing to be a neighbor?" or to use the Filipino preacher's language, "am I willing to be a Christian?"

An American evangelist of an earlier day, Billy Sunday, once quipped that being in church doesn't make you a Christian anymore than being in a garage makes you an automobile. The parable, the Filipino story and Billy Sunday's quip all make the same point: Righteousness is as righteousness does. It is not the words one says, or the position in life that one holds, or the place one sits when one prays-it is the way one lives their life that displays the radiance of their understanding, or the relative lack of light within.

Compassion and mercy kindle the fire that makes God visible in us and in the world. And it is that same fire that refines our souls and forges a community larger than we might have thought possible.

So why is it hard to embrace others? Perhaps it is because it is shocking to draw near to the person in the ditch. Their misfortunes can make us aware of the fragility of our own well-being. Or, we may fear becoming sullied by making contact with the mess of someone else's life. And, pain, like a dropped pan of boiling water, has a way of splashing over onto anyone who is near. These are among the many reasons we cross to the other side of the road.

But the opportunity to be a neighbor will simply get presented over and over again. It is as though this world is a realm of a thousand possibilities to get it right, a place in which we are constantly invited to reach out with the love of God and bind up the wounds of our neighbor as in so doing discover that we have also been healed.

When we get right down to it there really is no option of avoiding pain and suffering, our own or that of others. Jesus said this pretty clearly. So did every other major spiritual teacher. The right question isn't "how do I avoid suffering?" it is "where is the invitation for grace to enter into the suffering I will encounter?"

Have we struggled with illness, pain or depression? It can give the gift of understanding the plight of others. We can, when strength is regained, be a source of hope as we recount the dawning of grace in the midst of our own injury. Are we hurting now? We can allow someone else to discover his or her capacity to be a neighbor. Let your neighbor care for you in your time of weakness, and both of you will grow stronger.

The definition of the state in which we will feel no pain is twofold- unconsciousness or death. Either one experiences the pain of others or one feels the pain of living in a world of disconnection and isolation. Both roads lead to a cross, but only one road leads to redemption, reconciliation and resurrection.

So I leave us with two traveling companions- two questions for each of us to consider when we go down the road.

The first is this: Who are the Samaritans in our life- the people about whom we tell stories and from whom we expect little good. Jesus seems to think there's at least one good one in the bunch. What would it be like to be on the lookout for him or her rather than seeking the latest confirmation of our assumptions?

The second question to ponder is this: "Who will we be when we see the next broken body, or wounded spirit, and all the people passing by on the other side? Will we be the politician who offered words instead of food; the priest who offered prayers but not alms; will we be the person kneeling in a garage waiting to be transformed into an automobile, or will we be the neighbor who, following Christ, offers the healing balm of mercy and compassion to whoever needs it?

AMEN.