New lessons from an old parable

+ how I get to hang out with Noah Thompson (American Idol Winner) and you can too!

If you’ve ever been to Eastern Tennessee, you know that the mountains aren’t rocky or topped with snowy tops. Instead, they are lush and green, following the skyline in giant waves. The beauty cascades through the winding ridges and steep summits and in the morning, foggy smoke rises amongst the curves (thus, the name the Smokey’s likely arrived on some explorers’s lips).

A couple of Sundays ago, I had the opportunity to drive through a dense mountain range called the Cumberlands to a small town nestled in a holler (or “hollow” for those outside of Appalachia). There, a group of recovery advocates and faithful folks were gathered to celebrate “Faith and Recovery Day.”

Tennessee is the only state in the U.S. (to my knowledge) that supports a large network of faith-based initiatives, congregations, and programs through federal and state funding. At the state health department here, there is even the Faith-Based Recovery Network.

When my husband and twins moved here in 2018, it was surprising to me that faith and recovery mixed. Where I got sober, the two were distinctly separate, and if they weren’t, you didn’t really talk about it. Especially not in meetings.

It took me a while to catch on, but now I am a believer.

As a recovery advocate, author, and professional in the field of substance use disorders and mental health, I believe that every community, all communities, including faith communities, need to be a part of the solution to the addiction and mental health crisis the U.S. and other countries are facing.

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Photo by Shane Rounce on Unsplash

The theme of the recovery event I went to in the rolling green mountains was this: “Be the Samaritan.”

There were speakers, resource tables, and a heavenly choir of kids from a nearby church that left no dry eye or lowered hand in the place. If you know, then you know what I’m talking about.

It was amazing.

Standing in the back of the old church, listening to folks with decades in recovery share about their struggles and the joys of investing in the lives of others who are struggling with addiction, new insights came to mind.

I love how this happens in rooms of recovery.

Whether in church basements in darkened rooms of 12-step fellowships or in the bright, stained-glass sanctuary, I never leave a recovery space without learning something new.

Even if you aren’t a church-goer (lots of folks aren’t these days), you likely know the story of the Good Samaritan.

Regardless of where you fall along a spectrum of belief - or unbelief - there is something so undeniably true about this story from the Bible.

The gist of the story of the Good Samaritan found in the gospel of Luke is this:

The parable begins with a conversation between Jesus and a legal expert. Seeking to test Jesus, the lawyer asks, "Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus, as He often did, turns the question back on the lawyer, asking him what is written in the Law. The lawyer responds correctly, summarizing the Law with two commands: love God with all your heart and love your neighbor as yourself.

But the lawyer, wanting to justify himself, presses further, "And who is my neighbor?"

It is in response to this question that Jesus shares this:

A man was traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho, a notoriously dangerous road known for its treacherous conditions and frequent bandit attacks. Sure enough, the traveler falls into the hands of robbers, who strip him of his clothes, beat him, and leave him half-dead by the side of the road.

As the injured man lies there, clinging to life, three people happen upon the scene. The first is a priest, a figure expected to embody godliness and compassion. However, he sees the man and passes by on the other side of the road, perhaps to avoid ritual impurity or simply out of indifference. Next comes a Levite, another respected figure within Jewish society. He too sees the wounded man and crosses to the other side, continuing on his way without offering help.

Finally, a Samaritan comes along. In the context of the times, Samaritans were looked down upon by Jews, often viewed as religious and social outcasts. Yet, it is the Samaritan who is moved with compassion. He approaches the injured man, tends to his wounds using oil and wine, and bandages them. Then, he places the man on his own donkey and brings him to an inn, where he takes care of him.

The next day, the Samaritan gives the innkeeper two denarii, equivalent to about two days' wages, and asks him to look after the man, promising to reimburse any additional expenses upon his return.

After concluding the story, Jesus asks the lawyer, "Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?" The lawyer answers, "The one who had mercy on him." Jesus then delivers the powerful directive: "Go and do likewise."

The Good Samaritan's lesson is clear: true neighborliness is defined not by proximity or similarity but by the willingness to show mercy and love in action. We echo the Samaritan's legacy in every act of kindness, embodying the timeless call to "go and do likewise."

I love how one of my new favorite authors,

Kristen LaValley

puts it in her new book Even If He Doesn’t:

There is a risk in love, but this is what we’re called to.

What this recovery event brought to light were nuanced discussions of this parable with recovery-tinted glasses.

• Perhaps the priest and Levite (like a preacher and a worshipper or church-goer today) weren’t compassion-less. Maybe they just needed to learn how to help. They needed information, a clear call to action.

• The Good Samaritan showed amazing boundaries.

  Note: He took the injured person to an Inn, not back home to live in his unfinished basement.

Those of us who have been around the rooms and varied spaces of recovery for a while know that sometimes our loved ones and family members need to learn more about how they can show up and help us in loving (and evidence-based) ways.

Sometimes, the temptation to open the doors wide and help every person struggling is real. If my husband hadn’t intervened on several occasions, we’d likely be operating a recovery home for pregnant women out of our own unfinished basement.

We also know that sometimes old parables and wisdom are seen in a new light when shared through the wisdom of recovery. Like a rainbow that appears through a summer rain shower.

Unexpected.

Beautiful.

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What lessons have your learned along your journey?

What “old parables” have come alive for you in a new way because of recovery?

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Have you heard?

Noah Thompson American Idol Winner is coming to Tennessee with Mobilize for Recovery!!! Will you join us? Click here to learn more.