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In the 10th chapter of St. Luke, there is a famous story in which an expert in the law approaches Christ and, in order to test Him, asks a question: "What must I do to possess eternal life?"

A question is asked by Christ in return: "What is written in your law textbook?"

The expert answers, "You must love your God with your whole heart, your whole soul and your whole mind, and your neighbor as yourself." But the expert asks, "Who is my neighbor?"

Christ relates a story: A man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho became a victim of a crime.

This road was notoriously dangerous - a road of narrow, rocky cliffs that, even in the fifth century, St. Jerome would still call "the red or bloody way." The victim, since he was traveling alone, possibly thought he could make it by himself on this road.

After the crime, along came a priest and, thinking the man dead, hastened past him. He may have remembered the book of Numbers -- "He who touched a dead man was unclean for seven days" -- and didn't want to lose his turn at duty in the temple.

Ceremonials, he thought, were more important than charity or the pain of the man.

A Levite came down the road, Christ said, but for fear of getting involved, crossed to the other side.

His motto was, "Safety first." He would take no risk to help anyone else: "It is not my job, and I don't get paid to do this."

Finally, there arrived the Samaritan. Those listening to Christ telling the story probably would have said, "Aha! At last, the villain has arrived."

They were wrong. As a Samaritan, a man who may not have had a creed, who may have been theologically unsound, he was still a man who saw God in his fellow man.

He lived his life filled with the love and charity of God to others. He was a man who stopped to help, even when the victim had brought trouble on himself; a man who recognized that any man of any nation who is in need is our neighbor; a man whose help was practical and not just feeling sorry for the victim.

The image Christ portrays is very much present today. Every one of us is on a journey called life. Often, to take a shortcut to our destiny, we happen to travel on the Jericho road.

This road, this world in which we live, work and travel each day, is often filled with rocky cliffs and dangerous. Some, recklessly, travel alone, without even the presence of Christ and not even in a convoy.

As it happens, we become victims. But on this Jericho road, there happens to be traveling a Samaritan: Every day, all law enforcement people must travel this way. It is their turf.

They, unfortunately, discover the victims -- but often become victims themselves.

They suffer mentally from encountering man's inhumanity to another. It may become difficult for them to emulate the definition of "neighbor" as one who helps, renders service or responds to a need.

The priest, Levite and traveler may also have difficulty understanding the world of this present-day Samaritan and the road this officer must travel.

Suspicion, cynicism and distrust are not necessarily religious attributes, but they often help today's Samaritan get home safely to loved ones after a tour of duty on that road.

The officers may not know dogmas or theological treatises, but they do care for fellow travelers. They understand that, in the end, they will be judged not by the creed they held, but by the life they lived.

A chaplain must walk with these Samaritans on the Jericho road to remind them of the story told by Christ.

But the chaplain must walk this road in a contemplative, meditative and involved but often unrecognized way. He cannot be a wimp or tyrant, neither a director or denouncer, not a final authority nor a spectator. The chaplain must understand the call to be a neighbor.

Often, the loneliness of that original Samaritan on the road to Jericho must be felt by him. It may be the terrible loneliness of delivering a death message in the middle of the night. It may be the isolation of listening to a dispatcher calling an officer to a scene of death, violence or impending suicide, and that officer feeling helpless, wondering if he or she is doing right. It may be the emptiness of numb feelings over the news of a fatal injury inflicted upon one of our own Samaritans.

To be a chaplain puts one's personal theology to the test. Is this minister willing to risk his own faith and belief not in some debating area, but in the often violent and profane world of trauma, crime and violent death?

Clichés do not work on the road to Jericho. He must witness not by word, only by deed; not by teaching lessons, but by living love; not by spouting quotations, but by showing compassion.

Being a police chaplain is a confrontation with one's faith in the middle of a world that cries out in pain, anger, agony and frustration. It is a calling that comes from the Jericho road and seeks the answer to the question: "Who is my neighbor?"

(Father Lefebvre is pastor emeritus of St. Mary's parish in Albany and chaplain to the Albany Police Department for more than 50 years.)[[In-content Ad]]

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