Dear Theophilus,
Until you noted at the end of your
letter that you wrote as though we both believe, I had not noticed it! Perhaps it is because I, too, am so caught up
in the story that I cannot imagine standing before Jesus and resisting his
invitation to follow him. I don’t doubt
that I would have followed him then—it just seems strange to follow him now, to
try and live a similar life years later, when he is no longer here. It’s like attending a wedding reception that
is still going on long after the bride and groom have left. There’s something strange about it to me, and
I’m having a hard time wandering into the reception and picking up that life
without Jesus in the flesh before me. I
understand that I’m not supposed to live the same life, that it’s supposed to
transform the life I lead, and yet I cannot help but question the purpose and
method of it all. I am so very caught up
in the story, though, and in the man of Jesus.
His story contains so many riveting
stories within it. I feel like a child
on my grandfather’s lap, listening to him tell stories in his unique way,
fascinated with every word and hanging on the outcome, never certain where he
was leading. Jesus had a way about him,
a manner of engaging the crowd, that drew people towards him, that taught them
while entertaining them, that must have made them sit upright in bed in the
middle of the night when they finally realized the purpose of the story. I wonder if Jesus laughed softly to himself
as he composed these tales, knowing that they would drive people made until
they discovered the heart of it, and that they would be able to go deeper
still!
Knowing what I have learned about
Jesus, it’s hard to believe that there would be people interested in testing
him. He has proved himself to be
brilliant time and time again, and yet there always seem to be individuals with
enough self-confidence to believe that they can best him. Each and every one of those who came up
against Jesus found themselves pushed in new directions, their minds stretched,
and their spirits humbled. I have found
a delightful tale that I believe you will enjoy, Theophilus.
This particular brash lawyer tested
Jesus by asking him what he must do to inherit eternal life. I valid question for each of us, at least for
those who believe in eternal life. Who
wouldn’t want that?
Jesus began by asking the lawyer to
answer his own question by pointing to the law and asking the man if he knew
what was written there.
This lawyer responded well,
pointing to the Shema, a pivotal verse in Deuteronomy that reads You shall love the Lord your God with all
your heart, with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your
mind; and you shall also love your neighbor as yourself.
Jesus nodded, affirming the man’s
answer, telling him that these commandments will lead him to life.
The lawyer, however, wanted
more. Perhaps it was affirmation he was
looking for, from Jesus and the crowd.
Perhaps he wanted Jesus to make some error in the hope that Jesus could
be trapped in his words and evicted from the community. For whatever reason, the man asked Jesus who
his neighbor was. In response, Jesus
gave him the following story.
The road from Jerusalem to Jericho
was a particularly treacherous road, and on this stretch of road a man was
robbed, stripped and beaten by a band of robbers. He was left half-dead on the side of the
road, a pitiful sight to any who came that way.
On that particular day, some time
later, a priest was going down that road.
We don’t know what the man’s thought process was, but rather than
intervene on the man’s behalf, he chose the other side of the road, passing by
the pathetic figure. Perhaps he did so
with pity in his eyes, or perhaps he chose to ignore the scene. It makes no difference; his feet carried him
onward.
Not long after that, a Levite found
himself on the same stretch of road, confronted by the same sad sight. The options were the same for him, but the
opportunity to reach out slipped through the man’s fingers as he chose the same
path as the priest.
Later, a Samaritan, a far less
respected figure in the eyes of any who would be hearing this story, came near
this man. The sight was too much for him
to behold and not interfere, and while we don’t know how long the man wrestled
with the ethical dilemma before him, Jesus tells us that he was moved with
pity, and this pity led to actions. The
wounds the man had were bandaged and covered in oil and wine, an expensive
sacrifice alone on the Samaritan’s part.
The Samaritan’s animal was made to bear the man’s weight as he led him
to an inn, where he cared for the man throughout the night, nursing him back to
health. On the event of the Samaritan’s
departure the next day, two denarii, each one worth a day’s labor, was given to
the innkeeper, who was ordered to take care of the man. The Samaritan pledged to return and repay
whatever was spent in the care of the beaten man.
After a short pause, Jesus then
turned the lawyer’s question back upon him.
He asked the lawyer which one of the three travelers was a neighbor to
the robbed and beaten man.
The lawyer, trapped within the
confines of the story and unable to answer any other way, no matter what his
heart may have wanted to say, was only able to utter that the one who displayed
mercy to the man was the one who was a neighbor.
Jesus, surely glad that this lawyer
was able to grasp this simple and yet complicated point, one that involved
crossing social groups and boundaries that the man perhaps had been unwilling
to consider, must have smiled as he gave the lawyer his marching orders: Go and
do the same.
It’s an amazing story, Theophilus,
the type we’d love to hear told and yet the kind that makes us put ourselves
within its bounds. Which individual
would we be? Would we pass by the man,
wrapped up in our own affairs, afraid of the messiness of intervention? Or would our pity move us so deeply that we
would be unable to wander by on the far side of the road, unable to carry on
having seen what we have seen, driven to interfere, to assist, to love?
It is an easy question to answer
now. In the actuality of the
circumstances, however, it is far more complex, for so often we have the
opportunity to reach out and fail to do so.
We have a million reasons why for each instance, and yet Jesus gives us
the simple command to imitate the Samaritan in the story, no matter how
despised Samaritans may be. We are to
love selflessly, to serve generously, and to bear the cost ourselves, trusting,
as Jesus tells us, that eternal life awaits.
Sincerely,
Luke
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