Like a good neighbor...

In Luke 10:25-37 Jesus is confronted by “an expert in the law.” Throughout His ministry, Jesus was confronted by guys like this, guys who wanted to test Jesus to find out what side He was on politically and doctrinally. The question he asks is a pretty loaded one. He asks, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Now, the Pharisees believed in life after death. It was kind of a Greek idea that Hebrew religion had adopted and modified over time. The Sadducees, who were the other major Jewish religious faction at the time, did not. For them a person’s legacy was his or her family and you sort of lived through your descendents. This guy was trying to figure out what side of the debate Jesus was on. That’s what these guys did with all their time. They loved to debate ideas like this. They kicked around different philosophies and platitudes. They talked about why they were right and the other side was wrong.

I think it’s kind of sad when religion is reduced to this kind of ideological wrestling. I mean, this guy has a chance to question Jesus and the best he can come up with is this? He wasn’t really even interested in what Jesus thought. He was just trying to put Jesus into a category, to attach Him to a stereotype. That is really how the guy summed up his religion. It was all about philosophies and systems. He was full of religion. He had no idea it was coming, but Jesus was about to rock his world.

Jesus flips the question on him and asks him, since he is an expert, what he thinks. No question, this man has thought about all of this before. In fact, as an expert in the law, he had devoted his whole life to thinking about it. So his response may have been a practiced one. He probably rattled it off in the same way you and I often rattle off familiar passages of scripture. “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind,” the man replied, “and love your neighbor as you love yourself.” I think it’s kind of funny that the man says the exact same thing that Jesus is recorded as saying in the book of Mark. Maybe our lawyer friend had heard Jesus say that earlier. When Jesus turns the question back to him, the man throws Jesus’ own words back. So Jesus says, “Right on man. (Brad Miles translation) Do that and you will live.”

Have you ever asked someone you respected a question and had them give you a Sunday School response? You know what I mean. You ask someone a really deep question and they come back with a trite “answer-in-a-box” kind of reply that doesn’t get to the heart of what you wanted to know. I’m sure our guy is thinking, “Dude, I’ve heard you say this before, and I understand what you are saying in principle, but what do you really mean?” It must have been kind of frustrating that Jesus was dismissing him without really engaging him intellectually. I mean, “love your neighbor as you love yourself,” could have a lot of different interpretations. What does Jesus mean by that? I think part of the whole dynamic working here is that this guy was really looking forward to debating Jesus. He wanted to test himself against this man of the people. He wanted for everyone to hear him and understand how smart he was. Jesus kind of saw right through that and dismissed him. So the guy tries another last ditch effort to draw Jesus in. Verse 29 says, “but he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor.’”

Now, I don’t know how it really went down, but here’s how I imagine this scene. Jesus has turned to walk away and as He starts to leave, the man’s question hits Him. He turns around and takes a long, hard look at the lawyer. At this point, I imagine our lawyer friend is pretty excited. He’s got him now. I can almost see the faint, half smirk on his face as he looks into Jesus’ eyes waiting for him to respond. I know that look. I’ve seen on the faces of politicians in debates when they know they have just scored a hit on their opponent. I have seen it almost every episode of Law and Order (I’m a big fan) when the prosecutors are hanging out after the trial, talking about how they bagged the bad guy. I have seen that look of smug, self satisfaction on the faces of seminary professors and pastors as they enlighten students and congregants with their superior wisdom. I have seen it in the mirror all to often I am sorry to admit.

Jesus must have had the same reaction that I often have when I see that look. I’m sure he got that cold, slightly nauseous feeling in the pit of his stomach. I bet he felt a sharp stab of anger sweep over him as he thought, “This guy has no idea what he is talking about.” As Jesus sized the guy up, I’m sure he understood the man’s motives. I’m sure he knew what the guy was trying to do. And so, Jesus gently drops the hammer on our lawyer friend. Staring directly into this man’s eyes, Jesus utters some really dangerous words. He says, “Man, let me tell you a story.”

The thing that is so difficult for us to comprehend about this story, is the absolute bombshell it was to the first-century, Jewish audience who heard it that day. In order to understand why this story was so scandalous, you have to really think about what must have been going on in the minds of the people who heard it. If this story was a movie, which character do you see yourself playing? Most of us identify with the Samaritan. Most people nowadays who read this story for the first time, see themselves as the kind guy who stopped to help. Jesus’ audience though, would have identified with the man who had been robbed and left in a ditch. There are a lot of reasons for this. The Romans oppressed the Jewish people mercilessly. Like any oppressed people, first-century Jews often cast themselves as the victim. They knew what is was like to be robbed. They knew how it felt to be stripped of their dignity. Their hearts would have gone out immediately to the poor man suffering in the ditch. Most of them probably imagined themselves in that position. Many had probably experienced elements of what the victim in this story was experiencing. No doubt, Jesus wanted for them see themselves in the story‘s victim.

For you and I, the fact that the Priest and the Levite didn’t stop is the most disturbing thing about this story. We are appalled at what we would regard as callousness on their part, and certainly you could easily see that Jesus agrees with that assessment based on how the story concludes. But that wasn’t what would have been so upsetting for the Jewish audience Jesus was speaking too.

I’m sure you have heard that Jews and Samaritans didn’t like each other. Without really chasing a rabbit here, let me just say that the racial tension between these two people groups was intense. Jews thought of Samaritans as impure half-breeds who practiced a superficial, diluted religion. They thought of Samaritans as beneath them and refused to even walk on the same side of the street as a Samaritan. In much the same way that many white people interacted with black people in the Jim Crow South, Samaritans were viewed as less than human by the Jews. As much as the Jewish people mistrusted and felt superior to Gentiles, they hated the half-breed Samaritans even more. Samaritans were not worthy to wipe the sandals of a Jew, not worthy to eat the scraps off a Jewish man’s table.

The most shocking, scandalous part of this story is that a Jewish man is forced to accept help from a Samaritan. As Jesus was telling the story, I can almost imagine the look of confusion and disgust that must have crossed the faces of his listeners. They must have felt really sorry for this guy who first had the misfortune to be robbed and beaten, and then had to endure the humiliation of having a Samaritan tend his wounds. Imagine how embarrassed the guy would have been to wake up in a hotel and realize that a Samaritan had paid for his room. He would never live it down. A lot of the people who were listening to Jesus tell this story probably thought it would be better to die than to have a Samaritan help them.

Often, you and I think about our “neighbors” or “those less fortunate than us” and we imagine ourselves helping them. We see ourselves as the guy who gets in the ditch, when Jesus’ message to us is often, “Look, you are the one in the ditch.”

I remember a time when my band was asked to play for a bible study group that met in a local prison. I remember thinking we had a great opportunity to minister to some guys who really needed it. We played our songs for those guys and I watched them singing along and praising the Lord, and suddenly the truth of our situation hit me right between the eyes. Those guys, those convicted felons knew more about what freedom in Christ means than I may ever know. They had a relationship with Christ, an intimacy born out of their desperate need for Him, that I could barely understand. I don’t know whether I ministered to or encouraged anybody in the room that night, but they sure ministered to me. According to Jesus, loving your neighbor does not mean condescending to help them. It means thanking them for the opportunity to learn from them, to experience Christ through them. I think that is what Jesus was talking about when he said, “Whatever you’ve done to the least of these, you have done to me.” Loving our neighbor is not about pulling others out of the ditch. It’s about being pulled out of the ditch ourselves.

Sometimes, I wonder where that Samaritan was headed. I mean, he was obviously a man of some means. He throws a pretty good chunk of cash on the inn keeper. I’m sure that as he was trucking along the Jericho Highway, texting on his Blackberry, and glancing at his GPS his mind was full of all the stuff he had to do. Maybe he was a merchant coming home after a successful run in Jerusalem. He’s making plans in his mind for what he’s going to do with the money. Invest this much, roll this much into increased inventory, start new franchises across Judea, buy a Mac. Suddenly in the midst of all of his thinking and dreaming, he looks over and sees a man beaten, bloody and naked lying in the ditch. In that moment everything changes. Suddenly he completely forgets about the meetings, the plans, the priorities that had consumed him only moments before. Nothing matters but this man.

He climbs down into the ditch. We can’t love our neighbors unless we are willing to do the ugly work of climbing into the ditch with them. He washes the man’s wounds and pours oil on them. We have to be willing to deal with the wounds that are killing our neighbors. It’s bloody, messy work, not for the faint of heart. Jesus’ view on this is clear though; loving your neighbor means meeting her where she is, dealing directly with her wounds as difficult and revolting as that may seem. Then the Samaritan puts the guy on his donkey and takes him to the nearest inn. Did you notice that he even spends the night with this guy? I get the picture of the Samaritan’s anxious face as he listens to the ragged breathing of the beaten man, washing his face with a cool rag, hoping he will pull through. In those moments all of his plans change. All of the things that were so important earlier in the day become a footnote in the face of this suffering.

The truth is that all of us are faced with the same dilemma that faced the Samaritan in Jesus’ story. One day (more likely every day) while we are going about our daily lives, while we are on our way somewhere important we are going to come across a person in the ditch. In that moment we have a choice to make. Is where we are headed more important than the suffering we see? Will we be willing to forget about all of the things we are pursuing in order to help someone in desperate need?

A few days ago I read a story about a six year old girl. Her mother was a drug addict with a temper who beat her. The mom’s live-in boyfriend snuck into her room every night and molested her. They lived together in a meth house and her young life was characterized by almost constant hell. As I read about her life my heart broke. I could barely stand the long parade of awful, graphic details that described the life this little girl was forced to lead. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, but I am absolutely convinced that I am supposed to do something, that whatever my life has been about up until now, this ditch and these wounds are changing everything. So, as scary as it is, I have to find a way to climb down off the road and help, knowing full well that the one who needs this the most is me.