The Gospel of Luke tells the story of a lawyer who approaches Jesus one day with a burning question. “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” he asks—and, honestly, who among us has not wondered the same thing at one time or another?
However, in good rabbinical fashion, Jesus does not answer him—at least not directly. This lawyer, it seems, wants someone just to hand him the answer from the outside, and Jesus would prefer that he discover it from within. And so Jesus answers the lawyer’s question with a question of his own. “What is written in the law? You are a lawyer, after all. How do you interpret it?”
The lawyer squares his shoulders and dutifully recites the textbook response. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”
“That is correct,” Jesus tells him. “Do this and you will live.”
So the lawyer then does what any good lawyer should do—namely, he asks Jesus to define his terms. “And just who is my neighbor?” he asks.
Perhaps he was looking for something along the lines of: “A neighbor (hereinafter referred to as the party of the first part) is to be construed as a person of Jewish descent whose legal, permanent residence is within a radius of no more than three statute miles from one’s own legal, permanent residence, provided that there is no other person of Jewish descent (hereinafter referred to as the party of the second part) living closer to the party of the first part, in which case said parties are to be construed as each other’s neighbors, thereby relieving you of all future responsibilities of any sort, kind, or nature whatsoever.”
In other words, the lawyer wants to enter into a conversation of how complicated—and indeed, impractical—it would be to consider everyone a neighbor, so let’s make some distinctions here, and draw some boundaries, and thus limit one’s liability with regard to neighborliness.
But Jesus is not interested in analyzing the fine print, or legalizing the issue, and so he tells the lawyer the story of the Good Samaritan—which, ultimately, is a story where it doesn’t really matter what we think, understand, know, feel, or say about love—the crucial thing is what we are willing to do in the name of love!
“Which of these three, do you think, proved a neighbor to the man who fell among robbers?” asks Jesus. And, again, the lawyer answers correctly, “The one who showed him mercy”—which is to say, “The one who actually did something.”
Those of you who know me are well aware of how much I enjoy a good theological discussion. I love the intellectual challenge of weighing out the pros and cons, and drawing distinctions, and debating the smallest details. However, what this story helps me to remember is that, while talking theology certainly has its place, the essential thing is that we actually do something whenever the need arises.
However, in good rabbinical fashion, Jesus does not answer him—at least not directly. This lawyer, it seems, wants someone just to hand him the answer from the outside, and Jesus would prefer that he discover it from within. And so Jesus answers the lawyer’s question with a question of his own. “What is written in the law? You are a lawyer, after all. How do you interpret it?”
The lawyer squares his shoulders and dutifully recites the textbook response. “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself.”
“That is correct,” Jesus tells him. “Do this and you will live.”
So the lawyer then does what any good lawyer should do—namely, he asks Jesus to define his terms. “And just who is my neighbor?” he asks.
Perhaps he was looking for something along the lines of: “A neighbor (hereinafter referred to as the party of the first part) is to be construed as a person of Jewish descent whose legal, permanent residence is within a radius of no more than three statute miles from one’s own legal, permanent residence, provided that there is no other person of Jewish descent (hereinafter referred to as the party of the second part) living closer to the party of the first part, in which case said parties are to be construed as each other’s neighbors, thereby relieving you of all future responsibilities of any sort, kind, or nature whatsoever.”
In other words, the lawyer wants to enter into a conversation of how complicated—and indeed, impractical—it would be to consider everyone a neighbor, so let’s make some distinctions here, and draw some boundaries, and thus limit one’s liability with regard to neighborliness.
But Jesus is not interested in analyzing the fine print, or legalizing the issue, and so he tells the lawyer the story of the Good Samaritan—which, ultimately, is a story where it doesn’t really matter what we think, understand, know, feel, or say about love—the crucial thing is what we are willing to do in the name of love!
“Which of these three, do you think, proved a neighbor to the man who fell among robbers?” asks Jesus. And, again, the lawyer answers correctly, “The one who showed him mercy”—which is to say, “The one who actually did something.”
Those of you who know me are well aware of how much I enjoy a good theological discussion. I love the intellectual challenge of weighing out the pros and cons, and drawing distinctions, and debating the smallest details. However, what this story helps me to remember is that, while talking theology certainly has its place, the essential thing is that we actually do something whenever the need arises.
posted by Dr. Robert Crilley at
1:32 PM
|
0 comments
