When Jesus was asked which of the 613 laws found in the Hebrew scriptures was the greatest—that is, which took priority over all others—Jesus responded by quoting the Shema (Deuteronomy 6:4), adding the little-known Leviticus 19:18. “You shall love the LORD your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and first commandment. And a second is like it: ‘You shall love your neighbor as yourself’” (Matthew 22:37, 39).
Jesus understood that the essence of the law—that is, what is pleasing to God—was love. Love God, love neighbor, love self.
Jesus’s response raises a second question—one asked by an expert in the Hebrew scriptures: “Who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:29).
The man who asked Jesus the question had dedicated his life to studying and interpreting the Hebrew scriptures. We would call him a theologian or scholar. Luke’s gospel indicates the man asked the question to prove that he not only knew the law, he also was doing what the law commanded—“wanting to justify himself” (Luke 10:29). And so, he asked the question, “And who is my neighbor?”
What exactly was the scholar asking?
By attempting to define “neighbor”, the scholar was attempting to define who the law said he was to love—who was to be the recipient of what he would give. Defining who he was commanded to love—his neighbor—also defined those he did not have to love because they were not his neighbor. Defining “neighbor” was an attempt to draw a circle that identified who would benefit from his giving—in other words, who was significant and who was not, who was included and who could be excluded.
If we can define “neighbor”, we can define the limits of our love.
As a scholar-theologian, this legal expert had already dealt with this question. The common rabbinical interpretation identified one’s neighbor as a fellow Jew—those who were descendants of Abraham. Anyone who was not Jew was not one’s neighbor and, thereby, outside one’s circle of concern, care, and compassion. This lawyer, however, was associated with the Pharisees. They were not content with the common rabbinical definition of neighbor. They had their own definition. In their minds, a neighbor was someone who interpreted the law the way they did and who followed the law like they did. In other words, a neighbor was someone like them. They only had to love those like themselves.
The scholar asked “who is my neighbor” in an effort to get Jesus to confirm what he already believed and did.
Rather than giving a direct answer to the scholar’s question, Jesus told a parable—the parable we know as the Good Samaritan.
A man was on a journey from Jerusalem to Jericho. The road from Jerusalem to Jericho winds from high in the Judean hill country to Jericho at the mouth of the Dead Sea, one of the lowest places on earth. The road is a winding road that follows the canyons that run down out of the high country to the Jordan River Valley. The road was a dangerous road, not to be traveled alone.
As this unidentified man made his way toward Jericho, he was attacked by robbers. The robbers beat him, stripped him, and left him to die. What they did to the man is important to the story. They stripped him. As a result, there was no means by which he might be identified—nothing to identify his nationality, his social standing, or his economic status. He was just a human being. The robbers beat the man. Thus, he was a person who was hurting and in need. The robbers left him near death. He could not help himself. He was dependent upon the help of another. Without the aid of another, he would die.
The unidentified man was simply a hurting person, in need, with no way to help himself. He was dependent on the help of others.
The first to come by on the road was a priest—one who served in the Temple at Jerusalem. The priest would have been the expected hero of the story as he was at the top of the religious social order. However, when the priest saw the man, he moved to the other side of the road—intentionally avoiding him—and passed by, leaving the man in unattended.
The next to come by was a Levite—a kinsman of the priest and one who also served within the Temple. In the religious social hierarchy, the Levite would be the next expected hero. He too, seeing the wounded man, passed on the other side.
At this point in the story, the crowd listening to Jesus’s story would have begun to snicker because they knew where Jesus was headed—or, at least, they thought they did. The next in line in the religious social hierarchy was the layman. The people thought that Jesus was going to use a layman as the hero of the story, leaving mud on the face of the religious leaders.
Jesus, however, did not do the expected. Instead of using a layman as his hero, he chose a Samaritan.
Samaritans were foreigners. Their ancestors were Jews who had intermarried with non-Jews. They were hated, despised by the Jewish people. A pious Jew would spit before he spoke the word Samaritan, so great was their hatred of them. A Samaritan was not even on the social ranking. He was beneath the lowest of the low.
The Samaritan did what the priest and Levite did not do. He responded to the hurting man, at great risk and cost to himself. He gave of himself, his resources, his abilities, and his time to meet the man’ need.
The details of what the Samaritan did are intentionally stated, giving us a glimpse of what it looks like to love our neighbor.
The Samaritan saw the man and was moved with compassion. One of the obstacles to helping others is that we fail to see them. We normally see those who are like us or those who have more than we have. We have the tendency to overlook—to not see—those who have less than us and those who have a lower social standing. The Samaritan saw the man.
The Samaritan went to him. Notice the Samaritan was on a journey—that is, there was purpose to his travel. Yet he set aside his schedule and his agenda to help the man. One of the reasons we fail to help others is that we are so busy, so caught up in our own agendas and activities that we don’t have time to get involved. The Samaritan set his agenda aside to help.
The Samaritan bandaged the man’s wounds, using oil and wine to heal them. He did what he could, using his knowledge and skills and resources to address the man’s immediate need. The oil and wine he used were common, everyday items in that culture. What needs could we meet if we shared our knowledge and skill and resources like the Samaritan did?
The Samaritan put the wounded man on his donkey and took him to an inn. There, he took care of him. Beyond addressing his immediate needs, the Samaritan spent time and resources taking care of the man. One of the reasons we give for not helping others is that we don’t want to get involved. We don’t want to invest the time and energy that is required to address a need. The Samaritan did what was needed to meet the man’s need.
The next day, the Samaritan entrusted the man to the inn keeper’s care, providing the financial resources for that on-going care. Another excuse we commonly use for not helping another is it costs too much. The Samaritan gave generously to address the man’s need.
After telling the story, Jesus asked: Which one of these three was a neighbor to the man who encountered thieves? Note how Jesus changed the scholar’s question. The religious scholar asked, “Who is my neighbor?” In his question, a neighbor was the one to be loved—the recipient of compassion and care. In Jesus’s question, the neighbor was not the one who received the help but rather the one who did the giving, caring, helping. In Jesus’s question, the neighbor was the one who loved.
In this twist is the truth of the story. That which limits our love, preventing us from helping another is not something about the other—their race, religion, wealth, education, sexual orientation, moral behavior, what they did to us. Rather, that which keeps us from giving to another is what is in our heart. That which leads us to draw a circle that excludes another is not something about them. It is something about us. That which causes us to exclude another is within us, within our hearts. The problem does not lie with the other. The problem lies within us, deep inside.
Jesus changed the scholar’s question from “Who is my neighbor?” to “Who is a neighbor?” The scholar again gave the right answer: the one who showed mercy—the one who saw the one in need, who set aside his agenda to respond, who shared his knowledge and skill, who gave his resources, who got involved, who gave generously to ensure the need was met.
Jesus asked the better
question—one that spoke to the heart of the issue. Who is a neighbor? The answer:
the one who gives to meet the need of another.
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