Week 4 of the 2025 Lenten Journey

 As they made their way toward Jerusalem for the Passover celebration, the tension among the Twelve grew steadily. They had already argued as to which of them was the greatest (Mark 9:33-34). Jesus addressed their argument by teaching them a servant spirit was how greatness was measured in the kingdom (Mark 9:35-37). His teaching, however, did not end their argument. It just pushed it underground. It is not surprising, then, that the tension erupted again. This time, it surfaced in anger, creating division among them as the ten turned on James and John (Mark 10:41).

The anger and division were triggered by what James and John did. Note: what they did triggered the division; it did not cause it. The cause of the division was the competition among them over who was the greatest.

James and John had approached Jesus in private to ask for a special privilege. Anticipating that Jesus would declare himself to be the Messiah when they arrived in Jerusalem (which reflected how little they knew him or understood his teachings), James and John had asked to be given the two key positions in the kingdom he would set up—“Grant us to sit, one on your right hand and one at your left, in your glory” (Mark 10:37). Their request was a continuation of the earlier argument about who was the greatest. It was an attempt to cut Peter out of consideration as he seemingly took on a leadership posture among the twelve. They argued that they, as Jesus’s cousins, would be better suited than Peter to serve alongside Jesus as his most trusted aides. (Their mother was a sister to the mother of Jesus.)

When the other disciples learned what James and John had done, they predictably reacted with anger. They were not just mad; they were furious.

Once again, the disciples are a mirror that helps us see ourselves. We see in them the conflict and division we experience politically in our nation as well as in our personal relationships. More importantly, we see the thinking that gives birth to such conflict and division.

On the surface, conflict and division appear to be about our differences. In reality, they are about how we think about our differences. Conflict and division are the natural expressions of the way the world has trained us to think.

The thinking that unconsciously shapes our lives and our society divides the world into us-them categories. It uses differences to separate us, ignoring how we are alike. In the division that developed between James and John and the other ten disciples, the difference had to do with family ties. James and John had them with Jesus; Peter—and none of the other nine, for that matter—did not. The diversity God designed into the world offers us an unlimited source of differences we can use to divide ourselves into us-them categories—and, it seems, we take advantage of many (most) of them: ethnicity/race (white supremacy), gender (patriarchy), sexuality (anti-LGBTQ), religion (Christian nationalism), political positions (MAGA/Libs), positions on moral issues, education, socioeconomic status, societal background (urban/rural).

Us-them thinking and relating naturally leads to comparing-and-competing along with the better than, less than thinking that fuels it. As we focus on how we are different, we inevitably ask, “Who is right? Whose way is best?” It is a variation of the disciples’ argument of “who is the greatest?” To be “right” is to be the greatest. Of course, our answer to the question is always “my way is right.” To reinforce our sense of being “right”—i.e., the greatest—we build connections with others who think like we do. We create tribes and echo chambers that validate our thinking as being the only “right” way to think. These allies reinforce our sense that we—and those who think like us—are not only “right.” We are “the greatest.”

Us-them thinking produces the conflict and division that—apparently—are a normal, unavoidable part of human relationships. Our comparing and competing creates a win/lose mentality as well as a culture and society structured around winners and losers. The winners enjoy power and position—what James and John were seeking. The winners use their power and position for their own personal advantage, always at the expense of the losers. Protecting their power and position is a priority. The losers are stuck in a one-down, powerless position, seeking ways to reverse the situation—such as James and John’s end run on Peter. In this us-them, comparing and competing world, the underlying questions are “who’s on top”—i.e., who is the greatest—and “what does it take to get to the top?”—i.e., to be the greatest.

While Jesus recognized these kinds of relational dynamics were at play in both his disciples and in the world, he chose not to engage in them. A different way of thinking shaped how he lived—thinking shaped by the character of God and the ways of God. Jesus understood that greatness was not about power and position. Rather, true greatness was about how one uses power—i.e., the servant spirit. The apostle Paul called Jesus’s way of thinking “the mind of Christ” (1 Corinthians 2:16). He called us, as the followers of Jesus, to embrace the mind of Christ (Philippians 2:5-11).

As we walk this Lenten journey, we see in the experience of the disciples the stark difference between the way the world trained us to think and the thinking that underlies the kingdom of God. The journey calls us again to embrace the mind of Christ. It calls us to set aside how the world trained us to think and live—the us-them, comparing-and-competing, better than-less than, winners and losers thinking that produces conflict and division. It invites us to walk with Jesus in the way of the servant.

Prayer for the Lenten journey: We see ourselves in the disciples, merciful God—and what we see is not pretty! Help us to see in Jesus the beauty of your servant nature and your ways of grace. Create within us a deep love for you and your ways—a love that captivates our hearts, minds, and souls—a love that moves us beyond how the world has trained us to think—a love that breaks the power of the self-serving, what’s-in-it-for-me spirit that enslaves us. Teach us how to win by losing.

Week 3 of the Lenten Journey, 2025

What was happening among the twelve was not that surprising, actually. It is something that happens in every group—including those of which we are a member. In fact, what was happening among the twelve was predictable.

As Jesus and the twelve made their way from Galilee toward Jerusalem, the twelve became embroiled in an argument over which one of them was the greatest (Mark 9:33-34). The argument was probably triggered by the transfiguration experience in which Jesus took Peter, James, and John with him on the mountain retreat (Mark 9:2-8). The selection of these three—excluding the other nine—indicated these three held some kind of significance and importance in the mind of Jesus. The ensuring argument was about which of the three was the greatest—with perhaps some of the others arguing that they were just as important as any one of those three. The argument was fueled by the expectation that, when they reached Jerusalem, Jesus would be revealed as the messianic king and would establish the long-awaited messianic kingdom. As those Jesus had hand selected (Mark 3:13-19), they expected to play a significant role in the new kingdom. They anticipated being someone important—someone others would call “great.” The unanswered question was “what would be the pecking order?” Who would have the most important position? Who would be the greatest?

The argument among the disciples is a window through which we can see ourselves. Like them, we want to know where we stand in the groups to which we belong. We want to know (1) our place in the group which reflects (2) our value to the group. Unlike the twelve, most us of do not openly argue about our place or our value, but we are acutely aware of both—especially when our place and value are not as great as others in the group. How we function in the group reflects our sense of our place and our value to the group OR the place and value we desire in the group.

The twelve argued over who was the greatest. For them, greatness was linked to a position in the group. It reflected one’s standing in the group. It defined one’s value to the group.

Their argument provided Jesus another opportunity to teach them about discipleship. The disciples’ argument reflected how the world had taught them to think about greatness. Jesus taught them how greatness was defined in the kingdom.

“Whoever wants to be first must be last of all and servant of all” (Mark 9:35).

Jesus did not reprimand the twelve for their argument or for the desire which fueled it. Rather, he undermined their argument by changing the standard by which greatness is defined. In the kingdom, greatness is defined by a servant spirit—the willingness to use one’s power and position to address the needs of another. A servant spirit frees us from concern about our standing in a group. It frees us to be “last of all and servant of all.”

A servant spirit is reflected in how we view and relate to the least “significant” people in our culture—those who have little or no status or standing, those who are powerless and vulnerable. “Then he took a little child and put it among them; and taking it in his arms, he said to them, ‘Whoever welcomes one such child in my name welcomes me, and whoever welcomes me welcomes not me but the one who sent me’” (Mark 9:36-37). To welcome another is to treat the other with dignity and respect—as a person of worth and value—as a beloved child of God.

Claiming our own identity as beloved child of God frees us from the comparing-and-competing game in which we are constantly jockeying for position in relationships—the way the world defines greatness. It frees us to embrace the servant spirit Jesus taught and lived. It frees us to live as a servant who joyfully uses our power and position to address the need of another.

Prayer for the Lenten journey: As we walk this Lenten journey, Lord Jesus, teach us again the ways of the kingdom. Move us beyond the way the world trained us to think. Help us embrace the servant spirit by which greatness is defined in the kingdom. Fashion within us, Spirit of God, the likeness of Christ that we may live out of his servant spirit.

Week 2 of the Lenten Journey

 As Jesus and his disciples made their way to Jerusalem for the Passover celebration, Jesus was repeatedly telling his disciples what would happen to him there: “for he was teaching [this word in the original Greek means “repeatedly, over and over”] his disciples, saying to them, ‘The Son of Man is to be betrayed into human hands, and they will kill him, and three days after being killed, he will rise again’” (Mark 9:31). Of course, what he was saying would happen was not what they were expecting to happen. Consequently, they could not grasp what he was teaching. “But they did not understand what he was saying and were afraid to ask him” (Mark 9:32).

Our Lenten journey invites us to see ourselves in the story of Jesus and his disciples. It calls us to recognize and acknowledge how we today—like those first disciples—struggle to understand and accept many of the things Jesus taught. It reminds us of the LORD’s word through the unidentified prophet of the exile, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways, says the LORD. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8-9). The vast difference between God’s ways and our ways as humans explains why we struggle to understand, much less embrace, many of the things Jesus taught. If we are to move beyond our struggle to understand what Jesus taught—yea, beyond our resistance to it, we have to learn to think with a different mind.

The apostle Paul spoke of this different way of thinking as “the renewing of the mind” (Romans 12:2) and as “the mind of Christ” (1 Corinthians 2:16). Such thinking is Spirit-guided thinking—"and we speak of these things in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit” (1 Corinthians 2:13, emphasis added). It is thinking shaped by the character of God and the ways of God, what Paul called “the depths of God” (1 Corinthians 1:10) or the heart of God.

As we walk the Lenten journey, we seek to position ourselves for the Spirit to teach us the mind of Christ, moving us beyond the ways the world trained us to think. We invite the Spirit to move us beyond our struggle to understand what Jesus taught and our resistance to it.

“Teach me your way, O LORD, that I may walk in your truth” (Psalm 86:11).

Ash Wednesday, 2025

 After his experience on the Mount of Transfiguration, Jesus—the gospel of Luke tells us—“set his face to go to Jerusalem” (Luke 9:51). His attention and focus were on Jerusalem and on what he knew he would experience there: betrayal, arrest, trial in which he would be condemned to death, crucifixion, death, and resurrection (Mark 8:31; 9:30-31; 10:32-34). During that six-weeks journey from Galilee to Jerusalem, Jesus sought to prepare his disciples for what he—and they—would experience there, but they were unable to grasp, much less accept, what he teaching them.

Today is Ash Wednesday, the beginning of the forty-day liturgical season of Lent. The Lenten season is patterned after Jesus’s journey from Galilee to Jerusalem. Just as Jesus’s journey ended in Jerusalem, so our Lenten journey will end in Jerusalem, ushering us into Holy Week with Palm Sunday, Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Silent Saturday. There the traditional somber mood of the Lenten season will give way to the joy of the resurrection on Easter Sunday.

During the Lenten season, we, like Jesus, set our faces toward Jerusalem. We embrace this forty-day journey as a spiritual discipline, using it to focus on growing in our discipleship as the followers of Jesus. We recognize that we, like those first disciples, struggle to grasp, much less embrace, the ways of God he taught—such as dying to the egocentric identity we constructed using the values and ways of the world (“deny themselves,” Mark 8:34), living as insurrectionists against the ways of the world (“take up their cross,” Mark 8:34), embracing a teachable spirit that seeks to learn and live out of a Spirit-shaped way of thinking (“follow me,” Mark 8:34), embracing a servant spirit as the measure of true greatness (Mark 9:33-37), rejecting the world’s hierarchal power-over ways of domination (Mark 10:35-40) as we follow Jesus’s pattern of using power to serve (Mark 10:41-45).

Those first disciples struggled to grasp, much less embrace, what Jesus taught because they were stuck in the way the world had trained them to think and live—“the yeast of the Pharisees and the yeast of Herod,” (Mark 8:15). The spiritual discipline of the Lenten journey invites us to recognize our own resistance to the ways of God Jesus taught. It invites us to recognize how our thinking—like that of those first disciples—has been shaped by the ways of the world. The Lenten journey invites us to embrace a teachable spirit—a willingness to learn and live the ways of God Jesus taught.

And so, another Lenten journey begins.  

Thy Kingdom Come on Earth

“Thy kingdom come … on earth as it is in heaven.”

As a follower of Jesus, I—like many Christians—pray this prayer every time I participate in corporate worship. Even more, the prayer is a regular part of my daily spiritual discipline of prayer as it is for many others.

Do we recognize what we are praying when we say, “thy kingdom come … on earth as it is in heaven”?

This petition—"thy kingdom come on earth … as it is in heaven”—is a political statement. To pray it is to pray a prayer of political defiance. It is to embrace a posture of resistance.

Those first disciples who heard the prayer would have heard it against the backdrop of the Roman Empire. It was a prayer for the ways of the empire to be replaced with the ways of God Jesus taught—the ways of the kingdom. To pray it was an act of rebellion against Rome. To pray this petition today is to engage in an act of political defiance. It is to stand in opposition to the MAGA spirit embodied in the authoritarian actions of the current administration. Even though the MAGA culture is fueled by evangelical Christians, its spirit and actions are at odds with the ways of God Jesus taught.

Consider the ways of the kingdom of God in contrast to the ways of the MAGA culture.

In the kingdom, every person—without exception—is viewed and valued, accepted and embraced as a beloved child of God. The prayer teaches us to say “Our Father which art in heaven.” Our Father, not my Father. To claim my identity as a beloved child of God leads me to see every other person as a beloved child of God, as well. In contrast to this kingdom principle, the MAGA spirit intentionally divides the world into us-them. It fosters polarization and division, pitting us against them—"those people.” It scapegoats different groups, attacking them as the problem that needs to be eliminated in order to Make America Great Again—immigrants who are poisoning the blood of our nation and eating the pets, the Libs, the elites, the Dems, LGBTQ people, DEI hires, those living off the government dole, the enemy within our borders and in political office.

The MAGA culture operates out of an arrogant spirit—a sense of superiority over “those people.” This arrogant spirit can be seen in the various elements that make up the MAGA culture—white supremacy, Christian nationalism, the religious right, patriarchy that treats women as subservient to men, the private militias such as the Proud Boys and the Oath Keepers. In contrast, those living the ways of the kingdom operate out of an attitude of confident humility. They are confident in their understanding of the ways of God Jesus taught and are committed to living them. That confidence is coupled with and tempered by humility—a teachable spirit that knows there is always more to learn. This humility and teachableness trains the follower of Jesus to be open, exploring, discerning, willing to think, willing to see multiple sides to every issue (as opposed to black-and-white, either-or, right-and-wrong thinking), willing to engage with those who think differently, and willing to change their position when greater evidence comes to light. They are not afraid of scholarship or science.

In the kingdom, power is used to serve (Mark 10:41-45). In the MAGA culture, power is sought through political office within the political hierarchy and, once obtained, protected at all costs. It is used to gain greater wealth—the measure of greatness (success) in the MAGA world. Power is used over, down against anyone who is not “one of us.” It is used to intimidate, attack, and destroy—the way a school yard bully or an authoritarian dictator does—in order to get its way and what it wants. It uses power to gain compliance, conformity, and capitulation.

In the kingdom, power is used to care for the poor, the powerless, and the most vulnerable—the widow, the orphan, the immigrant (Isaiah 1:17). Power is used to provide for, advocate for, and address the causes that create their situation. Power is used to empower the powerless. The MAGA culture demonstrates no care, concern, or compassion for those Jesus referred to as “the least of these” (Matthew 25:40, 45).

In the kingdom, a servant spirit—the spirit of Jesus—is the measure of true greatness (Mark 9:33-37). That spirit is seen in how it treats the most vulnerable—in how it seeks the good and wellbeing of all. The MAGA culture operates out of a what’s-in-it-for-me spirit. This self-serving, me-centered spirit treats every relationship as a transaction—a deal to be made with the objective of “what can I get out of it.” The more I get, the better the deal. If the other doesn’t pay “their fair share,” the relationship is abandoned. This transactional attitude leads to the “America First” posture while exploiting and sacrificing the most vulnerable.  

Given these radical differences between the ways of the kingdom and the ways of the MAGA world, we would be wise to beware of praying “thy kingdom come … on earth as it is in heaven.” To do so is an act of political defiance that fosters within us an attitude of resistance. As we pray “thy kingdom come … on earth as it is in heaven,” the Spirit calls us to translate our praying into action. The Spirit calls us to advocate for the ways of God Jesus taught while standing against the self-serving, what’s-in-it-for-me spirit of the MAGA world. It calls us to action. The kingdom can only come on earth as we the followers of Jesus do the will of God in our everyday lives—that is, as we live the ways of God that Jesus taught.

And so, we pray together, saying, “thy kingdom come … on earth as it is in heaven.”

How We Keep Getting It Wrong

It’s a recurring problem, it seems to me—one we keep repeating throughout the centuries of religious history. We see it in the Hebrew scriptures, centuries before Jesus was born. We see it in the conflicts Jesus had with the religious leaders of his day. We see how the early church struggled with it as they grappled with the place of the law and the inclusion of the Gentiles. It is reflected in the various movements in early Christianity—the desert fathers and mothers, for example—and the efforts to capture true belief in the various creeds. The reformation and the many denominations it spawned are other examples. It seems every generation and every culture has to wrestle with the problem. It is a problem with which we ourselves wrestle. Seemingly, few avoid it or—for that matter—resolve it.

The problem is rooted in a wholesome desire, so it seems to me. Or maybe it is rooted in fear. Or maybe a little of both. Self-interest is probably the unconscious, driving motivator. Our recurring problem is rooted in our desire to live a life that is pleasing to God. This desire is reflected in the question a lawyer—an expert in Jewish religious law—asked Jesus. “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (Luke 10:25).

The mistake we make—which creates the recurring problem—is in what we think is pleasing to God. In other words, our thinking is the problem. It seems to me there are three dimensions to our thinking that make it problematic. The reason this problem keeps reoccurring is these three dimensions of our thinking are inherent to our human condition.

The first dimension of our thinking that is problematic is its merit-based orientation. Merit-based, earning-oriented thinking is our default way of thinking. This way of thinking is transactional thinking that says we have to do something in order to get something. We have to deserve what we receive and we need to receive what we deserve. This merit-based, transactional thinking is reflected in the lawyer’s question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” In his mind, he had to do something in order to attain eternal life. This way of thinking inevitably comes up with laws that define what is required, expectations that must be met. It calls for conformity to the expectations, conformity rooted in self-effort. When this merit-based thinking is played out in religious life, conformity to the expectations and laws through self-reliance and self-effort is the dominating focus.

The second dimension of our thinking that is problematic grows out of the first. Merit-based, deserving-oriented thinking inevitably leads to a focus on how we fail to measure up while identifying who fails to measure up. The thinking is sin-focused—that is, behavior-oriented. When sin-focused thinking is played out in religious life, sin management is the dominant, underlying theme. How we fail to measure up—i.e., sin—is a recurring theme which keeps guilt and shame—the inevitable byproducts of sin—alive in our hearts and minds. Forgiveness is offered for the wrongdoing along with its guilt and shame if and when we repent. Merit-based, deserving oriented thinking says we have to do something in order to gain something. We have to repent in order to receive forgiveness.

Sin-focused thinking, in turn, leads to the third dimension of our thinking that is problematic: egocentric, me-centered thinking. Sin-focused thinking trains us to focus on the wrongs we don’t do along with how we do what is expected—for example, active in church life, faithful in attending worship, participating in Bible study, helping the so-called “less fortunate.” It also makes us aware of others who fail to measure up—i.e., commit the sins we don’t do—and who don’t do what is expected the way we do. These two foci feed our ego. They help us feel good about ourselves. This sin-focused thinking with its focus on behavior props up our fragile ego—our egocentric identity. It helps us still the self-condemning, shame-based voices in our heads. It allows us to believe we are good people or good Christians in spite of what the voices say about us.  

The question the lawyer asked Jesus reflects this fragile egocentric identity.

Since he was a legal expert in Jewish law, Jesus invited him to answer his own question. The lawyer responded by quoting the Jewish Shema (Deuteronomy 6:4) coupled with Leviticus 19:1. “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” (Luke 10:27). Jesus affirmed his answer, directing him to follow this law. “Do what you know to do. Love God. Love neighbor.” The lawyer, not satisfied with Jesus’s response, pressed him further. The gospel writer noted, “wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’” (Luke 10:29).

The man wanted to justify himself—that is, he wanted to reassure himself that he was a faithful Jew who not only knew the law but also followed the law. He wanted assurance that he was doing everything he needed to do to be pleasing to God, everything he needed to do to gain eternal life from God. The lawyer wanted to know he was doing enough.

One of the major difficulties in merit-based, sin-focused thinking is knowing “how much is enough.” How good do I have to be? What sins must I avoid? What do I have to do to make a passing grade with God? As a result, our egocentric identity—rooted in merit-based thinking and based on our “right” behavior—is fragile. It needs constant reinforcement.

This need for constant reinforcement is commonly found in being critical of others—finding fault with what others do or don’t do, judging them based on our perception of their “failures.” Within our criticism of the other is the implied perspective: “I’m not like that. I’m better than that.” By putting the other down, we unconsciously exalt ourselves as better than them. We prop up our fragile ego at the other’s expense. Sadly, this focus on the other’s wrong behavior blinds us to the inner spirit of our hearts—a critical, judgmental spirit devoid of understanding or compassion.

When merit-based, sin-focused, egocentric thinking is played out in religious life, behavior is used to prop up our fragile egos by fostering a not-so-subtle arrogance that we are better than “those people.”

So, here’s how we keep getting it wrong, as I see it. We keep functioning out of merit-based, sin-focused, egocentric thinking. We keep creating religious systems based on this kind of thinking—the recurring problem. In doing so, we keep the focus on us. We create man-centered, me-oriented religious systems. And we miss what Jesus told the lawyer to do: love God with all of one’s being; love your neighbor as yourself. Eternal life—God’s kind of life, God’s quality of life—is found in loving. It is a quality of life that can be experienced today—here, now. “Do this and you will live,” Jesus said (Luke 10:28). “You don’t have to wait until you die to experience eternal life. You can experience it today by choosing to love,” Jesus said.

Unfortunately, the religious systems we create based upon our merit-based, sin-focused, egocentric thinking do not teach us to love God because they keep the focus on us. They don’t teach us how to love. That’s our recurring problem. It’s how we keep getting it wrong. We keep creating merit-based, sin-focused, egocentric religious systems that keep the focus on us.

In a Nutshell-Part 4: Who Is My Neighbor?

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.