Any Questions or Comments
Please send it to our Webmaster
Who Is My
Neighbor?
Luke
10:25-10:37
I’m a new dad. We have a six-month old boy, and his name is Isaiah. We
call him "Ice" for short. I know. Ice, Ice Baby. We’ll just hide the
Vanilla Ice records.
Before
he was born, I did what many new parents did: I did my research. I read
books. People recommended them. What else was I supposed to do? They
said it would help our kid sleep. Like Babywise. It basically told me
that I should sleep train the child, starting on day 10. Or I’m
spoiling him. My wife, on the other hand, wanted to pick him up at
every whimper. So naturally, there was conflict. Huge. During weeks two
to six, we had the worst fights of our marriage. Because no one could
compromise: we were both protecting the boy, right? I needed to be
right. I mean, I had Gary Ezzo, the baby expert, on my side, right?
And my friends who already have kids would come over and graciously
say, "Um... James... 10 days... don’t you think that’s a bit early?"
And I’d get huffy. I mean, I read the book. Didn’t they? Doesn’t that
make more sense that what our friends say? I mean, when I read things
in the Bible, don’t I just do it? "But James, Babywise, isn’t..."
"That’s not the point!"
Right, because the point really was that I wanted to be right. I needed
to be right. Because there are few things more satisfying that hearing:
"you’re right." Because if I’m right, I don’t have to change. It means
that everyone else around me needs to.
Let me introduce you to another character who needed to be right. He’s
a lawyer, which seems to me like double trouble: someone who has a need
to be right, and has the law behind him as well. Open up your bibles to
Luke 10.25 if you have it, but you can just look up at the screens as
well.
1. Who they thought it was: fellow Israelites (Luke 10.25-29)
Read 10.25-29. This lawyer already wants to put Jesus to the test. So
this isn’t a normal inquiry, it’s an inquisition. His initial question
is: what shall I do to inherit eternal life? In the original language,
eternal life didn’t only signify "immortality." It literally means,
"the life of the ages." It was the eternal kind of life, the kind of
life that was meant for eternity. The Kingdom kind of life. How do we
inherit this kind of life?
Jesus quotes the Shema from Dt. 6, which literally means "hear." This
was the central prayer for the Jewish people. And they prayed it at
every morning and evening prayer. And then he quotes a known verse out
of Leviticus 19.18: love your neighbor as yourself.
This lawyer responds with a question. The narrator tells us that he’s
"desiring to justify himself." He wanted to be right, like me and my
sleep training.
This lawyer, as all lawyers do, knows the law. As many lawyers also
know, they know the loopholes. Because if you just pay attention to the
jot and tittle of the ink, then you can always find loopholes. And this
lawyer was savvy. Everyone knew that "neighbor" meant Israelite. Check
out Leviticus 19.18. He smelled a loophole, and jumped through. He asks
his question: who is my neighbor? because he’s expecting for Jesus to
say, "our fellow Israelites." Then, he would be able pat himself on the
back
and say like another rich young ruler,
"all these I’ve kept since I was a young boy." He has loved his
kinsmen: the people like himself. And if he’s right, he doesn’t have to
change.
But Jesus does not let him off the hook. In fact, Jesus is going to
take the puffed-up lawyer and help him see that he doesn’t have it
right at all. He’s actually got it all wrong.
2. Who it isn’t?: the religious elite (Luke 10.30-32)
I love Jesus’ way, which was a rabbinic way. Ask a question, and a
rabbi will often respond with a question or a parable. And Jesus does
this. Check out Luke 10.30-32.
The path from Jerusalem to Jericho was a treacherous one. It was, at
that time, called the "Bloody Pass." It’s a meandering road that starts
1,200 feet above sea level in Jerusalem, and ends up 2,000 feet below.
Through all the winds and curves and cliffs, this was the perfect road
to jump someone for all they had.
And Jesus is a master storyteller. The first two characters in this
passage are, of course, Israelites. And not just any Israelite. They
were the top brass. They were the ones who thought they were right. A
Priest. So think: pastor. And Levite, from whom the tribe of Priests
were taken. Think: worship leader. Or church staff.
And they walk by. We wouldn’t do that, would we? But I’m sure they have
many reasons, many justifications.
One is religious. Check out Numbers 19:11. "Whoever touches the dead
body of any person shall be unclean for seven days." It’s in their law,
right? Doesn’t that mean they’re supposed to walk away? But come on,
they would be unclean for seven days, and then be clean again later.
They might miss some religious festival along the way -- in fact, if
they’re heading to Jericho, they probably just finished one in
Jerusalem -- but ultimately, they ignore the greater command to love
their neighbor for the sake of their religion.
Is it possible that our religion actually keeps us from loving our
neighbor? Perhaps, even our gospel? If we embrace a gospel that is
primarily about the after-life, haven’t we missed something? I have a
book coming out in two weeks called True Story and it addresses these
things. If we embrace a gospel that is only about individual salvation
and an individual’s relationship with God, then why should we love our
neighbor? Should we just have our own bookstores and schools and
communities and bands and bumper stickers and just wait for the end to
come? But our gospel is so much more: that the Kingdom of God (this
eternal kind of life) has come. And we can be a part of healing
ourselves in Jesus, each other and the world -- all because of what
Jesus has done and what he is doing. Isn’t that a greater gospel?
But religion is just one justification to walk by. We just celebrated
Martin Luther King Jr.’s birthday last week, and in his last sermon, he
said that the priest and the Levite had another reason. Fear. "And so
the first question that the priest asked -- the first question that the
Levite asked was, ’If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?’"
After 9/11, we’ve lived in a fear-based society that needs to protect.
And with the economy flailing, we would be prone to that even more. We
feel like we need to protect ourselves. If I help, what will happen to
me? What will happen to my time? To my checkbook? When will this stop?
Up until now, Jesus brings out the usual suspects in an unusual way.
But then he introduces a completely different kind of character.
3. The wrong question: be the neighbor (Luke 10.33-37)
Read 10.33-37. He introduces the Samaritan. They are multi-racial:
half-Jewish, half-Assyrian. And the Jews hated them. And this Samaritan
does everything to love the down-and-out neighbor. He has compassion,
takes his time and his resources, to make sure that this person (who he
knows hates him just because of his ethnicity) gets well.
Then Jesus asks: who’s the neighbor? And when the lawyer says, "the one
who had mercy on him," (he can’t even say the word Samaritan), Jesus
replies, "Go and do likewise." What’s interesting is that he never
answers the question, the original question posed by the lawyer: Who is
my neighbor? Because Jesus knows he has many defenses up, and can’t
even answer the question on that level. He has to obliterate the
question altogether. It’s not about who the neighbor is, so we can feel
like we checked it off the list. The answer to that question doesn’t
even matter. Jesus challenges us with a different call altogether: be
the neighbor.
He obliterates any objection. Religious objection. Gone. Fear. Gone. In
fact, even when it comes to racial tensions, Jesus cuts through that.
Be the neighbor. Be like the ones you hate. No more excuses, but be the
neighbor. No justification was given. He made the lawyer look at
himself, and Jesus asked him to change.
Martin Luther King also twists things around: "And so the first
question that the priest asked -- the first question that the Levite
asked was, ’If I stop to help this man, what will happen to me?" But
then the Good Samaritan came by. And he reversed the question: "If I do
not stop to help this man, what will happen to him?’"
I live in San Diego, so this passage is speaking loudly during a highly
entertaining and hotly contested presidential campaign. When asked the
question: who is my neighbor? I can’t help but think of our neighbors
to the south. And neighbors who have risked life and limb to cross the
border. The question rings loud and clear: are they our neighbors?
The issue of immigration is complex, and I’m not trying to bring
politics into the church. I agree with Jim Wallis when he writes in
God’s Politics that faith has been dismissed by the Left and coopted by
the Right. I’m not sure about the best policies to move forward. But we
can come up with many justifications to excuse ourselves from being the
neighbor to the undocumented community. We’d rather make them something
else than a neighbor: a statistic, a scapegoat. We don’t want to
humanize the issue, but just keep it about issues. We don’t want to
change.
I just read a story from a woman who lived in San Diego. I don’t know
her name because she’s an undocumented worker, and the pastor who
collected these stories was protecting their identity. She was born in
the Northwest part of Mexico. Her brother was a drug addict, selling
off their possessions. And her dad was an alcoholic. And though she was
university-educated as a nurse, her mom thought it might be better if
she came to America.
She was 23 when she crossed the border. Over three weeks, she ran
through mountains and other terrain and ended up in a citrus field in
our country. Her bed was a layer of cardboard, and she ate the oranges
she picked.
The foreman started to treat her kindly. He gave her blankets. Then he
asked her to start cooking for the crew in the trailer. And one night,
he came in a druken stupor and raped her. It would be the first of many
times. Then INS suddenly showed up and deported them back to Mexico,
and she was penniless and pregnant.
She came back across the border, but was depressed. She wanted to end
her life and was about to jump off a bridge. She didn’t want her baby
to live like she did, and she had suffered so much. But when she was
ready to jump, she felt a strong, powerful wind pushing her back. She
couldn’t do it. And then she started to go to church. And the community
of God helped her have her baby. Even when the baby daughter was sick
for the first two years of her life, the community of Jesus gathered
around her. And she prayed a desperate prayer out of love for her
daughter, and she started to get better and more stable.
Yes, she’s undocumented. She’s not here to drain our country of its
resources. She’s university-educated and she wants to work. And she’s
frustrated that she has to live in the shadows. And we can sit here and
fight about the pros and cons of illegal immigration. But that would
dehumanize the issue. It would make people into statistics. We justify.
Again, I’m not saying we should have this or that political answer.
Instead, can’t we be the kind of community that brings humanity to
every issue: like poverty, racism, war. Instead of being pro or con on
an issue, we would actually have friends affected, faces we’d see,
because we were neighbors who cared.
But what if we lived in neighborhoods, communities, cities and nations
that stopped asking "Who is my neighbor?" What if we stopped trying to
justify ourselves and thought that we were actually already good
neighbors and instead started being the neighbor. I think this kind of
life would be eternal. Eternal life. The life of the ages. Heaven would
rush around us.
The community of God must continue to change. I’m proud of the church
that didn’t just seek their stance on the issue, but became a neighbor
to a beaten-up victim of abuse, regardless of nationality. We need to
stop justifying ourselves with theology, religion or even our fear. Can
we just seek the life of the ages? Can we be a neighbor?
And not just to our neighbors who have come from the South. What about
the people around us? Instead of asking, who’s my neighbor, who is God
asking you to be a neighbor to? And perhaps we can overcome the
statistics that say we are judgmental and arrogant. Perhaps the Church
can be a source of love again? But it starts with each one of us. When
will the Church just stop being right, and learn to love yet again?
Because when the Church loves, it gives birth to great movements, such
as the abolitionist movement, public education, literacy, human rights,
civil rights, women’s suffrage. Out of love, Jesus through his Church
has offered gifts to mankind that continue to last.
And when the Church does what it’s meant to do, it will be -- and
there’s no better word for it -- glorious. Absolutely glorious. The
love of Christ would flow through his church. It would take part of
what Jesus started 2,000 years ago, one that started at his cross and
resurrection and flowed into the present. It has power, wonder-working
power, to bring healing to a planet that desperately needs it. And the
heavens would rush around us.
Stop justifying and be the neighbor.
Let’s stand. Let’s ask the Lord how we wants us to be neighbors today.
Let God speak. Where do we lay down being right and justified before
God’s eyes, and seek to change. How is God asking you to be a neighbor
today? Where are the places where you wanted to put up walls, and say
that only these people are my neighbors and friends? What is God asking
you to spend in time and resources for others?
We like to thank James Choung
For the Sermon for this week
