The following is adapted from the sermon I preached today on Luke 15:1-10, covering the Parable of the Lost Sheep and the Parable of the Lost Coin.
Luke 15:1 Now the tax collectors and “sinners” were all gathering around to hear [Jesus].
The tax collectors and “sinners” in Luke 15 were about as despised as you could get. Tax collectors were sometimes mentioned in the same sentence as prostitutes. Continue reading “Hound of Heaven on Our Trail”
The recipients of Hebrews had a good history of hospitality. The author of Hebrews encourages them to keep it up:
Heb 13:1-2 Keep on loving each other as brothers. Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.
Love each other as brothers and sisters. There’s one word for this that the author uses, and it’s a word that most people know–philadelphia. Brotherly (or sisterly) love. Think of the city of Philadelphia. Filial love–it’s the love that family members show to each other.
Every time philadelphia shows up in the New Testament (Rom. 12:10; 1 Thess. 4:9; Heb. 13:1; 1 Pet. 1:22; 2 Pet. 1:7), it’s in a letter addressed to Christians, telling them to love each other. It’s the kind of love a family shows to each other. In this case, it’s the family of God. In fact, the New Testament does kind of a new thing in using this word. In other Greek literature up to this point, philadelphia was just used to refer to a literal family, for example, the bond that brothers and sisters share from nursing at the same breast.
When we are in Christ, we become part of the family of God. We are really brothers and sisters. So let’s love each other like that, Hebrews says.
And yet, don’t forget about the “strangers,” too. It will be a stunted love if we just show love to the family, to those who are “one of us.”
Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it.
Verse 1 is about love of brother and sister. Verse 2 is about love of the stranger, of the foreigner, the other. Don’t forget about those outside our zone of comfort and familiarity.
My father, who is himself a minister, has said that there is a difference between a friendly church and a church of friends. A church of friends does well with verse 1–love of the family. A friendly church does verse 1 and verse 2–loving each other, and being friendly to anyone with whom they cross paths. Even strangers.
It sure seems like the author of Hebrews has Genesis 18 in mind. Genesis 18 is the story of Abraham and the three visitors who turned out to be angels of the LORD, though Abraham didn’t realize it at the time.
You never know when an unannounced visitor is going to turn out to be an angel, the author says. There’s something divine about good hospitality, so Hebrews encourages its readers (and us) to show it.
We hear echoes here of the passage in Matthew where Jesus himself says, “I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me a drink; I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.”
If hospitality isn’t its own motivation, Hebrews is saying, realize the stakes may actually even be higher than you think!
The early church was supposed to be a beacon of hospitality for travelers, visitors, strangers. Their brotherly and sisterly love was supposed to be so strong that it overflowed beyond their community into strangerly love, we might say.
And travelers in the ancient world needed good hospitality, too. There were hostels for travelers to stay in, but they weren’t exactly renowned for their hygiene. It could be a pretty seedy scene. Early inns were immoral. And expensive!
Hebrews calls for Christians to welcome in those who need hospitality.
Heb 13:3 Remember those in prison as if you were their fellow prisoners, and those who are mistreated as if you yourselves were suffering.
We think of Jesus again: “I was in prison, and you came to me; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was sick and you visited me.” This is hospitality that leaves home. It’s possible that this verse means not just to call to mind those who are in prison, but to go visit them, to help provide for their daily needs of food and sustenance.
This could be literal prison, and we might also think metaphorically of the kinds of prisons of isolation that some people today live in. Catholic theologian Raymond Brown, in his commentary on this verse, says:
We also need to be reminded that some of our own neighbours may be suffering from other forms of ‘imprisonment’, less stark but no less distressing. Many elderly people are desperately ‘cut off’.
Brown goes on to quote the words of an 81-year-old widow:
I am still terribly lonely. It’s the evenings. The club closes at 4.30 p.m. and there’s nothing but long, empty hours until bed-time … I’ve heard so many old people say ‘There’s nothing for us now’. You’ve got to eat to sort of keep alive. But there’s nothing. The time is so long … the evenings … the weekends. I’ve heard several people say ‘I don’t care how soon the end comes for me’… I know lots of people. But that isn’t the same as a close friend.
Heb 13:4 Marriage should be honored by all, and the marriage bed kept pure, for God will judge the adulterer and all the sexually immoral. 5a Keep your lives free from the love of money and be content with what you have…
These are dual threats to the faithful Christian life–sex and money. Or, not necessarily sex and money per se, but the misuse and abuse of sex and money.
Sex and marriage are a God-given good–a great good–to be “honored” and “kept pure” by all. Because God will judge the ones who do not keep “the marriage bed” “pure.”
And money–it’s not a bad thing in and of itself. But when we allow the love of money and the love of continuing to acquire new things–more things–then we run the risk of replacing our God with a new one.
Wait a minute–I thought this was a passage about hospitality. What’s the author doing now?
It’s fairly common for epistles in the New Testament to close with a string of parting commands like this, that the author may not take the time to fully unpack. If you were going to take a trip for a week and leave your family behind, you’d probably do the same thing– “Don’t forget to water the plants. Check the mail. The plumber is coming on Tuesday; let him in.” And so on. So that’s what the author is doing here.
But even so, the author seems to be tying all these things together–
verse 1: love of brothers and sisters in Christ.
verse 2: love of strangers, hospitality.
verse 3: love of those who suffer.
verse 4: love your spouse faithfully.
verse 5: don’t love money and let it crowd out contentment.
This passage seems to be about a right ordering of love. This is what love looks like.
Heb 11:5b because God has said,
“Never will I leave you;
never will I forsake you.”
We can love because God is with us. “We love because he first loved us,” John would write in a letter.
Our love-energies, then, rather than being focused on the things and stuff and possessions of our lives, can then be spent on caring for others. Rather than storing up things for ourselves, we can be generous with our time, attention, and resources, and give it to our families–husband and wife, brother and sister. We can even give our time, attention, and resources to strangers.
So we make plans to do this.
I was just talking the other day to a pastor friend of mine. I told him how my wife and I were this close to having our fall schedule worked out, where ministry and her school and the kids and their school and moving in would all fit together each week, down to the hour. As soon as I said that, he and I just both started laughing. I think we both realized that one can only make plans to a certain degree in life.
You know the old cliche: “Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans.”
And that’s the tough thing about hospitality. That’s the challenging thing about visitors or guests sometimes… they can be unannounced. They come to us not on our schedule, but on their schedule. We may experience other people’s claims for our attention as interruptions, not invitations to offer hospitality.
“Lord, when did we see you hungry? When did we see you a stranger?”
This can happen on a large or small scale. Parents, especially we parents of young children, encounter what can feel like a steady barrage of interruptions when trying to get something done. Or when trying to make a phone call.
And, of course, there are times when our kids do need to listen to us and stop interrupting, but it’s still our noble goal to be gracious in how we handle that interruption.
Remember Mary and Martha? Martha was showing Jesus generous hospitality by having her into her home, but Jesus came before she was ready. He interrupted her preparations. She could only see a set of tasks, not a guest. Mary, the one who sat with Jesus, received him, accepted his interruption, is the one in the story who seems to show true hospitality and welcome.
There have to be boundaries, of course. We all need time by ourselves, time when we are not interrupted, or are uninterruptible. But hospitality as a posture, as a leaning of the heart, is open to receive interruptions. Life is not just what’s on the schedule.
Hospitality is about attitude. It’s about the proclivity of our heart. It’s about being open and receptive. Hospitality is about submission.
It’s often said that Jesus had a “ministry of interruptions.” How many miracles or healings of Jesus begin with, “As he was on his way from (point A) to (point B)…”? For Jesus it started to seem, as someone put it, like the interruptions were the job; they were the ministry. Not just the things that happened along the way.
As I’ve been meditating on this passage this week, I’ve been challenged, as I’m sure the first readers were, to try to handle the unexpected “interruptions” of life well. It’s not easy. It can be unsettling, even unnerving, to enter into another’s world, to allow them access to our attention and energies. A ministry of interruptions–a hospitality toward even unexpected guests–can be disorienting.
One commentator says, “These strangers might be ‘angels,’ but they might not. This call to hospitality is a call to ongoing vulnerability to the unknown other.”
But here’s the anchor. Verse 8: Jesus Christ is the same yesterday and today and forever.
He is steady. He is unchanging. For Jesus, nothing is really unexpected, or a surprise, or unknown.
And as we strive to offer generous hospitality to our church family and to strangers alike, we know that God is with us, wherever that takes us. Verse 5:
God has said,
“Never will I leave you;
never will I forsake you.”
We can open ourselves to interruptions, to the unexpected and unpredictable needs of our brother and sisters in Christ. We can receive the stranger who comes in to our familiar space, who doesn’t really belong, whom we might otherwise wish to ignore. Because God’s presence with us is uninterrupted.
And God is pleased when we “do not forget to do good and share with others”–whether we are sharing time, attention, or resources. In so doing, we give God praise.
The above is adapted from the sermon I preached this past Sunday. See my other sermons, if you desire, here.
We’ve had quite the readings today. We get people sawed in half, passing through a sea, and a prostitute being saved because of her faith. People are getting raised from the dead, standing up to grisly torture, and beating armies that they didn’t stand a chance against.
And it’s all because of their faith. These heroes of our religious tradition put everything on the line because they believed in God and in the promises of God.
We might add to this chapter all the stories of men and women around the world today who by faith are looking forward to a heavenly city: followers of Jesus in China who advocate for human rights, under threat of arrest; Coptic Christians whose churches and houses and business are being burned by extremists as the unrest and violence in Egypt continues.
I’m amazed at the faith of some of our brothers and sisters, past and present.
So is the author of Hebrews. This well-known and well-loved faith chapter, Hebrews 11, seems to just build and build with the inspirational stories of saints and martyrs who have gone on before us.
Abel, Enoch, Noah, Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Joseph, Moses, Joshua… Rahab–a prostitute! After praising the faith of each of these, the author goes on:
“And what more shall I say? I do not have time to tell about Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel and the prophets, who through faith conquered kingdoms, administered justice, and gained what was promised; who shut the mouths of lions, quenched the fury of the flames, and escaped the edge of the sword; whose weakness was turned to strength; and who became powerful in battle and routed foreign armies.”
Hebrews 11:39 ends the chapter just like it began, by echoing Hebrews 11:2–these women and men were all commended for their faith.
I had a college professor, a philosophy professor, who told us in the first few days of class that none of us knew how to read a book.
Well, obviously, Dr. Talbot, we know how to read, or we wouldn’t be here.
(Philosophy majors generally have a pretty high estimation of their own intelligence.)
But he said (and I paraphrase), “I’ll bet you haven’t been taught how to really sit down and wrestle with a text. To read it slowly. To follow the logic and argument of a text.” Dr. Talbot said when you read you should always be asking, “What’s the author doing now? What’s the author doing now? What’s the author doing now?”
And he always said it like that, in threes–”What’s the author doing now? What’s the author doing now? What’s the author doing now?” Seared into my memory.
As I was reading the end of Hebrews 11 this week, I found myself asking, why is the author of Hebrews spending so much time talking about faith? Why so many examples of acts of faith? What’s the author doing now?
In one sense it’s a hard question to answer, since we don’t know who wrote Hebrews.
There have been various theories over the years. The go-to author for a New Testament letter would be Paul. But virtually all Biblical scholars today agree that it wasn’t Paul, because the language and style of Hebrews is different than what Paul used. Not only that, but the author of Hebrews writes as one who is depending on others’ eyewitness testimony regarding Jesus, whereas Paul in his letters speaks about seeing Jesus firsthand, about having had direct revelation from Jesus himself; think about his conversion on the road to Damascus, for example. Others have suggested Barnabas, one of Paul’s companions, Luke, Clement (an early Bishop of Rome), or sort of a fringe theory is Priscilla. She was another companion of Paul’s who theoretically would have left any letter she wrote anonymous, because a female author would have been culturally unacceptable at the time Hebrews was written.
There’s no way to prove any of these authors, and as early as the 3rd century, theologian and teacher Origen summed it up: “Who wrote this epistle? Only God knows!”
But we can still make some progress on the question, “What’s the author doing now?” even if we don’t know who the author is. All this talk of faith in Hebrews 11 seems to come because the recipients of the letter were lacking in faith.
Both inward and outward pressures led to the very real possibility that the readers of Hebrews would lose faith, some in small ways, others perhaps in bigger ways. The readers are told not to “drift away” or “neglect” their salvation. They are to “hold firm.” They are in a “struggle against sin,” the author writes.
So what’s the author doing now? What, in chapter 11, is he (or she) trying to accomplish with this group of readers?
The author is reminding them of who they are. Hebrews 11 tells story after story of faith throughout the Scriptures.
And there’s some pretty extreme stuff.
Gideon, for example, a judge and leader of Israel. In Judges 7 he sets out with 32,000 soldiers to take on the Midianites and God tells him to reduce his army to 300 people, so that when they win the battle, Israel can’t brag, because only God can win a battle with an army that small. That took faith on Gideon’s part. A really gutsy faith.
As for Daniel and his gutsy faith, someone once said, “The faith that will shut the mouth of lions must be more than a pious hope that they will not bite.”
Hebrews just rattles off these names quickly–“Gideon, Barak, Samson, Jephthah, David, Samuel and the prophets.” There’s more where that came from, the author seems to be saying–I’m just giving you a sampling.
And it doesn’t seem that the readers of Hebrews are in the same kind of mortal danger. So if men and women can withstand torture, war, beatings, etc., then the readers of the Hebrews can have faith to face smaller things.
Faith may lead believers into physically dangerous and psychologically threatening situations. Faith may call you to uproot and leave everything familiar to follow God. We saw this two weeks ago when we looked at the faith story of Abraham and Sarah.
Or… faith may have you stay right here. Having faith can be a very local activity. It happens right where you are. Maybe God’s not really calling you to go anywhere else right now, in a geographical sense, but to invest more deeply in the relationships and situations you’re already in. And so we long for a wholehearted faith that infiltrates our everyday routines, activities, and interactions.
4th century church father John Chrysostom said, “Faithfulness in little things is a big thing.”
I’d wager that a number of us find ourselves in such a position, as a new school year begins. We enter back into a familiar routine. And there’s excitement early on.
I love that line from You’ve Got Mail, where Tom Hanks says, “Don’t you love New York in the fall? It makes me wanna buy school supplies. I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address.”
But it doesn’t take long for excitement and novelty to turn into daily routine. Those newly sharpened pencils get worn down a bit, but we still have to find a way to write.
Hebrews calls for a redoubling of efforts, a reaffirmation of trust in God in the midst of the unknown and the familiar. “Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.”
Faith doesn’t always mean going somewhere else. Sometimes it takes all the faith and trust you can muster to apply yourself to a situation or set of questions or relationships that are already at hand. Faith is local.
The readers of Hebrews were being called to be faithful right where they were.
And then, the grand finale to the faith section, Hebrews 12:1-2:
Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles, and let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us. Let us fix our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith, who for the joy set before him endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.
“Let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us”–Let us run with steadfast endurance. Never give up. “Never, never, never, never give up.” Some have pointed out in this passage that perseverance, when mentioned in the context of running a race, probably speaks to a long-distance race rather than a sprint. You have to pace yourself, but stay steady.
We want to “throw off” all hindrances and sin, which so sneakily and deceptively tries to just pull us in.
And we can have a persevering faith because in some timeless, global sense we are surrounded by this “great cloud of witnesses.” It’s a massive support network, past and present, of people who have been in similar situations to ours–and worse–and somehow have managed to keep their trust in God.
Think of what they call “cloud computing”–iCloud, Dropbox, Google Drive, Amazon Cloud. If we get it set up right, we can access our same set of data from our phone, computer, and tablets. “The cloud” is everywhere, when it comes to computing.
We are surrounded by a “great cloud of witnesses.” They’re everywhere, just like data! In some sense, the women and men, past and present, local and global, who inspire us, are present to us… surrounding us.
Denominations have been divided over questions like this–who are the saints? To what extent are they present? Can they hear our prayers? Receive them? Should we pray for dead Christians?
But the unknown author of Hebrews seems not to really be concerned with those questions. The author just says, “We are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses.”
We get the imagery of a stadium here. We’re running a race. This isn’t a run alone in the woods (as much as we might love those); this is a run in a stadium with a massive crowd of witnesses–of faith examples–surrounding us as we run, cheering us on. When we’re tired we can look at them and recall their successful races, and get a new boost to keep going ourselves.
The Living Bible translation says: “[W]e have such a huge crowd of men [and women] of faith watching us from the grandstands.”
The chief of these witnesses is Jesus. He is the “author” of our faith–the very reason we can have faith to begin with. He is the “perfecter” of our faith–he “[carries] on to completion” the good work he started in us.
Men and women in Hebrews 11 may have stared down deep waters, undergone beatings, been ridiculed, and more… but Jesus “endured the cross” because of “the joy set before him.”
Jesus is the ultimate exemplar of faith. Out of the great cloud of witnesses, he is the greatest witness.
Whether having faith in God leads us into places far or near, situations dangerous or fairly safe, we find inspiration in that great grandstand of saints who have gone before us. We receive encouragement from those saints sitting next to us each week in church.
As we run, may we keep focused on Jesus, who enables our faith and can even increase it. May God give us faith for where we are, right now, until that day when at last we see Jesus, at the right hand of the throne of God.
The above is adapted from the sermon I preached this past Sunday. See my other sermons, if you desire, here.
There’s a fine line between faith and stupidity, and sometimes that line can seem pretty blurry.
I still remember–vividly–driving up Interstate 90 to the Boston area in the fall of 2008. We had visited Boston in the spring of 2008. That fall we were moving there.
We had no jobs and no place to live. Sarah and I just both knew we were going to grad school–she for pre-med classes and I for seminary. We were pretty sure it was faith, but also worried it was part stupidity, that led us to leave a comfortable and settled situation in Northern Virginia. So with our 10-month old in tow and most of our belongings off in storage somewhere, we took the plunge and followed what we sensed to be God’s leading to a new land.
I took some comfort in those days that our biblical namesakes–Abram or Abraham and Sarah–had made a similar move.
But it also wasn’t an uncommon fear in those days that we might just end up looking stupid… to our friends, our families, to ourselves. Even after some protesting with God, we came to Boston–lack of employment and housing notwithstanding.
Heb 11:1-3 Now faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see. This is what the ancients were commended for. By faith we understand that the universe was formed at God’s command, so that what is seen was not made out of what was visible.
There’s a real “go for it” quality to faith. When we make a decision to act on faith, it so often feels like “all or nothing.”
And one thing that is so hard about faith is that we often find ourselves having to make decisions without having all the information we think we need. Faith is “being sure of what we hope for” and “certain of what we do not see.” Certain, in other words, of that which we cannot verify with our own eyes.
Heb 11:8 By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going.
I’d wager that many of us have said yes to a call, not sure of where that was taking us.
Just looking at the verbs in that verse, it says, “By faith, when he was called, Abraham obeyed and went.” The way Hebrews tells it, Abraham would obey and go anywhere God called him. Daniel Estes says that God was “requiring [Abraham] to obey, knowing the full price involved, but with only a hint as to the compensation. The divine demand was that [Abraham] should forsake the familiar for the foreign.”
Heb 11:9 By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country; he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise.
He lived in “the promised land” but it was by sojourning in tents and living as a foreigner. Tents! Temporary dwelling places. Abraham and Sarah–because of their faith–had a real immigrant experience.
Sang Hyun Lee, a professor at Princeton Seminary, has often noted how relevant the Abrahamic pilgrimage motif is for Korean and Korean American immigrants. Abraham’s willingness to sojourn in the difficult, unsettled, unknown, in-between places was part and parcel of his obedience to God.
Heb 11:10 For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.
Abraham had a heavenly focus. A city with foundations is what he could see. Foundations… that word implies security, settledness. Tents don’t have foundations like houses do, others have observed about this verse.
Heb 11:11 By faith Abraham, even though he was past age—and Sarah herself was barren—was enabled to become a father because he considered him faithful who had made the promise.
The source of Abraham’s faith was God’s faithfulness. God is faithful, so Abraham could have faith.
We see in the Genesis reading, though, that Abraham is a lot more like us than we might think, if we just read Hebrews.
Gen 15:1-3 After this, the word of the LORD came to Abram in a vision:
“Do not be afraid, Abram.
I am your shield,
your very great reward.”
But Abram said, “O Sovereign LORD, what can you give me since I remain childless and the one who will inherit my estate is Eliezer of Damascus?” And Abram said, “You have given me no children; so a servant in my household will be my heir.”
He argues with God a little bit. It’s ironic, too–“Eliezer” means something like “My God is help,” or, “My God is my help.” Even as he utters this name–“My God is my help”–Abram is not… quite… sure that God can really help him.
But God is promising to be Abram’s shield, his protection, his security. When Abram protests, God takes him outside and says:
“Look up at the heavens and count the stars—if indeed you can count them.” Then he said to him, “So shall your offspring be.”
“If indeed you can count them”–of course Abraham can’t count the stars! That’s ridiculous! How could he possibly know how many stars are in the sky?
But if that’s true, how could he possibly know the limits of the wonderful future God has in store for him?
You think you’re so confident, God is saying, that I can’t give you a descendant? I gave you this night sky with stars (and more) that you can’t even count. Nothing is too difficult for me.
And now back to Hebrews 11, verse 12:
And so from this one man, and he as good as dead, came descendants as numerous as the stars in the sky and as countless as the sand on the seashore.
I read a silly article this week, called, “Which is Greater, the Number of Sand Grains on Earth or Stars in the Sky?”
The article concluded, surprisingly, that you can’t know and that you have to guesstimate. Which is what a group of scientists at the University of Hawaii tried to do, using the average size of a grain of sand and the number of beaches and deserts in the world.
The researchers mentioned in the article had a Hubble telescope and a calculator at hand, and figured that everything we’ve recorded in the night sky (they included “galaxies, faint stars, red dwarfs,” etc.) gives us a star population of 70,000 million, million, million, or 7 followed by 22 zeroes.
I don’t know what sort of exact numbers God had in mind when he told Abram to look at the sky and see the number of his descendants. It’s difficult for me to imagine the earth sustaining human life long enough to get to that number, but who knows?
But these descendants, these children of a promise, are as numerous as 7 followed by 22 zeroes, and yet they come from a man and a woman who were “as good as dead,” in childbearing terms. If they had a number assigned to their fertility potential, it would be 0. You don’t get from 0 to 70 sextillion very easily.
What do you think Abraham and Sarah experienced at dinner parties? When they started to tell friends and family members–God told us we’re going to have a bazillion descendants! No fine line between faith and stupidity there, their friends probably thought–that’s just stupid.
Or what about Noah? We just studied his life together with some really awesome children at Vacation Bible School a couple weeks ago. One song we sang says, “Noah was willing to build a great, big boat / Before there was the rain to make it float.”
What did his neighbors think? Well, if he was building his ark anywhere near their property lines, they were probably in regular touch with the Mesopotamia Zoning Board of Appeals.
The Bible gives the dimensions of the ark. It was 450 feet long (that’s one and a half football fields), 75 feet wide, and 45 feet high. That’s quadruple the size of the biggest boats known in Noah’s day.
He would have been ridiculed for building a boat a tenth of that size, let alone one that would have barely fit inside Gillette Stadium:
But, the Scripture says, “Noah did everything just as God commanded him.”
So, too, Abraham and Sarah. Our first lesson concludes:
Gen 15:6 Abram believed the LORD, and he credited it to him as righteousness.
Righteousness, or right standing with God. All was well in his relationship with God because Abraham believed him.
Noah and Abraham trusted God. So have countless other men and women who have gone on before us in the faith–we can think of the families who came to the Massachusetts Bay Colony nearly 400 years ago, looking to found a “city upon a hill.” We can think of those men and women who had a vision to turn a summer chapel in our town into a full-fledged, year-round church.
Some admired them as full of faith. Others might have thought they were being stupid. But they were all proved right for trusting God.
And we can think of each other. We can be encouraged by the stories we hear, each week when we share and pray and worship, about following God into uncertain territory.
To have faith in God is to put your confidence in God. It means that we believe that God’s promises will come to pass. It means that we follow God’s call, even when God’s call doesn’t seem to be detailed enough for our liking…or comfort. Faith in God is wholehearted trust and surrender. It is accepting the call of the one who can count all the stars that we can only begin to see.
And those who have faith in God are time and time again upheld, because God is who he says he is, and God will do what God says he will do. God… is… faithful.
Having lived in Greater Boston for five years now, I can say with great confidence that God has been faithful to my family. We didn’t know a whole lot about where we were going when we left Northern Virginia, but he did.
Maybe you can think of a time when you trusted God by faith–maybe a little scared, perhaps even a little ridiculed by those around you, or by your own internal voices–and then you saw God’s goodness and provision, as you followed him into the future.
And look at these physical reminders we have in nature of God’s faithfulness. Every time we see a rainbow, we can recall that God was faithful to Noah. He really did spare a remnant of the world, just as he said he would. And whenever we look up at the stars in the night sky, or go to the beach and look down at the sand, we can remember how faithful God was to Abraham, giving him not just one child–which was miracle enough–but many, many, descendants, the chief of whom was Jesus Christ.
Faith may look stupid to others sometimes. Walking out in faith may feel stupid to us sometimes.
But we can have faith in God because God is faithful. He is our shield, and our sure reward.
The above is adapted from the sermon I preached this past Sunday. See my other sermons, if you desire, here.
When I was little, I often wondered, didn’t God get lonely before creating humans? If it is true that God has always existed, which I believe it is, hasn’t all that existing gotten boring by now? Or, at least, wasn’t it boring before we human beings came on the scene to liven things up a bit? What did God do up there, I wondered?
The idea of the Trinity is central to our faith. Christians are baptized into “the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” You will often hear in a benediction when church is ending, “Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.” Each Sunday as we bring our tithes and offerings to God, we “praise God from whom all blessings flow, praise him, all creatures here below, praise him above, ye heavenly host, praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
Wrapped up in the Trinity is an answer to my childhood question of, “Didn’t God used to get lonely before he created us?”
You may already know that the word Trinity does not appear anywhere in the Bible. But the idea of the Trinity is all over the pages of both testaments. Genesis 1:2 talks about the Spirit of God as hovering over the waters. We know from John 1 that Jesus the Son was present in creation and even before. John writes, “In the beginning was the Word [or, Jesus], and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning. Through him all things were made; without him nothing was made that has been made.” From the very beginning of creation, even long before creation, God was Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Romans 8:12-17 is another Trinity-revealing passage. It says that we are led by the Holy Spirit to call out to God our Father, and that as we do so we become aware that we are not only God’s children, but that we have a most holy and awesome sibling: Jesus, the Son of God.
But lest we be tempted to think that this Father, Son, and Holy Spirit language is speaking of three distinct gods, we have the words of Jesus in John 10:30: “I and the Father are one.” And Jesus prays to the Father in John 17, “All I have is yours, and all you have is mine” (17:10), “You are in me and I am in you” (v. 21), and, “We are one.”
So on the one hand the Scriptures reveal Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, with distinct roles at times, and you have Jesus praying to the Father just as you and I do… but on the other hand, you have Jesus saying things like, “I and the Father are one.”
I once read somewhere that God is not and never has been confused about his identity. But it took the early church a good four centuries to make sense of all this! The early church councils gave us the Nicene Creed and the Apostles Creed, both of which contain this understanding of one God as three persons. The “one God” part of it means that Father, Son, and Holy Spirit all are of the same substance, or essence. The “three persons” part of it means that Father, Son, and Holy Spirit have distinct parts to play, with each other and throughout human history. The “three persons” also means that this is a personal God we worship.
Theologians use words like “co-equal, co-eternal,” and “of the same substance” when describing the Trinity.
As we try to wrap our head around this core Christian doctrine, nature gives us a few analogies. They’re all imperfect and break down somewhere, but they at least get us in the ballpark.
Saint Patrick of Ireland is said to have used the three-leaf clover in his missionary efforts–though the clover is one, it has three leaves that join together.
And we have H2O. It’s one molecule or group of atoms: two Hydrogen atoms bonded to one Oxygen atom. Yet we see H2O in three different expressions: in liquid form it is water; in solid form it is ice; and in gaseous form it is steam.
Or, we can think about music, where a building block is the triad–three distinct notes which, when sounded together, make one chord.
A few years ago my wife and I were in Minnesota, visiting family. We received a wonderful gift of tickets to see the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra. The first piece they played was by 19th Century composer Felix Mendelssohn, “Piano Trio No. 1 in D Minor.” Here is the first movement:
I was mesmerized from the very beginning. Mendelssohn wrote the trio for piano, violin, and cello. At times the three instruments blended into one beautiful unity, at other times I could hear each distinctly. The program notes put it well, saying, “There is great equality among the voices, and their exchanges show Mendelssohn’s gift for instrumental interplay.” Equality, yet interplay. 1, yet 3.
This idea of interplay in the nature of God is fascinating to me. Though Mendelssohn’s Piano Trio was 30 minutes long, I never once got bored. The music was too beautiful for that. We’ve seen from Genesis and John that God was Father, Son, and Holy Spirit even before creation. There were three persons living in community together. And if any of you have ever had a roommate or are married or have lived with other people, you know that living in community is anything but boring.
We start to get an answer to my childhood question. God was not bored before he created us. God was never lonely. The three persons of the Godhead were in constant, joyous, life-giving community with each other.
In the early 1400s, a Russian painter and devout Christian named Andrei Rublev painted a famous icon called The Icon of the Trinity (above). This icon is also known as The Hospitality of Abraham, since it is based on one level on the story in Genesis 18 where Abraham and Sarah show hospitality to three angelic strangers who come to them to share the good news that they will have a son at long last. (We had this as part of the lectionary a couple of weeks ago.) But the icon on a deeper level represents the three persons of the Trinity, sitting around a table together. The persons of the Trinity are here shown to be in community with each other.
Rublev shows that God is of one substance or essence by showing identical faces on the three figures and an identical staff that each holds. The same color blue clothes each figure, showing the unity even in the diversity of persons, but Rublev also varies the clothing on each to highlight the three distinct persons of the Trinity. Their heads tilted at different angles and their hands making different gestures also show the diversity found among the Trinity. Yet Rublev shows that God is of one substance in that the three persons are seated around one cup and table.
When we want to get to know a person better or deepen bonds of intimacy, that often takes place over a shared bite to eat, a cup of coffee, a dessert, or a full-blown lunch or dinner. This meal in the icon, this table shows God’s communal nature. So if this is going on long before the creation of the world, God would have never been bored or lonely.
In Rublev’s painting the three persons of the Trinity are not only gathered together in the communion of a meal, but they also appear to be sitting together around a literal communion. On the table is a cup with a small piece of meat inside. The immediate reference here is to Genesis 18:7 where it says Abraham “ran to the herd and selected a choice, tender calf and gave it to a servant, who hurried to prepare it.” But Henri Nouwen writes that in the icon this meat is also “the sacrificial lamb, chosen by God before the creation of the world.” It is the body of Christ, right there on the table, together with the cup. The Trinity is in communion or community with itself, and also, it seems, preparing to share this with others.
God invites us into this communion of the Trinity. 2 Peter 1:4 says, “Through these he has given us his very great and precious promises, so that through them you may participate in the divine nature….” We participate in this community of the Godhead. Jesus prays in John 17:21, “As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us.”
In writing about the communal nature of God, author and Episcopal priest Tim Jones, writes:
…That multilayered communion [of the Trinity] doesn’t become a clique, doesn’t turn inward upon itself; it overflows. It spreads out into an embracing larger whole, inviting others (like you and me!) in, saying , “Come on over.” …God is used to conversation. Used to dialogue. …ready. This God invites me, in fact, to join in on a conversation already going on, one that has been going on for a very, very long time.
We become part of the family. We are adopted into this communion.
And as we grow closer to God, as we participate in the communion of the Trinity, we realize that we share this same communion with each other.
Key to our human existence is our connectedness to each other. No one is an island. We are not merely individuals left to find our way in this world. To live individualistically is to miss out on what God has modeled for us from the beginning of time. We do with each other what we see God doing in himself. That is, joining together in loving community.
We never have to be lonely again!
As we join with each other at the table, we join with God in a conversation that is already going on, “one that has been going on for a very, very long time.”
The above is adapted from the sermon I preached today. See my other sermons, if you desire, here.
As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
–Luke 10:38-42 (NIV, 1984)
Martha gets off to a good start in this passage. She is showing hospitality to Jesus, by having him into her home. She “opened her home to him,” Luke says, using language of gracious hospitality.
She will call Jesus “Lord” later in the passage, so she clearly loves him.
She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said.
Have you ever heard people talking about sitting at Jesus’ feet? Perhaps one of those evangelical phrases we hear from time to time, not really sure what it’s about.
That’s what Mary was doing: sitting there, listening.
This posture of sitting at someone’s feet is not the subservient posture we might think of today. Rather, this was how learners actively engaged with their teachers. A student would sit at the feet of his rabbi.
Yes, his rabbi. This is very unusual posture for a woman to take. There were some rabbis that had female students, but most did not. Women would instruct other women in the Torah. Mary was taking on a stereotypically male role here in becoming Jesus’ student.
And students sat in the dust at the feet of their rabbis, not only so they could learn, but so that they themselves could train to become rabbis, to teach others. Mary is taking in from Jesus how she, too, can preach the Gospel of Jesus and lead others to a saving knowledge of God.
N.T. Wright says, “People sat at a teacher’s feet in that world, not to gaze languidly with drooping eyelids, but in order to become teachers themselves. … Mary had crossed a boundary, entering into the man’s world of discipleship; Jesus had affirmed her right to be there….”
Last week we saw the Samaritan–one of the last people you’d expect–seeing and having compassion on a man in a ditch. He saw him, had compassion on him, and acted on that compassion. He did what was in his power to do. And he was one of the last people who would be expected to do that.
In this passage there is a woman–one of the last people one would have expected then, certainly the wrong gender, according to society, who takes the posture of a disciple, learning from a rabbi.
Jesus has little use, sometimes, for social conventions. He can and does work through them, certainly. But he’s just as likely to turn them on their heads, teaching instead the social conventions of the Kingdom of God.
But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
It’s interesting… Luke says that Mary was “listening to what he said.” “But Martha was distracted….”
Jesus was already talking. Why wasn’t Martha putting her work on hold to listen? Or at least, were there some preparations she could have done while still in earshot of him?
I’m sure many of us have been in that situation where we have guests coming over. We nervously look at our watch and see that we only have 10 minutes left to get the food in the oven, vacuum the living room, and maybe put on some deodorant or whatever, because we’ve been running around for the last hour or two. Maybe we exchange a few terse words with spouses or children to hurry up and help prepare….
And when the guests come, we may not be done with the preparations, but that’s okay. (It really is okay!) We can invite them to sit in the kitchen with us so we can finish dinner, but also talk to them. Or we put our preparations on hold at least to say hello, shake hands, give hugs, and so on.
Was Martha avoiding Jesus?
To be clear: the work itself was not bad. She was showing hospitality to Jesus by having him in. Earlier in Luke Jesus rails against a man named Simon who had invited him over but not been hospitable. In that story a woman “who had lived a sinful life” poured perfume on his feet and wiped them with her hair, crying all the while. Jesus said,
Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven—for she loved much.
Jesus values hospitality. In fact, in Jesus’ culture, to complain to your host was a big no-no. You thanked your host profusely for going out of their way to greet you. But Jesus had called Simon out anyway.
So Martha is doing something that is generally good.
But her focus on the tasks of hospitality kept her from seeing the guest.
She was distracted–her attention was turned from where it should have been (the presence Jesus) to a lesser good (tasks done not in the presence of Jesus).
We get the picture of Martha barging in and interrupting–Jesus was talking to Mary, Mary was listening, and now Martha blurts out, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”
She puts the focus on herself. Actually, on her sister. “She’s not doing her chores.” (A common refrain of siblings everywhere.) “Tell her to help me.”
Another distraction-someone else’s relationship to Jesus–keeps Martha from thinking about her own relationship to Jesus.
Martha tells Jesus what to do! We begin to get the sense that throughout Jesus’ visit she has not been having a good attitude at all. We have a word for this in the K-J house: baditude. It’s a bad attitude. Martha is sporting a serious baditude.
A number of interpreters of this passage have pointed out the difference between Martha, who tells Jesus what he has to say, and Mary, who listens to what Jesus wants to say.
“Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things,
“Martha, Martha!” There is emotion in Jesus’ response, as he says her name twice. A firmness, it sounds like, but also compassion.
“You are worried and upset about many things.” Many things!
Maybe Martha is worried and upset about more than just Jesus’ arrival.
Maybe Martha has avoidance issues more generally.
Maybe she is afraid of being known well by others.
Maybe the baditude was just a front. Maybe she was scared of being loved deeply by someone else.
Maybe she thought she could somehow earn the love and approval of Jesus and his entourage by hosting them with the most elaborate spread.
Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?
Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.
Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.
David Garland, a Bible professor at Baylor, asks, “How is it that one can do everything right and still be wrong?”
Martha welcomed Jesus in v. 38, a sign of hospitality. She calls him Lord. She seems to truly love him. She just gets distracted. And stressed out. Frustrated with her sister for not joining her in her stress. And maybe she is even jealous of her sister’s relationship to Jesus?
but only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
Martha has allowed the Good to distract her from the Better. Her priorities are not quite right. Her affections, her emotions, the way in which her heart is going… is mis-directed.
Prioritizing where our attention goes would be easy if we could choose between a bad thing and a good thing. But sometimes life gives us a choice between two goods. And one of those goods may be better than the other. Mary used wisdom and discernment in this passage to do that. Martha did not. She was too busy doing The Good to notice The Better that was right there in her living room.
The writer Kathleen Norris puts it this way:
Martha may do her work in silence, but it is a sham, a mask for rage. I like to think of her as saying nothing as she bangs around the house, trying to get Mary’s attention, or better yet, make her feel guilty for not helping out. …I recognize myself all too clearly in the scene; all the internal–infernal–distractions, the clatter-bang of daily routines and deadlines, that can make me unfit company for anyone.
When our work, when our lives become just a series of tasks, it’s exhausting. I identify with Martha here; I’d imagine that a number of us do. I want to make that decision that Mary makes. She’s not just passively sitting there, doing nothing, she has deliberately chosen to listen to Jesus. And, Jesus says, she has chosen “what is better.”
“Jesus is coming. Look busy,” the bumper sticker says.
And of course we can–and sometimes should be busy for Jesus. But we need to also ask how we can keep our work and our service and our ministry in its proper relation to listening to God.
When it comes down to it, Jesus says, “Only one thing is needed. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.”
One thing–Jesus. More specifically, sitting at Jesus’ feet and listening to him. That’s what we really need to do.
I don’t read this passage as telling all of us Marthas in the world that we can’t keep actively serving others. I don’t think Jesus is saying that we have to stop our work in the kitchen altogether.
But if we are doing our work with the same sort of “baditude” Martha has here, it’s either time to take a break and be with Jesus, or more deliberately invite Jesus into the work we are doing.
A number of sermons ago I suggested using sentence prayers throughout the days tasks to connect with God:
“Lord, I know that you are with me.”
“God, thank you.”
“Jesus, please help me.”
“Lord, help me love this person the same way you do.”
“God, I offer this work to you.”
Brother Lawrence was a 17th century monk who served as cook in his Carmelite order. He was described as having a “great aversion” to the kitchen, and yet, as one brother said of him,
[I]t was observed, that in the greatest hurry of business in the kitchen… He was never hasty nor loitering, but did each thing in its season, with an even uninterrupted composure and tranquillity of spirit.
“The time of business,” Lawrence said, “does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clutter of my kitchen, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess GOD in as great tranquillity as if I were upon my knees at the Blessed Sacrament.”
It’s especially tragic when we are doing ministry work, like the hospitality Martha was trying to show, and we forget the main reason we are serving… for Jesus.
Work without a connection to Jesus is just being busy.
But when we deliberately sit down with Jesus, or invite him into our work, listening to what he has to say… that can never be taken away from us.
The above is adapted from the sermon I preached today. All Scripture quotations come from the NIV (1984).
It’s kind of a funny name–Good Samaritan. It sounds redundant to us now, since “Samaritan” generally already has positive connotations: Samaritan’s Purse relief organization. Good Samaritan hospital. Church of the Good Samaritan. And so on.
But Jesus’ listeners would have heard “Good Samaritan” as an oxymoron. Samaritans were anything but good. They were a despised people–a product of God’s people intermarrying with another, idolatrous people. They weren’t faithful, many Jews thought. A Samaritan was the last person one would have expected to help another person.
How do we get to the “Parable of the Good Samaritan” in the first place?
Luke 10:25 On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
An expert in the law, a lawyer, tests Jesus. As we soon see, he already has an answer to his own question in mind.
Luke 10:26 “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”
Jesus answers his question. No, he doesn’t at all. He asks him another question. It’s that great trick of the trade when you’re teaching and you want to more fully engage someone… what do you think?
“Why does a Rabbi answer a question with a question?” the joke goes.
“Why shouldn’t a Rabbi answer a question with a question?”
Luke 10:27 [The expert in the law] answered: “ ‘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, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’’”
Luke 10:28 “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”
These are two Great Commandments: Love God and Love Your Neighbor. Had the lawyer heard Jesus say something like this on another occasion? Perhaps. In Mark and Matthew, it is Jesus who gives these commandments as the most important ones in the law–on these hang all of God’s other commands. Love God, Love Your Neighbor–that frames, that grounds everything else.
“Do this and you will live,” Jesus says. Yes, law expert, you know the answer. Go do it.
And the parable will actually end this way, too, with Jesus saying, “Go and do likewise.” But…
Luke 10:29 But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
“He wanted to justify himself.” Justify–to make right, to be declared righteous. He asks, “Who is my neighbor?” One commentator speculates that the question here is expecting a specific answer like, “Your parents, your friends, your cousins, etc.” so that he can then say, “I’ve loved them all” and be praised by Jesus in front of everyone.
“Who is my neighbor? Who all do I have to love, and who can I get by without loving? Who is my neighbor, and who is my non-neighbor?”
That’s what his question seems to imply. In a sense, he’s asking the bare minimum. Or at least some sort of clarification so he can know who will be inside his circle of love and who will be outside it.
So Jesus tells him a story. We’ve heard it.
Luke 10:30 In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he fell into the hands of robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead.
That road was rocky, full of caves, about a 17-mile journey. There was a 3,000 foot elevation change on that journey. Thieves would hide out in those caves and mug people who travelled on the road. It was a lucrative business.
31 A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side.
A priest–a religious ruler. Part of society’s elite in those days. Coming from Jerusalem, he was probably doing his priestly duty. So he had just been in church!
(I wonder what Scripture readings he heard that day? I wonder what the teaching was?)
32 So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.
Levites assisted the priests–they were like the worship leaders, or the music leaders. Also coming from Jerusalem, maybe from worship there.
(I wonder what songs they led. I wonder what message they were seeking to reinforce in the service–have compassion? Love your neighbor as yourself?)
Then, what is supposed to be next is a person of Israel. There was a formula throughout the Old Testament of priests, Levites, and all the people of Israel.
This is shaping up so far to be an anti-clergy story. The person of Israel is supposed the be the hero–the so-called layperson. But instead–a Samaritan!
33 But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. 34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, took him to an inn and took care of him. 35 The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’
I read an interesting re-telling of this parable this week.
A man was mugged and beaten by a gang of thugs in the park. He was left for dead.
A theology student saw the man and had the instinct to help him, but she had just taken a pastoral care class, so said,
“We were just taught it is not good to try to rescue someone. We must resist the temptation, however sincere and religiously motivated, to naively wade in and try to be someone’s rescuer.” That’s a Savior complex. I’d better not help, she thought. So she passed by.
Then, in this re-telling of the parable, the chairperson of the local church association’s social justice committee came by. He saw the man. But he was overwhelmed with all the systemic, macro-level issues that could have produces a man lying in a ditch–the economy, social structures. “To help this man,” he said, “Is simply a Band-Aid, solving nothing.” He passed by, too.
Finally, the CEO of Texaco Oil, out riding around in his new BMW, saw the beaten man. His heart was moved with compassion. He picked him up, put him in the back of his car (on his clean, white upholstery), bandaged his wounds, and drove him to the local hospital, paying all his bills.
Who was the neighbor? Not, in this re-telling, the people you might have expected. And that’s one of Jesus’ main points here–if a Samaritan, someone this law-expert would least expect, can show compassion, anyone can.
Let’s go back to the original story. After the parable, Jesus asks another question:
Luke 10:36 “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”
The expert in the law might have wondered after the Priest and Levite passed the guy in the ditch–was he their neighbor? Gosh, maybe not…
But Jesus doesn’t spend a lot of time on the man in the ditch. We don’t know much about him. In this parable he is just, “a man.” Because for Jesus, the question is not, is he the neighbor, but will you be a neighbor to the one in need?
So he asks the law-expert: “Who was a good neighbor?”
The expert in the law can’t even bring himself to say the word “Samaritan,” so he says, “The one who had mercy on him.”
Jesus is saying–much more important than finding out who is your neighbor is being a neighbor. It’s the old adage: if you want to have a friend, be a friend.
Don’t think about other people’s status and worthiness. Be the loving neighbor we know we are called to be.
This passage ends with Jesus not so much saying–now I’ve explained the law to you and you know who is your neighbor, and how to inherit eternal life… he says, here’s a story of how someone you despise is a neighbor. And if he can do it, so can you. “Go and do likewise.” Go. Do. You know what to do. Go do it. Be a good neighbor. Be the neighbor you wish to see in the world.
And this is a good enough message, one that we know we all want to strive, by God’s grace, to listen to and put into practice.
But there’s just one more thing. A small but essential detail to this story.
Look one more time at the text. In verse 31:
31 A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side.
Going down the same road, and when he saw the man….he passed by….
32 So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.
33 But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him.
Each of these three people–the priest, the levite, and the Samaritan, came to where the man was, and they saw him. They saw him.
Priest–sees him, passes by. Levite–sees him, passes by. Samaritan–sees him, takes pity on him.
This verb that Luke uses–take pity, have compassion… the NRSV has it as “he was moved with pity.” This particular verb, when it is used in the New Testament, is mostly used of Jesus. He has compassion. And many of those times that compassion comes after Jesus has seen a crowd. Or Jesus has seen a person in need. Jesus sees them and has compassion, and then he acts.
In the same way, the Samaritan sees the man in the ditch and has compassion, and then he acts.
I was so struck this time around, as I studied this parable, at this one word–see. And Luke is a good writer–this is all on purpose. The Samaritan totally breaks up the pattern of the story:
sees–passes by
sees–passes by
sees–has compassion–does something
It’s the same sequence in the story of the Prodigal Son. The father sees his wayward son returning home, has compassion on him, and acts–he runs to him and sweeps him up in an ecstatic embrace.
The Samaritan’s compassion moves him to act. He takes care of this half-dead stranger. He bandages his wounds, pours on oil and wine for healing and soothing. Puts him on his donkey, takes him to an inn, takes care of him. Pays for him.
The priest, the Levite, the Samaritan–they all saw him. The difference was, what the Samaritan did with what he saw.
“Neighborliness comes in all shapes and sizes,” one author writes.
What needs do we see around us, situations or people that cry out for a neighbor? It may be a need in another country. It may be a need right here in the city or town in which you live.
Or there may be someone within a 25-foot radius of you that is in need of a good neighbor right now.
Or perhaps you can think of a person in need that you see during the week–whether physical need, emotional need, or social need.
Being a good neighbor starts with seeing. And acting on what we see, just as the Good Samaritan did.
Let’s not be like the theology student in the re-telling of the parable, or the chair of that committee–whose concerns were valid and legitimate (and I wholeheartedly believe Jesus calls us to effect change on the macro-level!)… but those concerns paralyzed them from doing the good they could have done in a specific situation.
May we see the needs of others, may we have compassion, and may we do what is in our power to act, and to help heal the wounds of the world around us.
The above is adapted from the sermon I preached this last Sunday. All Scripture quotations come from the NIV (1984).
Exciting news: I’ve accepted a call to be pastor at a great church in a seaside community in the Greater Boston area. My first Sunday was June 2.
My “About” page has been updated accordingly:
In my current capacity as pastor, I seek to support, encourage, and equip the congregation, connect with people in local and global communities, preach and help lead services weekly, and minister with the congregation in a variety of other ways.
I am grateful to God for the privilege of serving the congregation, and look forward to our weeks, months, and years of ministry together.
“Read your Bible.” But how?
I’ve benefitted from reading large portions of Scripture–whole narratives, books, and multiple chapters–in one sitting. I’ve also benefitted immensely from slowing down and meditatively just reading a few verses at a time. Lectio Divina is a way of reading Scripture that encourages that. It’s reading, as many have said, for transformation and not just information.
Lectio Divina means “holy reading” or “divine reading.” The idea is to deliberately reflect in God’s presence on God’s words, inviting God to echo his words in us today. The most classic formulation of this ancient Benedictine practice is the four-part: lectio (read), meditatio (meditate), oratio (pray), and contemplatio (contemplate).
I’ve also seen a slightly adjusted form, which I’ve used in groups and individually. It goes like this:
Lectio works best with smaller passages–a few verses from the Psalms or Proverbs… perhaps some words of Jesus or a Pauline prayer. Colossians 3:15-17 is a good place to start, if you’re new to the practice:
Let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, since as members of one body you were called to peace. And be thankful. Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly as you teach and admonish one another with all wisdom, and as you sing psalms, hymns and spiritual songs with gratitude in your hearts to God. And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him.
In a group setting, readers (four different ones) can read the passage out loud (slowly) before each of the four movements. Individually, one could just read and re-read the passage before each of the four movements.
I’ve also found benefit in doing the fourth “respond” movement creatively: maybe I respond not just seated through prayer, but perhaps there is a response through song or drawing or movement that I can offer.
There are other approaches to Lectio; it’s certainly not meant to be formulaic. But whether I do it in 5 minutes or 30 minutes, with a group or by myself, I find that I am always impressed with how much God’s Word/words still can speak today–if I quiet myself enough to listen.
My friend Ben Rey has made a really attractive site for praying Morning Prayer from the Book of Common Prayer. The site is in beta right now, but you can use it to pray each day–it’s got the liturgy and Scriptures. Ben says:
Thanks again for participating in the Morning Prayer (MP) beta testing. The initial goal of this site is to provide individuals and communities access to Morning Prayer in its simplest form. Simple both in terms of the selected liturgy/scripture readings, and in terms of the layout for your tablet or mobile device.
Your feedback will either reinforce or change that vision. Think of this as your Morning Prayer site. What do you want for yourself, for your church, for your friends and family? So please complete the brief feedback form on the website at some point in the first week.
The readings start for this coming Sunday, March 7 and will be updated automatically. We will launch the website onto it’s own domain in a few weeks with changes made based on your feedback. Please feel free to share this link/email with others, as the more the merrier in beta testing.
Words on the Word 