By Jeffery M. Leonard, Ph.D.
Assistant Professor of Religion, Samford University
Intentional Love
Luke 10:25–37
When our sons were still at the age where cartoons formed the larger part of their TV-watching diet, each new episode was accompanied by a predictable battle over which son got to be which character in the show. “I’m Larry! You be Bob,” one would say. “That’s not fair. You got to be Larry last time,” the other would reply. It made no difference at all whether the characters were talking vegetables, superheroes or sea-dwelling sponges and starfish — both boys wanted to watch the cartoon through the eyes of a particular and highly-coveted character.
This tendency to choose a character with whom we sympathize and through whom we experience a story’s events is by no means limited to grade school boys watching cartoons. We all tend to gravitate toward particular characters, and we identify with them as we watch the plot of a story unfold. Unfortunately, when it comes to reading the Bible, we often identify with the wrong character in a story. We find ourselves thinking, “How can those Israelites be so stubborn and rebellious? Why don’t those disciples ever seem to understand?”
We shake our heads in disbelief at the terrible waywardness of “the people,” failing to realize that our role is their role in the story. We are those wayward people.
Our love for God is tied to our love for others. (25–28)
The parable of the Good Samaritan is one that is ripe for misunderstanding when it comes to knowing our place in the story. The story begins when a certain man, learned in the Law, asks Jesus how he can inherit eternal life. As they discuss what the Law says about the matter, they come to a consensus: Love God and love your neighbor. This will give eternal life.
We fail to love when we are indifferent to others. (29–32)
Then, the lawyer asks the pivotal question: “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus’ reply is to tell him the famous parable. A man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho was waylaid by robbers who beat him and left him for dead. A priest happened to come along, but he passed the man by. Then a Levite arrived, but he did the same. No one, it seemed, would help the dying man.
We are commanded to love even when it is costly or inconvenient. (33–37)
But then, just as all hope seemed lost, a Samaritan happened upon the scene. If the priest and Levite passed by, surely the Samaritan would do the same. He did no such thing, however. Far from passing him by, he had compassion on the man, bound up his wounds, set him on his animal, took him to an inn and paid the innkeeper to see that he was nursed back to health. The Samaritan turned out to be a neighbor to the beaten man even when the priest and Levite had refused.
The parable is one with which we are all familiar. We’ve seen it illustrated, acted and preached. And yet each time we hear the story we find ourselves shaking our heads at the terrible callousness of the priest and Levite, wondering how they could pass by the poor, broken victim lying beside the road. All the while, we miss the fact that as we read the story, we are not the Samaritan. We are not even the victim. We are the priest. We are the Levite. It is our own callousness toward our neighbor, our own failure to help those in need, that Jesus challenges. The voices raised by the prophets against the people’s mistreatment of the poor and downtrodden were voices raised against us today when we do the same. True faith is faith that doesn’t just keep walking. True faith stops to help.
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