Painters have an amazing ability to bring a scene to life. Their use of color with slightly different shades and hues, or different brushes with wider or thinner bristles, can introduce detail into a painting that makes it pop off the surface. When you really look at one of their creations, you’ll see things you didn’t know were there … pick up on particulars that would be hidden from the casual browser—details that will add to its impact. It’s easy to be captivated by the work of a brilliant, skilled artist.
By the same token, outstanding storytellers have an ability to use words as their brushes and our minds as their canvas and create something that is memorable. Great storytellers have an ability to draw us in and make us see the setting with our mind’s eye. Their use of language—the idioms … the metaphors … their manner of introducing detail into their recounting of events—has an ability to make their words lasting. A well-told story is hard to forget.
Of all the distinctive abilities of Jesus, perhaps the most notable to the people of his day was his skill as a storyteller. He taught in a way that distinguished him from the ordinary teachers of the day—a way that was not only easy to understand and accessible, but that also had a sense of authority to it. Rather than pontificate about esoteric concepts, he often used parables—short, allegorical stories—to connect with his audience. They were easy to grasp and remember, but they also had a piercing and probing quality to them to where you couldn’t help but see yourself in the story. The only ones who didn’t see themselves in his stories were those who didn’t want to face up to the implications that would be required of them if they embraced it, so they dismissed them as silly and irrelevant. But Jesus’ stories had a timeless quality to them. They were so simple that children could get the point, but so profound that his followers have been delving into them for 2000 years. For you can’t help but come away from an examination of his stories without a clearer understanding of what it looks like to live as part of God’s Kingdom and what life adjustments we need to make so we can more fully align our lives with the longings and desires He has for us.
Perhaps the most familiar and well-known story he told is one we find in Luke 10. It’s one of those stories that’s so familiar to us we can be tempted to disengage because we think we know it. But—just as some artists will weave some details into a painting that’ll jump out to those who look at it closely but remain hidden from those who only offer up a passing glance, so this story has some shrouded understandings to offer those who will take the time to look at it closely.
On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”
He 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.’”
You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”
But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii 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.’
“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 replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”
Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.”
The account begins by saying an expert in the law—a theologian or religious leader … not someone from the legal profession—stood up to question Jesus. He asked a very basic and important question—“What must I do to inherit eternal life?—but his reason for asking was less than sincere. For he wasn’t interested in finding an answer so much as he was in finding fault with Jesus. He wanted to publicly embarrass and take down this unsanctioned teacher whose popularity was soaring.
Jesus had must have picked up on something that let him know what was going on, for he didn’t answer the question. Instead, he turned the tables—the questioned became the questioner—and he asked him what the law said. The guy had approached Jesus in hopes of putting him on the defensive, but Jesus dodged it by directing a question back at him to which the guy gave a spot-on answer: “Love the Lord with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength, and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus essentially said, “Nailed it! Great! A+! Now—go do it. Live it out.” But either the guy wasn’t satisfied or wasn’t ready to give up on his attempts to entrap Jesus. So he asked a follow-up question: “Just who is my neighbor?” And this question set the stage for Jesus to launch into this story.
The story centered around a guy making a trip from Jerusalem to Jericho—a journey of only seventeen miles, but a voyage that involved a 3500 foot change in elevation. Jerusalem sits at about 2600 feet above sea level and Jericho sits at almost 900 feet below sea level. So the road from Jerusalem to Jericho wasn’t a leisurely walk across flat terrain. It was an arduous journey through uneven, rugged topography that had a number of rocky outcroppings and caves along the route—the kinds of places where thieves could hide out and ambush unsuspecting travelers. And that’s what happened to the guy in Jesus’ story. He got waylaid by a group of ruffians who were laying in wait. They beat him up, robbed him, and left him for dead in a pool of his own blood along the side of the road.
Three guys stumbled upon him in fairly rapid succession. The first two were professional religious types—a priest and a Levite … the kinds of guys that were part of the original questioner’s world … an arena he was undoubtedly familiar with … guys who would have, for the most part, been well-regarded and respected by the surrounding society. They were part of the privileged class—esteemed individuals who were typically well thought of and treated with honor. But they didn’t stop to investigate or lend a helping hand. They pulled away so as to avoid the situation and walked on by. Perhaps they had some deadline to meet and were on a time crunch. Certainly the Jewish law—which forbade the touching of a corpse and would have rendered them “unclean” and unable to fulfill their religious duty—entered into their thinking. We really don’t know why they did what they did. We only know what they did—or more accurately didn’t—do. They chose to look the other way, keep their distance, and not get involved.
But then a third individual walked by—a Samaritan—a guy who was part of a group that most of the audience, and certainly the guy that approached Jesus with the original question, would have looked upon with contempt and disgust. He was part of a despised and detested class—a group that good Jews loathed and would have gone to great lengths to keep their distance from. And in contrast to the previous two guys who steered clear of the situation, he engaged it. He stopped … investigated … saw the man needed assistance … rendered first aid … loaded the guy up on his donkey and transported him to a nearby inn and checked him in—at his own cost—where he could heal from his injuries. The guy who became the hero of this story was not the guy you’d think would be cast in the starring role. This was a curveball and with it Jesus turned everything upside down.
And then he went back into question mode and asked the guy, “Who was the true neighbor?” If you’ll notice, the guy can’t say “Samaritan”. He can’t bring himself to refer to him the way Jesus had referred to him in the story. He can’t have an inferior, lowly Samaritan showing him the deficiency and unhealthy pride in his own heart. So he says simply, “The one who had mercy on him.” And then Jesus brings it full circle and says to him essentially the same thing he said to him before he launched into the story—“Go and do likewise.”
This is one of those stories where you can see the difference in people’s lives by how they responded to the injured traveler. For instance, to the expert in the law he was a topic to discuss … to the robbers he was a victim to exploit … to the priest and Levite he was a problem to be avoided … to the innkeeper he was a customer to serve for a fee … but to the Samaritan he was a human being worth being cared for and loved.
Because we have so many ways of looking at the guy, there are also a number of relevant points of application that can be made. We can talk about being willing to reach out to people who aren’t like us—who aren’t a part of our group—and engage them. We can talk about how there’s more to compassion than thinking sympathetic thoughts … that, at the end of the day, if what we’re feeling doesn’t motivate us to actually do something, then it isn’t compassion. We can talk about how we can sometimes use our religious duty as an excuse to not engage with people—how we can get so caught up in our stuff that we overlook practical opportunities to help broken and needy people. We can talk about how, when we decide we’re going to step up and help, we can never fully know what it’s going to demand of us—not that we shouldn’t have boundaries or put ourselves out there in ways that might lead to us being taken advantage of, but we can never really know on the front end what we’re getting ourselves into. We’ve got to be comfortable with rolling up our sleeves, getting our hands dirty, and doing whatever it takes to help. We can talk about how, at the end of the day, the evidence of our faith is not in what we say we believe but in what we do—as James said if our faith doesn’t lead to action, then there isn’t much to our faith. All these are legitimate points of application we can take away from this story.
But the thought that’s been swirling in my head is that Jesus shared this story in response to the question, “Who is my neighbor?” The answer: That circle is so much bigger and vaster than most of us ever imagined. My neighbor is not merely someone who is geographically proximate to me … or who’s part of my tribe … or who I have something in common with and find it easy to relate to. My neighbor is anybody God places in front of me that has a need and I have the resources to do something about—anyone who’s dealing with something that’s preventing them from flourishing and I have something to offer that can move them in a positive direction. When we’re challenged to love our neighbor, we’re asked to offer up what we have in an indiscriminate, unconditional fashion. In many ways, the story of the Good Samaritan is the motivation behind the whole missionary enterprise. It prompts us to recognize that if we follow Jesus, the definition of neighbor is much more all-encompassing than we ever imagined and we, like the infamous quote from John Wesley, need to think of the world as our parish.
When Wesley originally made that statement, he was responding to criticism about his ministry methods. To a church that was steeped in tradition, preaching to the looked-down-upon coal miners and going horseback through the countryside and holding outdoor open-air meetings was outlandish. But Wesley, unlike the priest and Levite in the story, was willing to dispense with convention in order to reach people. He saw people who needed help, and if the church wasn’t going to change so it could reach them, then he was going to do what he could so they could hear and respond to the good news—news that could infuse and instill purpose in their lives … news that could enhance their families … news that could release them from bondage to sin and supply them with a hope that could supplant their hopelessness … news that had the ability to transform their life when received with enthusiasm and embraced.
And that’s the swatch of cloth from which we Nazarenes have been cut. We’re the spiritual descendants of John Wesley. We’ve always been about having an broad-based understanding of who our neighbor is. We are the people who believe the world is our parish and, thus, have an obligation to do what we can to assist anyone God brings across our path. That’s why we’ve been about missions from the very early days of our denomination to where today we have a presence in 165 of the 195 recognized countries in the world. And we need to realize, here in North America, we live in a part of the world that is just as much a mission field as anyplace on the planet.
I’ve often wondered what would happen if we North American Christ-followers would view our local churches not as local churches, but as mission outposts—little pockets of hope filled by individuals who have chosen to live by the values of a different kingdom … a kingdom that has a much more far-reaching understanding of who our neighbor is. If we did that, would we be much more amenable and agreeable when it comes to embracing change that will enable us to effectively impact the people around us? Would we be appreciably more open to doing things differently if it would help us to better connect with those disillusioned, needy people that organized religion has left behind? Would we be more willing to roll up our sleeves, get our hands dirty, and engage with those broken and hurting people who’ve been injured and left in a heap along the side of the road …people who need someone to stop, help, and assist them so they can heal and get on the road to recovery and live a full and flourishing life? When I spend time with this story, these are the kinds of questions I come away asking. More importantly, these are the kinds of steps I find myself much more eager, willing, and ready to take when the lesson of this familiar yet fascinating story has seeped into my soul.