Eternal Life for the Good Samaritan?

Good Samaritan by Vincent van Gogh

Pondering Jesus’ Parable of the Good Samaritan this week (the lectionary Gospel for next Sunday, July 14: Luke 10:25-37), I have found focusing on the context is as radical and essential as the story itself. My reflections here are not intended as a Bible study or basis for a sermon but to stimulate my own deeper probing of this very familiar story and to invite any who are interested to soak in it long enough to probe comfortable presuppositions.

The lawyer who asked Jesus how to inherit eternal life was not a sincere seeker but looked to test Jesus and trap him into invalidating his teaching and ministry. Jesus immediately turned the test back on the lawyer. “What do you read in the Law?” When the lawyer answered, “Love God and love your neighbor.” Jesus not only confirmed his answer but switched roles from the one being tested to the one proctoring the test of the lawyer’s qualifications for eternal life. This seems to have made the lawyer immensely uncomfortable, so seeking to justify himself and pass Jesus’ test, asked, “Who is my neighbor?”

This prompted Jesus to tell what we know as the Parable of the Good Samaritan. At its conclusion Jesus asked the lawyer, “Which one was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The lawyer apparently couldn’t bring himself to say “the Samaritan,” so he answered Jesus, “the one who showed him mercy.”

Then Jesus spoke this profoundly radical directive, “Go and do likewise,” clearly implying that was the answer to the lawyer’s original question, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Like most (but perhaps not all) of Jesus’ parables, the Good Samaritan is probably a fiction story Jesus told to make an important point. Yet, it begs the question, would such a real life Samaritan inherit eternal life by showing mercy to someone who was suffering and a victim of violence, even though his theology and worship were faulty at best?

Springing from deep roots in ancient Israel, for two millennia the Church has debated how to define the boundaries of who is in and who is out, in other words who do we think will inherit eternal life. I won’t rehearse to affirm or condemn that history, only observe that the process is with us today. I hear and read plenty of versions of “You can’t be a real Christian unless you believe … (fill in the blank with your favorite shibboleth, litmus test, or creedal affirmation).”

In my circles, the frequent boogieman is “works righteousness” as a rejection of what gets labeled as the “social gospel,” Please understand that I know that we do not “earn our way to heaven” by doing good works. But I am also increasingly convinced that we do not gain entrance into heaven by having all of our theology in correct order or answering correctly how it is that believing that Jesus’ death and resurrection is the entrance exam. Not only in this parable but throughout his teaching, Jesus never seems to give the sort of doctrinal exams that we (not just in our time) seem to be so prone to. To me, this parable does not seem to suggest that the Good Samaritan earned his way into eternal life by caring for the wounded traveler. Rather, the Good Samaritan was living a life of mercy, which then became his natural response when he encountered someone in need.

Jesus’ consistent call was, “follow me.” More and more I am recognizing that as accompanying Jesus on a journey characterized by love and mercy, peace and justice. I am not anxious about whether I am doing that well enough to qualify for eternal life, but confident that by staying close to Jesus, he has already welcomed me in which I anticipate will continue in some mysterious and wonderful way when I come to the conclusion of this life and on the last day.

Thanks to Jesus’ story, “Samaritan” has taken on positive, affirmative connotations. May ministries and programs of compassion incorporate it into their name and mission: hospitals, homeless shelters, hospices, addiction rehabilitation, refugee settlement. In Bible study and sermon we acknowledge that Jesus chose to make a Samaritan the protagonist of his story because of the offensive shock value it would have on his hearers. The Roman occupiers were written off as hopelessly pagan, godless oppressors, but the Samaritans practiced a perverted version of theology and worship with the same roots as the Jews, thus were a much greater threat to religious purity than the Romans. The Samaritans were also rejected as having contaminated to racial and ethnic purity of the descendants of Abraham. We know this but when we think about the Good Samaritan, we have warm, affirmative emotions, not at all like the bristly offense that Jesus’ story certainly evoked from his original audience.

Over the years preachers and commentators have endeavored to capture that sense of outrage in contemporary context. In his “Cotton Patch” series of the late 1960s, Clarence Jordan was retelling Jesus’ stories for white, Southern, church people. He chose to cast Jews as “white folk” and Samaritans as “Negros,” and Jordan took a lot of criticism for that.

Again, not to postulate a teaching but to ponder how might Jesus have cast the Samaritan if he were telling to story to church going, morally upstanding, theologically sound people in the US today. What character would evoke from us the same outrage today, to us, that making a Samaritan the guide to the path of eternal life did in Jesus’ day? Two ideas have circulated in my thoughts about this passage this week.

First, undocumented immigrants. They are a flash point of great contention in our society right now. Though possibly not all that educated or sophisticated in their faith, many if not most coming from Latin America would identify themselves as Christians, usually with Roman Catholic roots. How would you respond if the role of the Samaritan was an undocumented Honduran who practiced mercy, knowing that he/she had received desperately needed mercy to escape violence back home?

Second, Muslim neighbors. They too, are the object of plenty of derision and fear and controversy. Though they share roots in the call of Abraham, their faith is much farther from Christian theology than even the difference between Latin American Catholics and Evangelical Protestants. Can you imagine Jesus casting a Muslim who practiced mercy in the role of the Samaritan? I expect that by even asking the question I will provoke some hostility and anger. I have been considering if such a reaction reflects the responses Jesus may have gotten from his audience.

Again, not proposing an answer but searching my own heart in relationship to Jesus, I ask what is necessary to inherit eternal life. Even with faulty theology and worship, does Jesus affirm inheriting eternal life by showing mercy to someone who is suffering?

Loving Extreme Enemies

I was jolted and shaken this morning as I began reading the lectionary texts for next Sunday, July 7, starting with the story of Elisha and Naaman in 2 Kings 5. Through all of the turmoil of human trafficking and separating families of our time, the Israelite servant girl screamed at me from this story. Captured in an Aramean military raid across the border into Israel, she was forced to serve as a slave in the home of the commander of the army that had abducted her. Nevertheless, she had compassion for him as he suffered from leprosy, and she maintained a faith in God that had weakened in Israel to the point that God had allowed their oppression at the hands of the Arameans.

In no way whatsoever am I suggesting even the slightest excuse for either human trafficking or separating children from their families in our time, nor am I suggesting that victims of these crimes today should happily comply with the suffering and wounds imposed on them. Rather, the voice of this girl who was enslaved many centuries ago cries out to recognize that I am part of a society that is more like the Arameans than I am comfortable acknowledging.

This enslaved girl from long ago and far away is also an icon or portrait of what Jesus meant by instructing us to love our enemies, which was on my mind quite a bit in my ponderings last week. As the whole story unfolds, Elisha takes this a step further by guiding Naaman to the path (bath?) of not only his healing from leprosy but also to a dramatic spiritual transformation, in which he switches allegiance from the idols of Aram to the God of Israel, even though many in Israel had abandoned their God.

The two mule loads of earth (v. 17) may be a puzzle until realizing that Naaman was likely creating an Israelite shrine in his home where he could worship the God of Israel on Israel soil. Especially with our New Testament perspective (“neither on this mountain nor in Jerusalem” – John 4:20) we tend to regard this as silly or superstitious, but Elisha not only allows this but even grants Naaman peace when to kneel in the house of the pagan god Rimmon when his earthly lord worshipped there (vv. 18-19). I am pondering how this might be a pointer as to how to “love our enemies” when they do not espouse and even oppose our following Jesus.  

This story offers much more richness I expect to contemplate as the week goes on, but for today I am pondering how the enslaved girl and Elisha shape and inform my/our attitudes and relationships with my/our Muslim neighbors and others who follow Islam around the world.  The issue here is not so much attracting Muslim folk to Jesus as how I/we can become more like Jesus.

Reflections of Jesus’ Prayer for Oneness of his Followers

I originally wrote this as a series of replies in a Facebook thread that I started with my reflections on John 17:20-26. As that developed, I thought I’d compile them into a single document. I even considered doing a rewrite to make for a more coherent flow. But I decided to let them stand and related but unconnected elements in a sort of verbal mosaic. I am posting to my Pilgrim Path blog, but do not intend to link back to FB or Twitter, even though they started in the more public arena of FB.

A conundrum I have been pondering in my lectio divina on the lectionary readings for this coming Sunday is Jesus' prayer that all of his followers (the succeeding generations are definitely included in v. 20) would be one as he and the Father are one in John 17:20-26. Recognizing that we who follow Jesus are anything but one does not take a genius. I am not troubled by variations in theology or ecclesiology. Those can easily be seen as many rich colors in a single tapestry. What troubles me is how readily one color (to maintain the tapestry metaphor) discounts another color as not belonging in the tapestry and how virulent those conflicts can become, even to the point of one group of "Christians" killing other "Christians" in the name of Christ when they get the power to do so. To be sure, this has happened plenty in history, and while "Christians" executing other "Christians" may not seem as common today, the rhetoric of rejection is certainly loud. My pondering here, however, is not so much about how we who follow Jesus handle our disagreements as it is about what was going on in Jesus' prayer for our oneness. Has that prayer not been answered? It seems to me that postponing the answer to the eschaton is a denial of Jesus appeal that the world would recognize him in the oneness of his followers. May we - you and I - be impediments to the Father answering the prayer of the Son? What did Jesus expect when he prayed this? I'm not expecting to resolve this in either my meditations this week or in responses to this post, only to try to get in tune with Jesus' prayer myself. If anyone else feels drawn into Jesus' prayer, how is that emerging within you?

I am not content to dismiss the powerful implications of Jesus' prayer for the oneness of his followers by spiritualizing it or putting it on hold until the last day, though both the mystical and future dimensions are important. But if we stay there we become practical Gnostics denying the creation reality in which God placed us. I don't have an easy formula, but somehow I pray and look for opportunities to at least begin to live into that oneness with other Christians who are not like me. Sometimes those differences are ethnic and cultural. Sometimes they are theological and ecclesiastical. I played a very small role in helping some Anabaptists connect with Catholic bishops after Germany reunited and travel to the former East where their movement originated became possible. The Anabaptists wanted to apologize and ask forgiveness for slandering and not always telling the truth about the Catholic Church. When the bishops received this small delegation, they replied in kind by saying that while the spiritual ancestors of the Anabaptists had indeed not always spoken with truth and kindness, the spiritual ancestors of the bishops were executing Anabaptists. With mutual prayer and a bit of good humor came just a bit of the taste of oneness in Jesus. The Anabaptists went on being Anabaptists and the bishops went on being Catholic, but they acknowledged their mutual kinship in Jesus. I have benefited from fleeting experiences like this and hunger for them to become more common.

When I was at Wheaton Graduate School in the early 70s Jim Engle and Will Norton worked together on mission/evangelism. I think they did it together (or maybe just Jim Engle) wrote a book "What's Gone Wrong with the Harvest?" That book and conversations with both of them at the time came to mind as I reflected on Jesus' prayer in John 17. Verse 21 says, "they may all be one. As you, Father, are in me and I am in you, may they also be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me." and verse 23 says, "they may become completely one, so that the world may know that you have sent me." Not offering any specific answers, only raising a question for pondering. Could it be that what has gone wrong with the harvest is that we who follow Jesus are not one with each other, with him, or with the Father as Jesus prayed we would be? Besides all the implications for us which I have not fully explored, what are the implications about how God answers any/all prayers and particularly this prayer of Jesus? Only exploring not preaching. Please!

After posting my last reflection on Jesus’ prayer for oneness among his followers, I sat on the porch with my afternoon tea and cookies. Jesus’ concern that the world would know him and believe he came from the Father because of the oneness of his followers took my mind in a different direction. I’m not going to vouch for the logical connection, only pursue these ruminations.

Since at least the Enlightenment, the arguments for atheism have largely been empirical and logical. The answers of the whole range of theist apologists, not just Christians, have generally ranged from some version of Romans 1:19-20. “What can be known about God is plain to them, because God has shown it to them. Ever since the creation of the world his eternal power and divine nature, invisible though they are, have been understood and seen through the things he has made.” And ranged to some variation of Pascal’s Wager – better to believe and be wrong than not believe and be wrong. I know a lot more is going on than that, but this will serve to make the contrast with the arguments for atheism that are gaining traction in our time.

Those arguments are basically ethical. That so much violence, injustice, suffering is and has been promulgated in the name of religion and God (even in the name of Christ as contradictory as that should seem) that we humans would be better off without God and without religion. This is the essential core of John Lennon’s song “Imagine” that has become the anthem of this generation. Pointing out that that is not what Jesus (or choose your own favorite religion founder) taught or lived does not change the argument that those who claim to believe in God have been rampant purveyors of violent hatred. Pointing out even dramatic exceptions does not ameliorate this history and contemporary realities.

Given the nature of this trend, citing examples of any and all good that has been done and is being done by any and all believers in God is counterproductive. Keeping score of good vs. bad is a losing endeavor, and getting offended that such arguments are rejected only reinforces writing off religion/God as a negative force. Again, I don’t have a nice packaged answer, but I do believe we who recognize the core of divine love (though I speak as a Christian, I don’t think that is limited to Christianity), can and must do better at living that love into the daily realities of our world. My pondering here is not about comparing Jesus and other religious leaders or movements. That may be a worthwhile endeavor but goes in a different direction than positing a theism that responds effectively to ethical atheism.

Again, speaking specifically as one who trusts and aspires to follow Jesus, I believe his teaching to love our enemies (Matthew 5:43-48; Luke 6:27-35 and affirmed by the Apostle Paul Romans 12:17-21) may be an effective response to ethical atheism. Not in the sense of that is what Jesus taught us to do, but in the sense that people will observe and recognize that is what is actually happening in our human relationships. This is amazingly challenging. How do I love someone who is bent on harming or even killing me? Yet, I believe that is what this demands.

Once again, I am exploring and welcome fellow ponders, but I will not engage in arguments about why ethical (or other) atheists are wrong. Rather I welcome exploration of how we can live in ways that those who reject believing in God will recognize the love of God even in the face of all the evil people have done in the name of God over the centuries.

Though I was young at the time, I remember church discussions about degrees of separation that were presumed to be based on passages such as 2 Corinthians 6:17. “Come out from them, and be separate from them.” First degree separation was not sharing Christian fellowship with someone whose theology regarded as suspect. Second decree separation was not sharing Christian fellowship with someone who fellowshipped with someone whose theology was regarded a suspect (even if theirs was considered acceptable). My sense is that the people of the congregation in which I grew up – solidly evangelical Baptists – were aware of these discussions but did not consider them particularly relevant to us.

I do recall that when Billy Graham came to San Francisco in 1958 some preachers in the area objected that he allowed “liberals” to sit on the platform with him. The people of my church participated in that crusade with some enthusiasm and dismissed the complainers out of hand.

This memory came back to me today as I have continued to contemplate Jesus’ prayer that succeeding generations of his followers would be one with each other and with him as he was with the Father. My lunch conversation with some friends of Spirit of Peace Lutheran Church (Milwaukee) prompted me to frame the question from the other way around.

How can I express and experience oneness in Christ with those who exclude me from their circle of acceptable doctrine, while I definitely include them as fellow disciples of Jesus, despite significant disagreements?

I am pondering how Edwin Markham’s (1852-1940) poem “Outwitted” might help me sort this out. It was often referred to among Christian Church (Disciples of Christ) folk as expressing how Christian unity was their “polar star.” (Barton Stone) It seems to express the sentiment. Now to translate that into relational reality.

He drew a circle that shut me out-
Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout.
But love and I had the wit to win:
We drew a circle and took him In!

Hearts Overflow through Mouths

After my regular lectio divina on the lectionary readings for the coming Sunday and my Psalm prayers, I have been reading through the Apocrypha for my general education. I am up to Sirach 23. Sirach generally seems like an overblown, moralistic, pietistic expansion on Proverbs. A lot of “common sense” from someone who wants to live an upright life before God who is urging others to do the same. Rather frequently I cringe at a kind of disparaging of the weak and poor and marginalized that I think would have raised the hackles of the Hebrew Prophets, and certainly Jesus. Recognizing this, today I was encountered a juxtaposition that speaks to me and our present time.

Psalm 141:2 “Set a guard over my mouth, O Lord; keep watch over the door of my lips.”

Sirach 22:27 “Who will set a guard over my mouth, and an effective seal upon my life, so that I may not fall because of them, and my tongue may not destroy me?”

This returned me yet again to a conversation I had with Henri Nouwen in 1992 about losing my temper with our then 7 year old son Erik (who will be 34 on Friday). Jesus said, “Out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks.” (Matthew 12:34; Luke 6:45) Henri told me, “If you want to know what is in your heart, listen to what you say when you speak before you think.” I have amended that to include what I manage to stop myself from saying with even a bit of thinking. Henri went on to say, “You cannot fix this by being more vigilant about what you speak. You can only fix it by what you put into your heart and store there. If you want to stop some of what you speak, you have to fill your heart with other things that will crowd them out so when you speak before you think, it will be the overflow of your intimacy with Jesus.”

I really do want to keep the focus on God’s reminder to me about my own heart and words today. With all that is associated with the internet and social media, I would suggest that what we post and tweet are also windows into the contents of our hearts. So much of what I see from my friends and from people in positions of power seems to suggest a lot of hearts overflowing with anger and disrespect. Enough said.

help your father in his old age,

Perhaps as much for curiosity as to be better informed, I have begun reading through The Apocrypha. I have known it as encouragement for righteous living in times of difficulty and opposition (for the Jews after the Babylonian Exile this meant the pressures to conform to Babylonian, Persian, and Greek paganism). Some of the stories are fascinating and instructive such as the story of Susanna and the Elders http://nstolpewriting.blogspot.com/…/susanna-as-case-study-….

Last weekend Candy and I visited her 92 year old Dad in MN. He is still living in his own home but with decreasing strength, we feel he needs more care than Sue, his part-time care giver can provide (as does she). He has been in that house 48 years and south Minneapolis his whole life, so considering a change is daunting.

Then I encountered this in Sirach 3:12-14. Understand, I am not taking this as some message from God about a specific plan to follow, but I found it did prompt me to think about how best to related to him in these days, to pray for him, and to share the quote with Candy, for whom it prompted gratitude for our children's care for us, especially Rachel and David with whom we share a duplex in Milwaukee and whose love was well expressed in conversation last evening.

My child, help your father in his old age,
and do not grieve him as long as he lives;
even if his mind fails, be patient with him;
because you have all your faculties do not despise him.
For kindness to a father will not be forgotten.

Contemplating Fires at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris and Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem

Both Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris and Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem burned yesterday. Both are not just religious shrines but cultural and artistic treasures. Both fires seem to have been accidental, thankfully not violent hatred. Also thankfully, no one died or was seriously injured in either fire. Given both the human propensity for provincialism and that the Notre Dame fire was more spectacular and damaging, that the Western press gave it more attention may be disappointing but is not surprising.

The antiquity of both sites speaks to the depth and universality of visceral reaction to these fires. The Notre Dame Cathedral was built from 1163-1345. The Al-Aqsa Mosque was first built in 705 and rebuilt on several occasions: 746, 780, 1187. Such ancient shrines suggest a sort of affirmation of immortality against our awareness of transitory human mortality. When their vulnerability to mundane hazards becomes obvious, our confidence in these anchors is shaken and we are confronted by the reality of human fragility. I recently wrote of contemplating mortality (http://nstolpepilgrim.blogspot.com/2019/02/contemplation-of-mortality.html) in which I quoted Psalm 49:10-13. This excerpt seems especially poignant today. “Though they named lands their own, mortals cannot abide in their pomp.”

I must confess to some ambivalence as I consider the future path for each of these sites. Repairing the damage to the Al-Aqsa Mosque seems to be less daunting or expensive than the Notre Dame Cathedral and will probably proceed without much notice. Notre Dame Cathedral was already being renovated, and that work may have sparked the fire. Many millions of dollars (Euros probably despite US news reporting) had already been raised for that effort and will certainly be used to repair the fire damage. Without a doubt, many millions more will be needed to do that now. The source of these funds seems to largely be private donors interest in cultural preservation and not the gifts of the faithful for the cathedral’s ministry. I know nothing about those workings, though I would not be surprised if the cultural had not eclipsed the religious function of the cathedral long ago. To be sure, even with all of our modern technology, we no longer have people with the craft skills or the materials or patience for the kind of work that built the cathedral in the first place, so it will not be “restored” to what it was. In other times, its upkeep was neglected and “restoration” efforts were not a return to the original.

The magnitude of the cost of even modest repair of yesterday’s damage is staggering. I do not think I am alone in my ambivalence at pouring that kind of money into this project when food and water, health and housing, peace and justice are so lacking for so many people in the world, and even in the prosperous, developed West (including the US). This evoked for me some of the emotions I had when visiting St. Peter’s Basilica when I was on pilgrimage in Rome in 2004. As I marveled at the grandeur  of the architecture, art, and history there, I grimaced at the realization that this was originally funded by the sale of indulgences to many poor and ordinary Christians in Europe that triggered Martin Luther’s reaction and unleased the Reformation. It’s ongoing upkeep is very expensive. I don’t want to look at all of this through my Protestant eyes, but first as a human and then as a follower of Jesus, who I can’t imagine commissioning such a project. Yet, I value what it contains and conveys.

So I am not at all suggesting that I know what should be done in either Paris or Jerusalem in the wake of yesterday’s fires. Rather, I am prompted in my contemplation to consider how all human life is transitory – even the things we consider permanent. We are tempted to think of the antiquities with which we identify as eternal or symbols of eternality, which strikes me as tantamount to idolatry. I am also prompted to ponder in God’s presence my priorities, and those of the society in which I live, for the care of people who live in need, often dire need, of the basics of life: food and water, health and housing, peace and justice. I am espousing no opinion or position. I am proposing no plan for proceeding. Nor am I suggesting wallowing in blame, shame, or helplessness. Rather, as the news of these fires unfolds, I intend to gaze unswervingly, unflinchingly into the cracks and spaces of my discomforts to catch a glimpse of the presence of God.

Jesus' Invitation to the Self-Righteous to Celebrate the Clearly Unrighteous

Last week, as I considered the Parable of the Prodigal Son in my lectio divina, I wrestled with how this came as the climax of three “lost and found” parables that Jesus told because “the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, ‘This fellow [Jesus] welcomes sinners and eats with them.’” (Luke 15:2) To just consider this a rebuke to the self-righteous religious leaders just seemed inadequate. Thank you, Sarah MacDonald, for your worship message for Milwaukee Mennonite Church yesterday that help clarify and articulate some of the thoughts I had but couldn’t quite assemble during the week.

Just as the father invited the elder son to join the celebration of the younger son’s return, with these parables, Jesus was inviting the religious leaders to loosen their grip on their stifling self-righteousness and enter into the joy of welcoming and celebrating those who were returning to life.

With the masterful stoke of superb storytelling, Jesus did not finish the story. We are left to wonder whether the elder son came into the party or not? With what attitude and emotions? What was the relationship between the brothers during and after the party? Did the younger brother become a hired hand? What happened after the father died? Similarly, Luke did not indicate the response of the religious leaders to whom Jesus told these parables. We know that as a body, they continued to oppose Jesus to his death. But we also know some followed Jesus – Nicodemus, Joseph of Arimathea. But here, Luke did not indicate any reaction or response from them to Jesus’ sharply pointed parables clearly directed at them. I think the open-endedness of  both Jesus and Luke were intentional to prompt our divergent thinking and responses.