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