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The Rev. Frank
Logue
Defining Myself It was a matter of definition. That’s why I went to see Jesus. It’s why I asked him, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” and more specifically, why I asked the follow up question, “And who is my neighbor?” I wanted to know, “Who is in?” “Who is out?” and “Where do I stand?” More precisely, and I was always one for precision, I wanted to know where Jesus drew the boundaries. I knew how I defined myself. I knew that my actions were always justified. I wanted to hear his definition, before I made up my mind about this new prophet that was setting the countryside ablaze with his teaching. As long as we are getting our definitions straight at the outset, I was not a lawyer. Not in the plain sense of that word. I did study law, but the law I studied would not land me alongside anyone in a Roman court. I studied the Law of Moses, the Torah. It was this law that I knew inside and out. It was this Law of Moses that defined things for me—telling me who was in, and more importantly who was out. In answer to my follow up question, Jesus gave a story. I must say I was quite impressed at first. The setup was perfect. The road from Jerusalem to Jericho. A man robbed and left for dead. It was all too realistic. Everyone knew that road was dangerous. It’s why I travel it, as most do, with others in a group. The man is lying there near death. First a temple priest goes by. Temple priests couldn’t touch a dead body or they would a lengthy purification rite before being able to serve in the temple. This is how I could really appreciate Jesus’ precision. Like a good rabbi, he had an eye for details and he noted that the priest was going down, literally downhill. Everyone knows that downhill means away from the Temple and so away from service. He was off duty and could have helped. Then a Levite, a priest who lives in the countryside did the same. This was no problem for me. I am all about strict observance of the law, which applies to all, not just a priest. I could see where Jesus was going. The hero of the story would be a good Torah observant Jew, someone who knew the law and acted on it. This was perfect. That’s when Jesus brought in the Samaritan. The Samaritan came near, saw the injured man and was “moved with pity.” Well, what Jesus actually said was the Samaritan felt Splanchnisomai. Splanchnisomai. There’s a word in need of definition. The root word meant “womb.” Splanchnisomai is a verb from the plural form of the noun. It meant literally “to womb” someone, to treat someone as a mother would treat the child in her womb. I knew the word well for it was a common Biblical word for God’s compassion and mercy, but it was a rare word otherwise. Splanchnisomai was reserved to describe God’s compassion and mercy. Before that day with Jesus I had not once heard any Jew ever use this word for God’s compassion used to describe the actions of any human. It really got under my skin that Jesus would attribute this sort of godly compassion to a Samaritan. After all, Samaritans were the ones who had intermarried with Assyrians and others bringing other religious practices to create a form of Judaism that was not only wrong, it was evil. That’s why Samaritans were so bad. It was because of people like Samaritans, or worse, the Romans, that we had to create clear boundaries. These are the people that made us need to clearly define ourselves. Yet the care Jesus had the Samaritan show the man in need was quite amazing. He cleaned his wounds, got him to an inn and paid the cost for his recovery and then left, leaving what followed to the injured man. The man would owe the Samaritan nothing. He wouldn’t even know who his roadside savior had been if he didn’t seek him out. So when Jesus asked his question, “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” The only possible answer was, “The Samaritan.” But I wasn’t going to fall for that set up. I was quicker on my feet and better with words that that. I said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Let’s at least keep definitions clear. It wasn’t being a Samaritan that made him good; it was the godly compassion that made him a neighbor to the injured man. “Go and do likewise,” Jesus said. Well I got the “go” part right. I walked away. Disenchanted. Disappointed. I had hoped for a great teacher, but Jesus clearly didn’t understand the way the law works, or the way the world works for that matter. Jesus would not make a great lawyer. Jesus overstated the case. He gave a preposterous example. A Samaritan with godly compassion? Really! It was like basing an argument on water running uphill. Maybe it could happen with the right force, but it didn’t happen. No one had seen either a compassionate Samaritan or water running uphill. No one I know anyway. We wouldn’t even look at a Samaritan, much less speak to one. Why make a Samaritan the hero of the story? The logical hero of that morality play of his was a good Torah observant Jew. He needed someone who kept the letter of the law as the example of what God expects humans to act like. Someone like…well…honestly speaking, me. I’m just being honest here. At least that’s what I thought. But I couldn’t get our encounter out of my head. That story kept running around in there. The story wouldn’t let me go. It was like a hoard of termites wear working away on that blockhead of mine. They were let lose on my tightly constructed façade as well. I knew that if I took Jesus’ way of seeing the world seriously, my whole way of living would come crumbling down to dust. That’s why, later, when I heard he had been put to death, I wasn’t surprised. Saddened, but not surprised. Jesus had upset people. He even had the Pharisees joining forces with King Herod’s followers and the Sadducees, the Temple priests, to bring him down. Those guys would hardly talk to each other. They would yell at each other. But not work together. It showed how much Jesus bothered them all. Jesus was breaking down the dividing walls between who was in and who was out. People in power like their divisions. Breaking down barriers between people didn’t help Rome any more than it helped the elite of Israel. The problem wasn’t just his story about the compassionate Samaritan, this was in everything he taught and everything he did. Some weeks after his death, I wanted to get the story straight. I talked to Nicodemus, a Pharisee I respected. I knew he would tell me the truth about Jesus’ crucifixion. After all, he had a front row seat as he was on the Sanhedrin. I sought Nicodemus out one evening for something more than a casual chat. He quickly confirmed most of the rumors. Jesus really did have a lot of people working together to silence him and his disciples. But Nicodemus said more. Much more. Nicodemus had become a part of The Way. I learned that’s what they were calling themselves, the people who still followed The Way of Jesus. I was a bit confused at first. Jesus was dead. His movement had ended tragically. Why would anyone follow him now? Of course, I had heard that Jesus’ body was gone. I had even heard that some claimed he was resurrected. I would never thought someone of Nicodemus standing would fall for that. Nicodemus was a leader among our people. Well respected. And so when he looked me in the eye and told me that he had seen the resurrected Jesus with his own eyes, hugged him with his own arms, cried on his shoulder, I was shaken. I thanked him for his time, but I left. I had to get away and think. I went away deeply troubled by our nighttime encounter. Either Nicodemus was crazy or I had been wrong about Jesus, dangerously wrong. I thought through everything I knew about Jesus. Everything I had seen and heard that wasn’t wild rumor, fit perfectly into one neat picture. And all of it fit with that encounter of ours. Jesus taught people to love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind and soul and love your neighbor as yourself. No Jew could fault him on that teaching. It was how he defined “neighbor” that got Jesus killed. For Jesus, the word neighbor meant everyone, even our enemies. I could see that in this way Jesus redefined everything. Jesus’ way of looking at the law turned the whole equation inside out. I started with me. I always started with me. I knew that I followed the letter of the law and so I defined myself “Good.” Jesus started with God and then defined the one who acts like God would act to be good. Starting that way, it is not about me and who I am obligated to love. It doesn’t work that way. It starts with God and coming to know God. I come into the equation by having a relationship with God and recognizing the love God has shown me as a gift to be shared. Shared with who? Well everybody. Especially, the poor, the needy, the outcast. Everyone I had defined as being on the outside were the ones to be shown the most love. Late that night after my talk with Nicodemus, well on toward morning, I could see the truth clearly. Everything Jesus did fit with everything he taught and all of it pointed to the truth of what Nicodemus had told me. Jesus was the Messiah. He had been put to death and rose from the grave. I knew this was true because I could feel him there with me as I thought it all through. I also knew what it meant for Jesus to be the resurrected Lord. By definition I had to change. Change was easy at that point. I looked back on my encounter with Jesus with tears in my eyes. I cried for shame. I had been so full of myself, so arrogant. I had been so overflowing full of my own self-righteousness that I hadn’t noticed how Jesus looked through all my pretension and loved me anyway. I thought I deserved God’s love more than anyone, and that night after speaking with Nicodemus, I was humbled. Pride had been my chief sin. I looked down on everyone. I wore my own holiness like a crown. I had actually spoken to God’s Son, the Holy One of Israel, and acted holier than thou! Can you imagine it? I wept until there were no tears left. Then I prayed to Jesus. I asked him for forgiveness for my pride and arrogance. Forgiveness for those I had cast out. Forgiveness for all I failed to love because I saw them as worthless. Forgiveness for everything. I poured out my heart completely. But I didn’t feel empty. I felt full. Full of love—the love God was showing me. I wanted to share it. I first thought of finding Nicodemus and telling him the news of my change of heart. But by dawn, I just wanted to head north from Jerusalem straight to Samaria. I heard there was a village there that converted to faith in Jesus after a woman met Jesus at a well. I wanted to meet these good Samaritans. But I hadn’t even cleared the city walls before I realized the love I felt was expanding more. I didn’t need to find that particular village. Because when I looked at Samaritans with God’s eyes, I realized they were all good, or could be, as God loved each Samaritan as much as he loved me. So as the morning rays lit the tops of the city walls, I headed out of Jerusalem like an arrow shot from a bow. I was walking north to Samaria to find a Samaritan or two to hug and to tell them that Jesus loves them and so do I. I was a nut. I was crazy that morning with God’s love. But I didn’t care. I had my whole world redefined and it felt great. Amen.
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