Who is my neighbor?
This season of profound grief has made me take a new look at some old Scriptures. One of those passages is a story Jesus told in the book of Luke. (10:25-37) You probably know it well.
A lawyer asked Jesus the question, “Who is my neighbor?” In reply, Jesus told a story of a man, attacked, beaten and left for dead by the side of the road. A priest happened by and, when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. Soon, a Levite came along and also passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, despised and rejected by the Jews, came to where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, using his own valuable resources. 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?” asked Jesus. The lawyer replied, “The one who had mercy on him.”
It is implied that the wounded man was a Jew. One of their own. A “brother.” Someone they worshiped with. Someone they did life with. Perhaps, even a friend.
And that man was broken. Robbed of everything, including his dignity. Stripped of all covering and pretense and illusion of safety. Defenseless. Vulnerable. Bleeding out. Desperate and very, very alone.
Sounds a bit like grief, doesn’t it?
We’re just going along our merry way and then, boom, our little bubble of security is burst and pain becomes our closest companion. The lonliness is suffocating. What had previously only happened to others is now our harsh reality. And there is no escape.
The sad thing about this story (and perhaps, our story) is that those whom one would’ve expected to help, don’t. Won’t. I wonder what went through the mind of the dying man as he surely saw people walk by, pretending not to see him bleeding out on the side of the road. A priest (the B.C. intercessors between God and humans) and a Levite (the Worship Leaders of the day) both saw their brother’s condition and chose to turn a blind eye. They chose not to enter into his suffering with him. They chose to remain untouched by the messiness of his condition. They chose to let him suffer alone.
We rightly judge these characters in this story… yet they. are. us.
Someone once told me, “The casual multitude is not willing to invest in extended grief that is not their own… but your inner circle will continue to be an anchor.” So, that begs the question; who is my inner circle? Who is my “neighbor?” Who is willing to invest in my messy grief? Who will press in when the rest of the world walks away? Who will love me as they love themselves? The answer may surprise us. It certainly surprised me.
Even more surprising was what I saw when I took a hard look at myself and realized how often I have been the priest and levite in someone else’s story. True Christ-likeness means I am willing to invest (give of my own self, time, resources, emotions, etc.) to walk with others through a season of suffering. That’s what the Good Samaritan did. He probably had old woundedness of his own from past prejudice. Yet, in mercy, he set all that aside. Although he wasn’t even considered good enough to be a brother or friend, his heart was moved with compassion on the sufferer and he gave. He sacrificed his time, his resources, his schedule, his physical help, his heart….
For as long as it took.
Don’t miss that! He entered into someone else’s suffering for the long haul. And that, my friend, is Jesus’ definition of a neighbor.
The thing that sets the true child of God apart is that he rushes in when the rest of the world rushes out. And then, he stays.
“Go and do likewise.”
3/14/2022