I said last week that I hated the title “Good Samaritan”. It’s a week later and I still hate it. Last week, I mentioned hating it because of the negative cultural connotations built into it: that the Samaritan was good even though he was a Samaritan. If I told a story about, say, Mexican firefighters crossing the border to help save Texas flood victims, then called it the tale of “The Good Mexicans”, how would that sound to you? Or if I recounted the time an Egyptian refugee who came to the United States and served the community as an imam and hospital chaplain, then called him “The Good Muslim” would that sit right?
That, in a nutshell, is the first reason I don’t like the unofficial title of Jesus’ magnificent parable. The second reason is I don’t like how we use the word “good.” I think we put far too much emphasis on the subjective, arbitrary, moralistic standard of “being good.” Being a good Christian, a good person, a good man, a good woman, a good American – these are simultaneously loaded and empty phrases: They usually end up having a lot more to do with how we appear than who we are.
Jesus knows as much. In one instance, a man comes to Jesus and asks, “Good teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus immediately responds, “why do you call me good? Only God is good,” and then follows up with, “you know the commandments.” Or in other words, “You already know the thing to do, why are we talking about this?”
I am often looking for ways to appear good to others, to justify my own goodness to myself, to you, to God. Jesus rejects this outright. “Don’t even call me good,” he says, though if ever one was meant to be called that, it would be him. Throughout Jesus’ ministry, he seems far less interested in people being good than he is in them being merciful, loving, forgiving, working for peace, justice, and equity, and above all, ready to spot the presence of God in the person right in front of them. Awareness, readiness, and willingness to do the work are infinitely more interesting to Jesus than abstractions like goodness.
When asked what matters most in this world to God, Jesus says loving God and loving your neighbor – and he makes it clear that these things are connected, and that they are on the same level. It is phrased as a commandment, yes, but more than that, this kind of love is a defining feature of anyone who says they follow Jesus. If I call myself a Christian and I do not love my neighbor, I am fundamentally missing the point. Conversely, if I do not call myself Christian, but I love my neighbor, I understand Jesus much better than the unloving Christian. And please remember that this love Jesus describes is not about sentiments and feelings – it’s about action. It’s about the practical work of caring for others.
And it’s essential to say that this work is doable. Always feeling the right way about people is impossible. Impossible. You cannot always think the loving thought or feel the loving feeling. Our belief that God’s command to love amounts to feeling a certain way is one of the reasons we relegate the way of Jesus to wide-eyed idealism. God’s command to love is not an impossible command. It is a clear and defining directive as to where we should center our lives, and how we should expend our efforts. It’s not a maxim: it’s a marching order.
A Christian theologian named Walter Brueggemann died recently. He lived for a while in Cincinnati, and was a friend to Church of Redeemer, who would preach and teach here every once in a while. His work has meant a lot to me personally as well, in my approach to Scriptures, and in my relationship with God and myself. In one commentary, he wrote something that changed my life, whether he meant to or not. He rejected the idea often popular (and even doctrinal) for many Christians that humanity is in a fallen state and is incapable of obeying God. He pointed to what Moses says in Deuteronomy: “Surely, this commandment that I am commanding you today is not too hard for you, nor is it too far away.” Moses tells us God’s commandment of love is doable. Or as Brueggemann puts it, “humankind can indeed obey the purposes of God.”
You and I, we are capable of loving our neighbor.
Sure, none of us are flawless. Honestly, we are all hot messes. What would it even mean to decide who among us is good? Additionally, we Christians often want to make the point that good works don’t get you to Heaven. That’s true: Our good works are not tickets to paradise. It is nothing less than the grace, mercy, and loving kindness of God that draws us into eternity. But the point of Christianity is not just where you go when you die – it’s how you love while you’re here. And Jesus believes that while we are here on earth, we are capable of obeying God, of doing the work of love.
Jesus tells the story of the injured Israelite and the Samaritan that saves him, then asks his listener, who was the neighbor in my story? The answer comes back immediately, “The one who showed mercy.” To which Jesus immediately responds, “Go and do likewise.”
Go and do likewise. Jesus does not say, “Aspire to this. Work towards this. Hope for this. Pray for this. Seek one day to be a merciful person in your heart and so understand the heart of God!” No. He says, go be merciful. You too can fulfill the greatest commandment.
You cannot save the world, but you can do the loving thing right now. This Christian life is not a riddle, not an unsolvable equation. “I’m not Jesus,” is not the excuse you think it is. You know how to show mercy. You know how to forgive. You know how to seek the good and humanity of others. You know how to make something other than yourself the center of your world. And the Christian life is not idealistic. The work of love and mercy is not something to be reserved for a perfect world – it’s the practical on-the-ground work that fulfills the definitive commandment. Jesus wants to relieve you of the burden of trying to be a good person whatever that means, so that you can simply do justice, love mercy, and walk humbly. Go and do likewise.
