12 WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?

WHO IS MY NEIGHBOR?

“But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbor?” — Luke 10:29 A LAWYER, a teacher of Biblical law, one whose office it was to read and expound the Scriptures to the people, stood up to question Jesus. Pie addressed him respectfully, calling him “Master.” but he was not a sincere inquirer, for we are told that his question was intended to “tempt” the Lord. Either this lawyer supposed that he could worst Jesus in an argument, or he hoped to “catch him inhiswords” — Mark 12:13 to draw out of Him some expression which might be turned against Him with the people. But whatever his motive, his question was certainly one of tremendous importance:

“Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” — Luke 10:23 The question classifies the man. He was a legalist, a man who conceives of eternal life as an inheritance — something to be received at some future time, as the fitting reward of the good, never dreaming that it is God’s free and immediate gift to the hopelessly bad. He was a type of millions who, after twenty centuries, do not yet understand the gospel. Christ, taking him upon his own ground of doing, puts before him God’s only standard — the law.

“What is written in the law? How readest thou?” — Luke 10:26 The question thus turned upon himself, the teacher of the law answers in the words of Scripture:

“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself.” — Luke 10:27 From the point of view of salvation by goodness, this answer is perfect, and Jesus commends it:

“Thou hast answered right!” — Luke 10:28 But Jesus did not stop there. Men are not saved, even under grace, by right answers to questions. The scribes could tell the wise men where the Messiah should be born, but their own feet never trod one step of the road that led from Jerusalem down to the humble manger at Bethlehem. An orthodox creed, desirable as it is to have creeds orthodox, never saved a soul. We may believe implicitly every word of the soundest confession of faith ever written, and be lost. But no soul ever trusted the Lord Jesus Christ, though ever so feebly, and was lost. Christ therefore adds one short sentence to his commendation of the lawyer’s reply. A very little addition it is, but it seems to produce a profound effect:

“This do, and thou shalt live.” — Luke 10:28

Law is something to be done, not talked about. If a soul seeks salvation by good works, the works must be performed. And this is why the law can only condemn; for, besides Jesus, no man ever kept the law.

It is manifest that the lawyer felt the force of Christ’s quiet words, for his next question betrayed his uneasiness. He completely abandoned the command about loving God with all his heart, soul, strength and mind, and was seriously doubtful whether he had loved his neighbor as himself. Had he been as anxious for his neighbor’s health and temporal prosperity and good name as for his own? Certainly not, and yet this was the standard of the law. And this must be a love of deeds, not merely of words, nor of sentiment. He must have labored as diligently to clothe and feed his needy neighbor and to educate his neighbor’s children and provide him and them with rational and innocent pleasures as to procure these things for himself and his own. Two roads now lay open before him. He might fall at Jesus’ feet confessing his sinfulness and plead for mercy, or he might attempt to justify himself. He chose the latter, making the fatal mistake of leaving God out of his scheme.

“But he, willing to justify himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbour? And Jesus answering said, A certainmanwent down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and woundedhimand departed, leavinghimhalf dead. And by chance there came down a certain priest that way: and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. And likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and lookedon him, and passed by on the other side. But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassionon him,And went tohim,and bound up his wounds, pouring in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gavethemto the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee.” — Luke 10:29-35

What words! They are nineteen hundred years old now, but custom has never staled their sweetness. They strike a note never before heard in ethics — the note of universality; of the solidarity of humanity. What a picture to unroll to this proud, self-satisfied moralist! He had imagined that his neighbors were his wife and children, his dependent relatives, his associates in business, his employer and social friends. The “neighborhood” to him had been his own immediate environment. He had been honest, generous and kindly; scrupulous in the discharge of every obligation, a constant and zealous attendant upon his own synagogue services; conscientious in the performance of all the observances of respectable, moral, well-dressed, well-to-do religionists. He had what he conceived to be a righteous hatred of all Samaritans, a prosperous man’s contempt for all shiftless, improvident people, and a moral, law abiding man’s contempt for “sinners,” — criminals. These had been his ideas. But he looked down the Jericho road and saw a nameless wretch, stripped of his clothing, lying by the wayside in a half-dying state. Farther along the road he saw the receding back of a priest whom he venerated, and of a Levite whom he respected. Evidently they had considered that the man by the side of the road had no claims upon them. And then he saw a hated Samaritan, kneeling by the side, and with his own hands ministering to the needs of the bleeding victim of the thieves, and upon his own beast carrying him to a place of rest and security.

I do not know that it was so, but I feel sure there was a pause, perhaps a long one, after the last words of that parable. The lawyer saw what was coming. This, then, was the answer to his question:

“Who is my neighbour?” — Luke 10:29

Jesus meant to say that the bleeding wretch down there among the jagged rocks and under the hot sun of the cursed Jericho road, was “his neighbour.” The man was not his relation, he was not a member of his synagogue, was not even of the same race. He might be a very bad man, he might have brought on his misfortunes by his own carelessness or improvidence. It did not appear that the Samaritan inquired into these things, even. This also was clear to the lawyer: The Jericho road did not end at Jericho; it passed the frontier of Judea, it went into all the world. And by the side of it lay all the helpless, all the suffering, all the ignorant, all the degraded, all the vile. That awful Jericho road ran in front of every leper’s hut, of every criminal’s dungeon, every orphan’s cheerless home. By its side he saw the drunkard and the harlot, and it did not matter that the drunkard might be a king, or the harlot a queen. The Jericho road was lined with palaces as well as hovels. Wherever in this world sin had brought shame or suffering or sorrow, there ran the Jericho road. And the meaning of this Galilean was, that all of these sufferers were his “neighbors.” If that were so, then the meaning of the law must be that he, if he expected to win heaven on the ground of merit —of doing—must love all these miserables! He must feel toward each sufferer precisely as he would feel toward himself, if in like case? Precisely. That is the law. And an instant’s reflection convinces that it must be so. For God loves them all — loves them so unutterably that

“he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” — John 3:16

If I demand entrance to heaven on the ground of character, it must be heavenly character. To love God with our whole soul, and to love our neighbor as ourselves, are requirements most obviously righteous, for God is entirely lovable, and our neighbors are at least as lovable as ourselves. But who can stand the test? And lest there should be any doubt in that lawyer’s mind, or in ours, Jesus put one last question:

“Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves? And he said, He that shewed mercy on him.” — Luke 10:36-37 It was the one answer possible.

It is no part of my purpose to enter into the detail of the symbolism of this beautiful parable. Let us look, rather, at the great outstanding fact. Jesus is the Good Samaritan. The law tells man what he ought to do, but can not give him power to do it. It shows him what he ought to be, and by contrast, what he is not. The priest could have presented an offering for the man by the wayside, if only the man could have gone up to Jerusalem. But he was half dead and could not stir. There is no remedy in the Mosaic economy for a bleeding, helpless wretch by the wayside. Neither can the law make the priests love that wretch. Each of us is the man that fell among thieves; we all travel the Jericho road, and the nameless Samaritan, bending over us with the oil of healing and the wine of joy, brings us grace, not law. And in this grace, see three wonderful elements. First, God’s grace in Christ Jesus comes to the sinner where he is. We have not to ascend into heaven to bring Christ down; He is here to seek and to save us, and He comes all the way. The sinner has not even to lift himself upon his elbow. Nay, he has not to lift so much as his eyes to heaven. The Lord Jesus Christ comes; He comes to the self-righteous Pharisee in the pew and the drunkard in the gutter, — Christ, with tender compassion, bends over him just there in the mire where he is. Second, God’s grace in Christ Jesus ministers salvation to the sinner just as he is. If he has faith to turn from his sins and to receive salvation as a free gift, the Good Samaritan, bending so patiently over him, will impart eternal life, through the new birth, at once. And this Good Samaritan, Christ Jesus, keeps those whom He saves. The Samaritan sets men upon his own beast. Just as the shepherd in the parable, when he finds the sheep that was lost, does not drive it to the fold with blows, nor even lead it thither, but “layethiton his shoulders,” — Luke 15:5 so does God’s grace in Christ Jesus finish the cure it begins. Even at the inn, the Good Samaritan pays all the charge.