Jesus summarized the law in two great commandments: love God and love your neighbor. The commandments in Exodus 20 show us what that love looks like in everyday life.
To honor father and mother is to build communities where generations care for one another, where wisdom is shared, and where no one is forgotten because of age or frailty.
To refrain from murder is not only to avoid violence but to actively protect life, to feed the hungry, comfort the lonely, welcome the stranger, and work for peace.
To avoid adultery is to cherish trust, fidelity, and relationships that help families and communities remain strong. To refrain from stealing is to ensure that others have what they need for a dignified life and to resist systems that deprive people of opportunity, justice, or hope.
To refuse false witness is to defend truth, speak honestly, and stand beside those whose voices are ignored or distorted. To resist coveting is perhaps one of the most difficult callings of all: learning to rejoice in our neighbor’s blessings rather than seeing another person’s life as something we deserve for ourselves.
We encounter this profound question to ponder: “What would it mean for my neighbor to have their best life now?” A question that transforms commandments from restrictions into a vocation. And perhaps it also transforms our evangelism.
Too often, evangelism has been understood primarily as persuading others to accept a set of beliefs. Yet the gospel spreads most powerfully when people experience communities that seek their flourishing. The early church grew when people saw lives marked by generosity, truthfulness, hospitality, and care for the vulnerable.
What if evangelism first asks: Who is not yet experiencing abundant life? Who is lonely, overlooked, burdened, or excluded? Who needs friendship, encouragement, practical help, or a listening ear?
Creator often shows this. When we seek our neighbor’s best life, our understanding of “neighbor” expands. It includes family members and longtime friends, but also newcomers, refugees, people of different backgrounds, those struggling financially, those carrying grief, young people searching for purpose, and older adults who long to remain connected. It includes people who agree with us and people who do not.
The church becomes a witness to Christ not only through what it proclaims, but through the lives it nurtures and the relationships it builds. In a world shaped by competition and comparison, Christians are called to become people who quietly ask, every day:
What does my neighbor need to flourish?
For in seeking the good of our neighbor, we discover the heart of God, a God who desires life, abundance, and hope for all people.
And perhaps this is one of the deepest forms of evangelism: living in such a way that others can glimpse, through us, the love of Christ and begin to imagine that God desires their best life too.
We went down the rabbit hole yesterday about the lawyer's justification that led to Jesus relating the Good Samaritan parable.
ReplyDeleteThe lawyer's question in the Good Samaritan story, “And who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:29) is fascinating because Luke tells us explicitly why he asked it: “wanting to justify himself.” Jesus responds not with a definition but with a story.
The positive and negative dimensions of justification here are worth exploring, especially because “justification” can mean something quite different in Lutheran theology.
The positive side of justifying yourself. There is something healthy and even necessary about wanting to justify oneself.
The lawyer is not simply a villain. He is a serious religious person. He knows the law, answers Jesus correctly, and wants to understand what faithful living requires. His question may arise from a legitimate desire for moral clarity, like all of us.
If I am commanded to love my neighbor, who exactly counts as my neighbor?
That's a reasonable question. We need boundaries, definitions, and practical ways of translating ideals into action.
Self-justification can also mean: Wanting our actions to make sense. We want to know that we're living consistently with our values.Taking moral responsibility seriously. The lawyer doesn't dismiss the commandment; he wrestles with it. Seeking reassurance. We naturally want to know, “Am I doing enough?”, and Protecting our moral identity. We want to believe that we are good people who act for good reasons.
In that sense, self-examination is not inherently bad. Christianity actually encourages it. The problem begins when self-examination becomes self-defense.
Luke's phrase is crucial: “But wanting to justify himself…” The question subtly changes from: “How can I love my neighbor?” to:“What are the minimum requirements I have to meet to consider myself righteous?”
That's a profound shift. Instead of allowing the commandment to open the heart, the lawyer tries to make it manageable. If “neighbor” can be narrowly defined, then perhaps I can love my neighbors without having to love everyone.
Jesus' parable explodes that strategy. The Samaritan doesn't ask: Does this wounded man qualify as my neighbor? He simply sees him.
And that's perhaps one of the most important contrasts in the story: The lawyer wants to define the neighbor. Jesus tells a story about becoming one.
Self-justification can become ways of escaping the deeper demand of love. The priest and Levite can be read this way. We don't know their motives, and Jesus doesn't tell us why they passed by. That's important, we shouldn't invent reasons for them. But the Samaritan's behavior contrasts sharply with theirs. He encounters a human being in need and acts before constructing an argument about why he doesn't have to.
Jesus' question is brilliant. The lawyer asks “Who is my neighbor?” and Jesus asks: “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”, reversing the question. The lawyer wants to identify the boundaries of his obligation.
There's an especially rich Lutheran dimension here. Luther's law and gospel can illuminate the story. The lawyer seems to approach the commandment as something that can establish his righteousness: Tell me what I must do, and let me know whether I've done it. But Jesus' story reveals how radically demanding the command actually is: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” The command doesn't give us a comfortable checklist. It exposes our tendency to limit love.That leads to a distinctly Lutheran insight: The purpose of the law isn't merely to tell us how good we are. It can also reveal how desperately we need grace.
The Samaritan becomes almost uncomfortable precisely because he makes the lawyer's attempt at self-justification impossible. The lawyer cannot walk away saying, “Fortunately, I have fulfilled the minimum definition of neighbor.” Instead, he has to say: “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus says: “Go and do likewise.”
Very Humbling.