The ministry next door
Commentary
A friend tells that from time to time his wife chides him for what he is able to walk past around the house without seeming to notice. It's easy to overlook a toy that needs to be picked up; clothes that ought to be put away; trash that is ready to be taken out, etc. She calls it being typically male. He defends himself by claiming the shortcoming as a virtue. "I just mind my own business," he says. "I don't pay any attention to the things that don't belong to me because I'm just good at minding my own business."
Admittedly, he says that her complaint is correct. He ought to be more observant and take more initiative with such things. And while it is mostly in jest that he says he's just minding his own business, his joke does have this element of truth in it: We have taken a vice and relabeled it a virtue in our culture.
Minding one's own business is esteemed as a positive trait in our society. It stands in contrast to such undesirable characteristics as nosiness, presumptuousness, and being judgmental. It is the natural extension of a culture that has reduced the grand concept of liberty to a preoccupation with personal rights. If one will mind his or her own business and every other person does the same, that is the best policy to guarantee that we won't trespass onto each other's property.
In reality, the exaltation of minding one's own business is often little more than codified selfishness. What we have deemed a virtue, an earlier generation would have recognized as a case of being self-absorbed.
Each of the three lections for this Sunday challenges us to swim upstream against the "mind-your-own-business" current.
Amos 7:7-17
At first glance, it doesn't seem like much of a threat. God is going to set a plumb line in the midst of his people. So what? It's not a symbol of warfare, not an icon of destruction. Wouldn't it seem far more menacing for God to set a sword, a dagger, or a spear in the midst of his people?
Amos was a judgment prophet. He preached a relentless judgment message, and a plumb line is, literally, a symbol of judgment. It may not be a weapon of punishment, but a plumb line is an instrument of judgment, and as such it can be a daunting image.
We know what it is to feel intimidated by symbols of judgment. See how reluctant some folks are about getting on a scale. See how uneasy we get while waiting for test results from the doctor. See how apprehensive people are about X-ray and MRI machines. The truth is that we human beings are uncomfortable with being tested and measured. We are afraid of instruments of judgment because we are afraid to discover what's wrong with us.
The Lord stood by a wall holding a plumb line. He is the doctor holding the ominous test results. Israel was going to be measured. The people of Israel were going to find out what was wrong with them.
We discover throughout the book of Amos that plenty was wrong with Israel. From personal immorality -- to social injustice -- to empty religion, the nation had become a complete disappointment to God.
It's interesting to note that the "high places" and "sanctuaries" were the specified targets of God's wrath (v. 9). If God were threatening with human logic, he would take aim at other things -- military fortifications, royal storehouses, places of commerce and prosperity. Those, too, would be laid waste in the destruction, of course, but they would be collateral damage. The real objects of God's judgment, however, are the things he hates. It is the sites and symbols of Israel's unfaithfulness that God had in his crosshairs.
The altar at Bethel was a longstanding and prominent site and symbol of Israel's unfaithfulness. It dated back to the very formation of the northern kingdom (1 Kings 12:20-31), and God's promised doom for it followed shortly after (1 Kings 13:1-5). And just as the anonymous prophet from Judah prophesied against that altar during the reign of Jeroboam I (931-910 B.C.), now this prophet, Amos from Judah, prophesied against it during the reign of Jeroboam II (783-743 B.C.).
Amaziah's expression of concern is a fascinating one: "The land is not able to bear all (Amos') words." We live in a country where our speech is protected, and yet even here we have some understanding of Amaziah's concern. The FCC struggles continually with what words the public airways cannot bear. The unwritten rules of political correctness deem certain words as insufferable in our society. And the Supreme Court justice of years ago explained that words of false alarm in a public setting were not to be tolerated.
The Bible understands the power and importance of words. They can crush or heal (Proverbs 12:18), they reveal the heart (Matthew 15:10-20), and they dictate our fate (Matthew 12:36-37). Our words are explicitly at issue in two of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:7, 16), and God's word is creative (e.g., Genesis 1:3), effective (Isaiah 55:11), authoritative (Luke 7:6-8; 8:24-25), and incarnate (John 1:14). Amaziah is neither alarmist nor hyperbolic when he says that the land could not bear Amos' words.
Amaziah's counsel to Amos is familiar. Mind your own business. Judah and Israel had separated nearly 200 years earlier, and there had been a fair amount of antagonism between the two kingdoms ever since. As the altar at Bethel dated back to that split, it also symbolized the split, and Amaziah didn't have any tolerance for another prophet from neighboring Judah to come talking down Israel's altar.
Then, in dramatic contrast to those folks who "enhance" their resumes, the prophet Amos makes a strange claim about his qualifications: "I am no prophet, nor a prophet's son." Unlike those who were prophets for profit, Amos was not a professional prophet. He was merely called by God to go and speak his word. Like others before and after (cf., Numbers 23:4-12; Jeremiah 20:8-9; Acts 4:18-20), Amos could not be quieted. He could not ply his trade elsewhere; he could only do what God had told him to.
Colossians 1:1-14
Colossians stands out from the rest of Paul's epistles, for Paul's relationship to this church was different. Unlike his letters to Corinth, Thessalonica, and Philippi, for example, Paul is not writing here to a church that he founded. The larger region was familiar to him from his missionary travels, of course, and he clearly knew a good deal about the Colossian church. Still, it was not his church.
The interest we take in something that belongs to someone else reveals a lot about us. Sometimes that interest looks like envy. Sometimes it is overly critical. And sometimes we take no interest at all. If a thing doesn't involve us then we may be indifferent to it.
Paul's interest in Colossae is exemplary. In the opening portion of his letter to the Christians there, we detect no less affection for and devotion to them than what we see in his letters to any of his own churches. His joy at their salvation and growth in grace, as well as his fervent and continual prayers for them, reveal a parental kind of love and concern for the Colossians, even though they are not his own spiritual children.
Paul even cares enough to correct them.
Paul's purpose in writing is not immediately apparent from the introductory passage that is our selected lection. The concern that prompts the letter, however, is an issue of false teaching influencing the Colossian church. Specifically, Paul wrote to correct the Colossians' Christology, reminding them that Christ is unique and superior, and that full salvation is found in him.
In relation to our larger theme this Sunday, it is noteworthy that Paul did not just mind his own business. He did not ignore the Colossians simply because they were not technically his responsibility. Instead, with genuine care and concern, he went beyond his natural jurisdiction and wrote to address those matters that needed correction.
The passage at hand is typical of the introductory sections of Paul's epistles -- a salutation, and an extended greeting that includes Paul's thanksgiving and blessing for the people. Though somewhat standard material, every line of Paul's writing is an exegetical feast. Even the routine conventions that precede his real reason for writing are filled with doctrine, beauty, and insight.
William Barclay observes that Paul identifies the Colossian Christians in terms of two locations: "in Christ" and "in Colossae." "A Christian always moves in two spheres. He is in a certain place in this world; but he is also in Christ. He lives in two dimensions. He lives in this world whose duties he does not treat lightly; but above and beyond that he lives in Christ."
That dual reality is the context of all that follows, both for the epistle and for every Christian.
That we are "in Colossae" brings with it challenges, obstacles, and pitfalls. There is much that might mislead us, or even defeat us, here in this world. Accordingly, the saints in Colossae must be "prepared to endure everything with patience."
But the people of God are sent, not sentenced, to this world. We are in Colossae for a purpose: to "lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him" and to "bear fruit in every good work." The Colossian Christians are themselves the fruition of Epaphras' gospel work, and that gospel work is "bearing fruit and growing in the whole world."
We are of little use in Colossae, however, if we are not also, and especially, in Christ. He accounts for the Colossians' hope, love, and strength. And he is the one about whom Paul especially writes.
Christ is at the center. Paul is his apostle (v. 1) and Epaphras his minister (v. 7). Christ is the object of the Colossians' faith (v. 4), they have been "transferred" into his kingdom (v. 13), and it is in him that they "have redemption, the forgiveness of sins" (v. 14). Even before Paul begins to address the doctrinal concerns he has, he cannot help but reflect the central importance and unique role of Christ.
Finally, Paul's phrase "power of darkness" is an interesting one, for it occurs only one other time in the New Testament. In the Gethsemane scene in Luke, Jesus observes of his arrestors, "This is your hour, and the power of darkness!" (Luke 22:53). The two appearances of the phrase combine to paint a gospel picture. How appropriate that Christ should rescue us from the very power that inclines us oppose him.
Luke 10:25-37
Play a word association game with your congregation, and the cue word "Samaritan" is very likely to prompt the response "good." So familiar is this parable of Jesus that "good" and "Samaritan" have been effectively married in the minds of our people.
That fact, of course, becomes an impediment to understanding the story. Just as "Pharisee" has come to have a negative connotation in the minds of our people, so "Samaritan" enjoys a positive connotation. And both developments put us rather at odds with the people of Jesus' day.
A moviegoer could not understand an old Western if he presumed that the black hats were the good guys and the white hats were the bad guys. Likewise, the people in our pews cannot fully understand this parable of Jesus for as long as they have "good" attached to "Samaritan." Jesus used a Samaritan in his parable precisely because his Jewish audience had a prejudice against the Samaritans. Because of the parable, however, our people ironically have developed a prejudice in favor of Samaritans.
The priest and the Levite failed in a larger matter than mere neighborliness. They failed to be obedient to the Mosaic Law, with which they were no doubt familiar, while the Samaritan fulfilled it. God had instructed his people to stop and help even an enemy's animal in difficulty (Exodus 23:4-5) and to be compassionate toward the foreigners in their midst (23:9). That the priest and the Levite deliberately bypassed their needy fellow countryman while the antagonized Samaritan stopped to help is a great shame for those wearing the white hats.
Imagine an injured football player lying on the field, neglected and stepped over by his own teammates, trainers, and doctors, while members of the opposing team tend to him. Such is the nonsensical picture that Jesus paints for the people.
The purpose of the picture was ostensibly to answer a question. In fact, however, Jesus changed the question.
The setting is a provocative conversation with an expert in the Law. Twice the lawyer asked Jesus a question, and twice Jesus turned the matter around so that the lawyer had to suggest an answer of his own. In both instances, Jesus elicits from the man precisely the answers he himself sought, which was itself rather lawyerly.
Jesus affirmed the lawyer's first answer -- his assessment of the most essential commandments. The lawyer, however, challenged Jesus to define the terms of one of those commandments: neighbor. The Law instructed the Israelites to love their neighbors, but the lawyer wondered just who was his neighbor.
Then comes the parable, with its several surprises, followed by Jesus' question back to the lawyer: "Which of these three was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?"
Not only does Jesus not directly answer the lawyer's question -- "Who is my neighbor?" -- but he turns it into a different question -- "Which of these three was a neighbor?" Jesus did not attempt a legal definition of "neighbor." That's the kind of thing an expert in the Law -- as well as a good many of us -- could so easily get caught up in and preoccupied with. Instead, Jesus offered a no-nonsense example of a neighbor.
How typical -- and how challenging -- that Jesus spurned the theoretical in favor of the practical. So it was also when he was confronted with the question of paying taxes to the emperor (Matthew 22:15-20). And so it was when he was interviewed about two tragic current events (Luke 13:1-5).
In the end, therefore, our Gospel Lection includes two examples for us to follow: both the Samaritan and Jesus. Jesus' example encourages us to sift through whatever distractions surround us and keep our focus on what is most important. The Samaritan's example shows us how true love works.
Application
If minding my own business is my maxim, then I will not serve God very effectively. Certainly none of the heroes in our three lections were guilty of just minding their own business. Instead, all three passages feature some expression of a "next-door ministry" -- that is, a ministry to folks who are your neighbors, but who are not your family or your own kind.
The passage from Colossians is least apparent to be a part of this theme, although the epistle does fit. The Christians in Colossae, you recall, were not Paul's own converts, and the Colossian church was not his church. Still, the Christians there were familiar to him as nearby neighbors of areas he visited and cities where there were churches he had founded. And so, even though Paul did not have the kind of direct responsibility for the Colossian church that he had for others, he still felt compelled to write them with his concerns about their Christology.
In the case of the Amos passage, the prophet is from Judah, but he goes to preach in neighboring Israel. Neither his presence nor his preaching are welcome, but he is nevertheless faithful about his "next-door ministry."
Finally, in the familiar parable of the Good Samaritan, the unlikely half-breed neighbor is the one who helps the victim. The Samaritan stretches the lawyer's understanding -- and ours -- of who and what a neighbor is.
So it is that I cannot serve God effectively if I am only minding my own business. Not because God calls me to be nosey, or presumptuous, or judgmental. But rather, it is because God calls me to mind his business.
Alternative Applications
1) Amos 7:7-17. Amos' image of the Lord holding a plumb line invites a natural question: How do we measure up? If the Lord held his plumb line in the midst of our nation, our church, my family, or my life, would he find everything standing straight and true?
The Amos selection does not contain within it a definitive word on what the Lord's plumb line looks like or precisely how it measures. We might make use of the other two lections, however, to suggest some insights into God's plumb line.
In the Gospel Lection, for instance, we might say that the Samaritan is God's plumb line. He is clearly meant to be a model for us (Luke 10:37). And so if the Lord set the Samaritan's example up against us, would we be flush?
Likewise, in the Colossians passage, we might use the phrase "lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him" (1:10) as a plumb line. What parts of my life are not worthy of the Lord? What goes on in our church that does not square with being fully pleasing to him?
Amos does not tell us exactly what God's plumb line looks like. The rest of scripture can help us with that. Amos does warn, however, that when God sets his plumb line in the midst of his people, he wants to find us living straight and true.
2) Luke 10:25-37. The Parable of the Good Samaritan is a challenging text for a preacher, partly because there is so much to say, and partly because it has all been said.
Since the central issue of the parable is love and God's commandment to love, it is worth exploring the Samaritan's love. We assume that the Samaritan embodied for Jesus the kind of neighbor-love required by the Law. It was an inclusive love that trespassed the borders of prejudice and hate. It was a roll-up-its-sleeves love that got personally involved. And it was a costly love that demanded an investment, a sacrifice, from the Samaritan.
Meanwhile, we might go a step further and make the case that the Samaritan's love was incarnational. It is certainly reminiscent of Jesus, who embodied God's love. Jesus was continually demonstrating a love that crossed borders of prejudice and hate, much to the consternation of his critics. The incarnation is the ultimate roll-up-its-sleeves love that gets involved personally. And there is neither denying nor calculating the costliness of God's love in Christ.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 82
There is often a distinction made between the pastoral or priestly work of the church and the prophetic work. Pastoral care has to do with the care of souls; the offering of comfort in times of loss. The priestly character of pastoral work seeks to mediate the presence of God to those who are hurting.
The prophetic work of the church, however, involves challenging the faith community to act ethically, and also to speak the truth to the powerful. The prophets of the Old Testament often positioned themselves between the king and the community of faith and challenged each to faithfully observe their various divine appointments. It is this in-between position taken by the prophet, which has led to the claim that a prophet cannot function as pastor, and vice versa. A prophet is in the community, but not quite.
Psalm 82 demonstrates that this line of thinking may not be entirely true. The psalmist has created a poem that succeeds in comforting the afflicted while at the same time afflicting the comfortable.
The psalmist begins by making the claim that God sits at the head of all tables. God is the King of all kings, the Ruler over all rulers. In doing this, the psalmist effectively subordinates the power of earthly kings to the dictates and expectations of God's will. If we are going to speak the truth to the powerful, it's not a bad idea to begin the conversation by putting in proper perspective just how limited the power of the powerful really is.
Once the conversation begins, however, the psalmist moves immediately to the prophetic judgment: "How long will you judge unjustly and show partiality to the wicked? Give justice to the weak and the orphan; maintain the right of the lowly and the destitute."
The judgment continues as an aside, as if God turns to the psalmist himself. "They have neither knowledge nor understanding, they walk around in darkness" (v. 5).
The purpose of the aside is twofold. First, the powerful overhear God's complaint but the worshiping audience also overhears. The psalmist presents the report of this council meeting in the context of the worship. Those present for prayer overhear God's condemnation and complaint. And in the aside, God speaks to his people about their leaders, telling them that the leaders are in the dark.
This amazing device has the effect of simultaneously subverting the power of the unjust leaders while at the same time emboldening the community of faith. These words assure them that God is really on their side.
It is also in overhearing the conversation between God and the leaders that the pastoral care feature of this psalm has its effect. It is among those who are victimized by them that God condemns the powerful. It is in the hearing of those who are hurting that God orders the princes of the land to "rescue the weak and the needy" (v. 4).
In the real world, we know that the powerful do not always respond to God's challenge. They forget that in spite of their great power they will "die like mortals." In the real world the powerful often silence the prophets and leave the weak in misery. But what this psalm accomplishes is a powerful reminder of whose side God is really on. Even though the wicked may prosper for a season, God will ultimately vindicate the cause of the poor and heal them with love and mercy. In that promise, they are encouraged to keep faith and have hope.
Admittedly, he says that her complaint is correct. He ought to be more observant and take more initiative with such things. And while it is mostly in jest that he says he's just minding his own business, his joke does have this element of truth in it: We have taken a vice and relabeled it a virtue in our culture.
Minding one's own business is esteemed as a positive trait in our society. It stands in contrast to such undesirable characteristics as nosiness, presumptuousness, and being judgmental. It is the natural extension of a culture that has reduced the grand concept of liberty to a preoccupation with personal rights. If one will mind his or her own business and every other person does the same, that is the best policy to guarantee that we won't trespass onto each other's property.
In reality, the exaltation of minding one's own business is often little more than codified selfishness. What we have deemed a virtue, an earlier generation would have recognized as a case of being self-absorbed.
Each of the three lections for this Sunday challenges us to swim upstream against the "mind-your-own-business" current.
Amos 7:7-17
At first glance, it doesn't seem like much of a threat. God is going to set a plumb line in the midst of his people. So what? It's not a symbol of warfare, not an icon of destruction. Wouldn't it seem far more menacing for God to set a sword, a dagger, or a spear in the midst of his people?
Amos was a judgment prophet. He preached a relentless judgment message, and a plumb line is, literally, a symbol of judgment. It may not be a weapon of punishment, but a plumb line is an instrument of judgment, and as such it can be a daunting image.
We know what it is to feel intimidated by symbols of judgment. See how reluctant some folks are about getting on a scale. See how uneasy we get while waiting for test results from the doctor. See how apprehensive people are about X-ray and MRI machines. The truth is that we human beings are uncomfortable with being tested and measured. We are afraid of instruments of judgment because we are afraid to discover what's wrong with us.
The Lord stood by a wall holding a plumb line. He is the doctor holding the ominous test results. Israel was going to be measured. The people of Israel were going to find out what was wrong with them.
We discover throughout the book of Amos that plenty was wrong with Israel. From personal immorality -- to social injustice -- to empty religion, the nation had become a complete disappointment to God.
It's interesting to note that the "high places" and "sanctuaries" were the specified targets of God's wrath (v. 9). If God were threatening with human logic, he would take aim at other things -- military fortifications, royal storehouses, places of commerce and prosperity. Those, too, would be laid waste in the destruction, of course, but they would be collateral damage. The real objects of God's judgment, however, are the things he hates. It is the sites and symbols of Israel's unfaithfulness that God had in his crosshairs.
The altar at Bethel was a longstanding and prominent site and symbol of Israel's unfaithfulness. It dated back to the very formation of the northern kingdom (1 Kings 12:20-31), and God's promised doom for it followed shortly after (1 Kings 13:1-5). And just as the anonymous prophet from Judah prophesied against that altar during the reign of Jeroboam I (931-910 B.C.), now this prophet, Amos from Judah, prophesied against it during the reign of Jeroboam II (783-743 B.C.).
Amaziah's expression of concern is a fascinating one: "The land is not able to bear all (Amos') words." We live in a country where our speech is protected, and yet even here we have some understanding of Amaziah's concern. The FCC struggles continually with what words the public airways cannot bear. The unwritten rules of political correctness deem certain words as insufferable in our society. And the Supreme Court justice of years ago explained that words of false alarm in a public setting were not to be tolerated.
The Bible understands the power and importance of words. They can crush or heal (Proverbs 12:18), they reveal the heart (Matthew 15:10-20), and they dictate our fate (Matthew 12:36-37). Our words are explicitly at issue in two of the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20:7, 16), and God's word is creative (e.g., Genesis 1:3), effective (Isaiah 55:11), authoritative (Luke 7:6-8; 8:24-25), and incarnate (John 1:14). Amaziah is neither alarmist nor hyperbolic when he says that the land could not bear Amos' words.
Amaziah's counsel to Amos is familiar. Mind your own business. Judah and Israel had separated nearly 200 years earlier, and there had been a fair amount of antagonism between the two kingdoms ever since. As the altar at Bethel dated back to that split, it also symbolized the split, and Amaziah didn't have any tolerance for another prophet from neighboring Judah to come talking down Israel's altar.
Then, in dramatic contrast to those folks who "enhance" their resumes, the prophet Amos makes a strange claim about his qualifications: "I am no prophet, nor a prophet's son." Unlike those who were prophets for profit, Amos was not a professional prophet. He was merely called by God to go and speak his word. Like others before and after (cf., Numbers 23:4-12; Jeremiah 20:8-9; Acts 4:18-20), Amos could not be quieted. He could not ply his trade elsewhere; he could only do what God had told him to.
Colossians 1:1-14
Colossians stands out from the rest of Paul's epistles, for Paul's relationship to this church was different. Unlike his letters to Corinth, Thessalonica, and Philippi, for example, Paul is not writing here to a church that he founded. The larger region was familiar to him from his missionary travels, of course, and he clearly knew a good deal about the Colossian church. Still, it was not his church.
The interest we take in something that belongs to someone else reveals a lot about us. Sometimes that interest looks like envy. Sometimes it is overly critical. And sometimes we take no interest at all. If a thing doesn't involve us then we may be indifferent to it.
Paul's interest in Colossae is exemplary. In the opening portion of his letter to the Christians there, we detect no less affection for and devotion to them than what we see in his letters to any of his own churches. His joy at their salvation and growth in grace, as well as his fervent and continual prayers for them, reveal a parental kind of love and concern for the Colossians, even though they are not his own spiritual children.
Paul even cares enough to correct them.
Paul's purpose in writing is not immediately apparent from the introductory passage that is our selected lection. The concern that prompts the letter, however, is an issue of false teaching influencing the Colossian church. Specifically, Paul wrote to correct the Colossians' Christology, reminding them that Christ is unique and superior, and that full salvation is found in him.
In relation to our larger theme this Sunday, it is noteworthy that Paul did not just mind his own business. He did not ignore the Colossians simply because they were not technically his responsibility. Instead, with genuine care and concern, he went beyond his natural jurisdiction and wrote to address those matters that needed correction.
The passage at hand is typical of the introductory sections of Paul's epistles -- a salutation, and an extended greeting that includes Paul's thanksgiving and blessing for the people. Though somewhat standard material, every line of Paul's writing is an exegetical feast. Even the routine conventions that precede his real reason for writing are filled with doctrine, beauty, and insight.
William Barclay observes that Paul identifies the Colossian Christians in terms of two locations: "in Christ" and "in Colossae." "A Christian always moves in two spheres. He is in a certain place in this world; but he is also in Christ. He lives in two dimensions. He lives in this world whose duties he does not treat lightly; but above and beyond that he lives in Christ."
That dual reality is the context of all that follows, both for the epistle and for every Christian.
That we are "in Colossae" brings with it challenges, obstacles, and pitfalls. There is much that might mislead us, or even defeat us, here in this world. Accordingly, the saints in Colossae must be "prepared to endure everything with patience."
But the people of God are sent, not sentenced, to this world. We are in Colossae for a purpose: to "lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him" and to "bear fruit in every good work." The Colossian Christians are themselves the fruition of Epaphras' gospel work, and that gospel work is "bearing fruit and growing in the whole world."
We are of little use in Colossae, however, if we are not also, and especially, in Christ. He accounts for the Colossians' hope, love, and strength. And he is the one about whom Paul especially writes.
Christ is at the center. Paul is his apostle (v. 1) and Epaphras his minister (v. 7). Christ is the object of the Colossians' faith (v. 4), they have been "transferred" into his kingdom (v. 13), and it is in him that they "have redemption, the forgiveness of sins" (v. 14). Even before Paul begins to address the doctrinal concerns he has, he cannot help but reflect the central importance and unique role of Christ.
Finally, Paul's phrase "power of darkness" is an interesting one, for it occurs only one other time in the New Testament. In the Gethsemane scene in Luke, Jesus observes of his arrestors, "This is your hour, and the power of darkness!" (Luke 22:53). The two appearances of the phrase combine to paint a gospel picture. How appropriate that Christ should rescue us from the very power that inclines us oppose him.
Luke 10:25-37
Play a word association game with your congregation, and the cue word "Samaritan" is very likely to prompt the response "good." So familiar is this parable of Jesus that "good" and "Samaritan" have been effectively married in the minds of our people.
That fact, of course, becomes an impediment to understanding the story. Just as "Pharisee" has come to have a negative connotation in the minds of our people, so "Samaritan" enjoys a positive connotation. And both developments put us rather at odds with the people of Jesus' day.
A moviegoer could not understand an old Western if he presumed that the black hats were the good guys and the white hats were the bad guys. Likewise, the people in our pews cannot fully understand this parable of Jesus for as long as they have "good" attached to "Samaritan." Jesus used a Samaritan in his parable precisely because his Jewish audience had a prejudice against the Samaritans. Because of the parable, however, our people ironically have developed a prejudice in favor of Samaritans.
The priest and the Levite failed in a larger matter than mere neighborliness. They failed to be obedient to the Mosaic Law, with which they were no doubt familiar, while the Samaritan fulfilled it. God had instructed his people to stop and help even an enemy's animal in difficulty (Exodus 23:4-5) and to be compassionate toward the foreigners in their midst (23:9). That the priest and the Levite deliberately bypassed their needy fellow countryman while the antagonized Samaritan stopped to help is a great shame for those wearing the white hats.
Imagine an injured football player lying on the field, neglected and stepped over by his own teammates, trainers, and doctors, while members of the opposing team tend to him. Such is the nonsensical picture that Jesus paints for the people.
The purpose of the picture was ostensibly to answer a question. In fact, however, Jesus changed the question.
The setting is a provocative conversation with an expert in the Law. Twice the lawyer asked Jesus a question, and twice Jesus turned the matter around so that the lawyer had to suggest an answer of his own. In both instances, Jesus elicits from the man precisely the answers he himself sought, which was itself rather lawyerly.
Jesus affirmed the lawyer's first answer -- his assessment of the most essential commandments. The lawyer, however, challenged Jesus to define the terms of one of those commandments: neighbor. The Law instructed the Israelites to love their neighbors, but the lawyer wondered just who was his neighbor.
Then comes the parable, with its several surprises, followed by Jesus' question back to the lawyer: "Which of these three was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?"
Not only does Jesus not directly answer the lawyer's question -- "Who is my neighbor?" -- but he turns it into a different question -- "Which of these three was a neighbor?" Jesus did not attempt a legal definition of "neighbor." That's the kind of thing an expert in the Law -- as well as a good many of us -- could so easily get caught up in and preoccupied with. Instead, Jesus offered a no-nonsense example of a neighbor.
How typical -- and how challenging -- that Jesus spurned the theoretical in favor of the practical. So it was also when he was confronted with the question of paying taxes to the emperor (Matthew 22:15-20). And so it was when he was interviewed about two tragic current events (Luke 13:1-5).
In the end, therefore, our Gospel Lection includes two examples for us to follow: both the Samaritan and Jesus. Jesus' example encourages us to sift through whatever distractions surround us and keep our focus on what is most important. The Samaritan's example shows us how true love works.
Application
If minding my own business is my maxim, then I will not serve God very effectively. Certainly none of the heroes in our three lections were guilty of just minding their own business. Instead, all three passages feature some expression of a "next-door ministry" -- that is, a ministry to folks who are your neighbors, but who are not your family or your own kind.
The passage from Colossians is least apparent to be a part of this theme, although the epistle does fit. The Christians in Colossae, you recall, were not Paul's own converts, and the Colossian church was not his church. Still, the Christians there were familiar to him as nearby neighbors of areas he visited and cities where there were churches he had founded. And so, even though Paul did not have the kind of direct responsibility for the Colossian church that he had for others, he still felt compelled to write them with his concerns about their Christology.
In the case of the Amos passage, the prophet is from Judah, but he goes to preach in neighboring Israel. Neither his presence nor his preaching are welcome, but he is nevertheless faithful about his "next-door ministry."
Finally, in the familiar parable of the Good Samaritan, the unlikely half-breed neighbor is the one who helps the victim. The Samaritan stretches the lawyer's understanding -- and ours -- of who and what a neighbor is.
So it is that I cannot serve God effectively if I am only minding my own business. Not because God calls me to be nosey, or presumptuous, or judgmental. But rather, it is because God calls me to mind his business.
Alternative Applications
1) Amos 7:7-17. Amos' image of the Lord holding a plumb line invites a natural question: How do we measure up? If the Lord held his plumb line in the midst of our nation, our church, my family, or my life, would he find everything standing straight and true?
The Amos selection does not contain within it a definitive word on what the Lord's plumb line looks like or precisely how it measures. We might make use of the other two lections, however, to suggest some insights into God's plumb line.
In the Gospel Lection, for instance, we might say that the Samaritan is God's plumb line. He is clearly meant to be a model for us (Luke 10:37). And so if the Lord set the Samaritan's example up against us, would we be flush?
Likewise, in the Colossians passage, we might use the phrase "lead lives worthy of the Lord, fully pleasing to him" (1:10) as a plumb line. What parts of my life are not worthy of the Lord? What goes on in our church that does not square with being fully pleasing to him?
Amos does not tell us exactly what God's plumb line looks like. The rest of scripture can help us with that. Amos does warn, however, that when God sets his plumb line in the midst of his people, he wants to find us living straight and true.
2) Luke 10:25-37. The Parable of the Good Samaritan is a challenging text for a preacher, partly because there is so much to say, and partly because it has all been said.
Since the central issue of the parable is love and God's commandment to love, it is worth exploring the Samaritan's love. We assume that the Samaritan embodied for Jesus the kind of neighbor-love required by the Law. It was an inclusive love that trespassed the borders of prejudice and hate. It was a roll-up-its-sleeves love that got personally involved. And it was a costly love that demanded an investment, a sacrifice, from the Samaritan.
Meanwhile, we might go a step further and make the case that the Samaritan's love was incarnational. It is certainly reminiscent of Jesus, who embodied God's love. Jesus was continually demonstrating a love that crossed borders of prejudice and hate, much to the consternation of his critics. The incarnation is the ultimate roll-up-its-sleeves love that gets involved personally. And there is neither denying nor calculating the costliness of God's love in Christ.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 82
There is often a distinction made between the pastoral or priestly work of the church and the prophetic work. Pastoral care has to do with the care of souls; the offering of comfort in times of loss. The priestly character of pastoral work seeks to mediate the presence of God to those who are hurting.
The prophetic work of the church, however, involves challenging the faith community to act ethically, and also to speak the truth to the powerful. The prophets of the Old Testament often positioned themselves between the king and the community of faith and challenged each to faithfully observe their various divine appointments. It is this in-between position taken by the prophet, which has led to the claim that a prophet cannot function as pastor, and vice versa. A prophet is in the community, but not quite.
Psalm 82 demonstrates that this line of thinking may not be entirely true. The psalmist has created a poem that succeeds in comforting the afflicted while at the same time afflicting the comfortable.
The psalmist begins by making the claim that God sits at the head of all tables. God is the King of all kings, the Ruler over all rulers. In doing this, the psalmist effectively subordinates the power of earthly kings to the dictates and expectations of God's will. If we are going to speak the truth to the powerful, it's not a bad idea to begin the conversation by putting in proper perspective just how limited the power of the powerful really is.
Once the conversation begins, however, the psalmist moves immediately to the prophetic judgment: "How long will you judge unjustly and show partiality to the wicked? Give justice to the weak and the orphan; maintain the right of the lowly and the destitute."
The judgment continues as an aside, as if God turns to the psalmist himself. "They have neither knowledge nor understanding, they walk around in darkness" (v. 5).
The purpose of the aside is twofold. First, the powerful overhear God's complaint but the worshiping audience also overhears. The psalmist presents the report of this council meeting in the context of the worship. Those present for prayer overhear God's condemnation and complaint. And in the aside, God speaks to his people about their leaders, telling them that the leaders are in the dark.
This amazing device has the effect of simultaneously subverting the power of the unjust leaders while at the same time emboldening the community of faith. These words assure them that God is really on their side.
It is also in overhearing the conversation between God and the leaders that the pastoral care feature of this psalm has its effect. It is among those who are victimized by them that God condemns the powerful. It is in the hearing of those who are hurting that God orders the princes of the land to "rescue the weak and the needy" (v. 4).
In the real world, we know that the powerful do not always respond to God's challenge. They forget that in spite of their great power they will "die like mortals." In the real world the powerful often silence the prophets and leave the weak in misery. But what this psalm accomplishes is a powerful reminder of whose side God is really on. Even though the wicked may prosper for a season, God will ultimately vindicate the cause of the poor and heal them with love and mercy. In that promise, they are encouraged to keep faith and have hope.
