“Asking the Wrong Question”

Sunday, March 20, 2022

And behold, a lawyer stood up to put him to the test, saying, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” He said to him, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” And he answered, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.”

But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10.25-29)

Rather than providing a dictionary definition of the word, πλησίον-plēsion-“neighbor,” or appealing to the context surrounding the lawyer’s quotation from Leviticus 19.18, Jesus answered his question by telling a parable, which we know as the parable of the good Samaritan.  In the story, a man is savagely beaten and left for dead, then ignored and avoided by two men who present themselves as righteous and holy.  Finally a Samaritan sees him, recognizes his need, and helps him even though it inconveniences himself.  Then Jesus asked, “Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” (Lk 10.36).

We’re left to conclude that the character worth emulating is the Samaritan, and that’s exactly what Jesus then commands the lawyer to do, before Luke moves on to the next episode.  But wait a second!  Was that the answer to the lawyer’s question?  Not really, no.  He had asked, “who is my neighbor?”  This was prompted by the commandment to love one’s neighbor, so what he really means is, whom must I treat with love?  Jesus’ answer was that the Samaritan, “the one who showed him mercy” (v37) was a neighbor to the man in need.  So, he should love…Samaritans?  Or perhaps it’s broader than that—maybe Jesus means you should love anyone who shows you mercy.  But that doesn’t make any sense!  Rather, it makes perfect sense from a fleshly perspective, but it’s not what Jesus himself preaches elsewhere!  Just a few chapters earlier, he said, “If you love those who love you, what benefit is that to you? For even sinners love those who love them” (Lk 6.32).

We can understand this better by recognizing that, if I’m your neighbor, then you’re my neighbor, too.  This reciprocity means that by being a neighbor to the traveler, the Samaritan was recognizing the traveler as his own neighbor, and implementing God’s instruction by acting in love toward him.

That’s a start, but it’s still an incomplete explanation.  Weren’t the priest and the Levite, who avoided the man and passed by on the other side of the road, under the same obligation?  Could they defend their actions before God on the grounds that Jesus said they weren’t the man’s neighbor, and therefore had no obligation to love him?  No.  So why did Jesus say this? 

As he often did, Jesus was gently correcting the lawyer, who was “desiring to justify himself” (v29).  Jesus clearly knew that, and his parable wasn’t intended as a direct answer to the question posed; rather, it provided the answer to the question the lawyer should have asked—“what does it mean to be a neighbor.”  Why wasn’t the first question the right one?  Because the answer is too easy and too obvious, and it wouldn’t get to the heart of the matter.  The lawyer asked, “who is my neighbor?”  The straight answer is simple: everyone you meet.  You ought to love them all as yourself, regardless of whether they’re kind to you, whether they show mercy to you, whether you like them, and whether they can repay you.  They’re all your neighbors.  But now the question changes to something else: what does it mean to love my neighbor?  And that is the point of the parable.

We often approach God with some kind of question, and just like children with their parents, we have such a poor understanding of what’s really happening that we don’t even know what to ask.  This shouldn’t surprise us; Paul tells us that “we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us” (Ro 8.26).  This is broader than our questions and includes our requests, but it’s the same idea—we just don’t fully understand.  And there’s no reason we should!  We’re flesh, and he’s Spirit.  Thank God we have a mediator who does understand!  Jesus was active in the creation of the universe, and observed everything that has taken place since.  The only potential gray area would be the few decades he spent living as a man—to what extent he “emptied himself” (Php 2.7), we don’t fully know.  Even during that time, not only did he demonstrate a level of understanding far superior to the people around him, but on resuming his proper position at his Father’s right hand, he reassumed all that he had put off in becoming a man.  But this same time spent in the flesh allows him to fully sympathize with our shortfalls.  He’s not angry with us for not always knowing the right thing to ask.

Parents are proud of their children when they ask a question that reflects a genuine attempt to apply what they’ve been taught, even if they don’t have quite the right words to express it.  It reflects growth, and shows that they’re not only becoming more mature, but are maturing in such a way that, if the trend continues, will lead to a steadfast relationship of love and pride between parents and child in the long term.  We don’t have the right words, and we won’t until we see our Father face to face.  Until then, let’s do our best to ask the right questions, and let’s take God’s hints about what those right questions are, from his word.

Jeremy Nettles

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