Foreigners...!

¹¹ Now on his way to Jerusalem, Jesus travelled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. ¹² As he was going into a village, ten men who had leprosy met him. They stood at a distance ¹³ and called out in a loud voice, “Jesus, Master, have pity on us!”

¹⁴ When he saw them, he said, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.” And as they went, they were cleansed.

¹⁵ One of them, when he saw he was healed, came back, praising God in a loud voice. ¹⁶ He threw himself at Jesus’ feet and thanked him—and he was a Samaritan.

¹⁷ Jesus asked, “Were not all ten cleansed? Where are the other nine? ¹⁸ Has no one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?” ¹⁹ Then he said to him, “Rise and go; your faith has made you well.” Luke 17:11-19

Who was the Good Samaritan?

Oh, that’s easy! He was the man Jesus told a story about, the one who showed sacrificial kindness and generosity to a victim of an attack who had been left half dead on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. It’s in Luke 10:25-37.

Quite right. It’s a beautiful story; but it has a very sharp point too, because Jesus told it in order to answer an “expert in the law” who challenged him to define the word “neighbour”. In the story two Jewish religious leaders had already seen the man lying in the road – and had chosen to “pass by on the other side”, in effect to ignore him. But this Samaritan came along and did – with interest – what they had failed to do. The expert in the law got the point: in effect, “we Israelites should treat our enemies – yes, even the Samaritans - as neighbours”. But he couldn’t bring himself even to use the word “Samaritan”.

Very good. That’s the story everyone knows.  But wait a minute: in Luke 17:11-19, the passage above, we read of another man who could also be described as a “good Samaritan”, though in a very different way. This time the story is an account of something that actually happened, with Jesus the main actor in the drama.

Leprosy was a terrible affliction. It not only ate away at the flesh, but also cut people off from their communities, for they were forced to live apart to avoid the spread of the disease.

On this occasion Jesus was in territory close to Samaria when a pathetic group of ten men with leprosy, correctly keeping their distance (can you see them?), shouted to him: “Jesus, master, have pity on us!” And that’s exactly what he did: without any ado he told them to “Go and show yourselves to the priests” (only the priests were authorised to declare a leper “clean” from the disease). To obey that command took real faith - but the miracle happened: “as they went, they were cleansed”.

But now comes the point: of the ten men, just one thought to turn to Jesus to give thanks, “praising God in a loud voice” and “throwing himself at Jesus’ feet”; the other nine presumably went straight to the priests and so disappear from the story.

And Jesus is disappointed: “Where are the other nine? Has no-one returned to give praise to God except this foreigner?”

Ah! A foreigner. I don’t know if Israelites and Samaritans were likely to have a markedly different appearance, but Jesus obviously saw that there was something different about this man, and Luke the writer spells it out for us in plain words.

All right, this is a very different kind of goodness from that of the hero of Jesus’ story in chapter ten. But Jesus was obviously glad to praise this man and to commend his faith, foreigner or not, and Luke was moved by the Spirit to include the story in his Gospel. So there are clearly things for us to learn…

First, and right up to date in our modern world, we must rid ourselves of any hint of racial prejudice or discrimination.

In John 4 we read about Jesus’ conversation with “the woman at the well”. In talking with her he broke at least three taboos. First, the very fact that she was a woman; it would be frowned on for a man and woman to be seen talking together in public. Second, she was a Samaritan and “Jews do not associate with Samaritans” (verse 9). By all accounts that’s putting it mildly, for Jews and Samaritans were long-standing enemies; “hatred” might be a more appropriate term to describe their relations. And third, she was a particular type of woman, for it emerges later that she has had five husbands “and the man you now have is not your husband” (verse 18). In the culture of the time this would be very shocking.

But Jesus obviously didn’t care. He needed water, and she was the only person around who could provide it. He obviously felt no shame or embarrassment in talking with her, and as far as he was concerned, if anyone else did – well, tough.

Our world is awash with various hatreds and prejudices. Hasn’t it always been that way? Well, yes indeed. But today it seems to be particularly prevalent. There’s racial prejudice, religious prejudice, colour prejudice, gender prejudice, class prejudice, to name only a few. And in many cases the word “hatred” is no exaggeration.

Sadly, the church has been guilty of this sin in various periods of history, and we should be ashamed, even when our prejudices are unconscious. Jesus didn’t touch the men in the story of the ten lepers – they didn’t come close enough - but we know from Matthew 8:2-4 that he would have been quite willing to do so.

Do you and I have some nasty prejudice(s?) to repent of, even if it’s just (just!?) a matter of looking down our noses at someone we consider to be beneath us? In whatever ways, do we in effect take after James and John who helpfully (?) tried to sort out some unco-operative Samaritans in Luke 9:51-54: “Lord, do you want us to call down fire from heaven to destroy them?”. A handy solution, no doubt, but Jesus leaves them in no doubt about his answer to that question.

The curse of prejudice is perhaps the main lesson of this story. But there are certainly others, so I’ll have to return to it next time. Please join me again…

Father, thank you for the compassion that dwelt in the heart of Jesus for all people – and which overflowed from it. Please give me just such a heart! Amen.

Can hatred and holiness co-exist? (2)

 

Appoint someone evil to oppose my enemy;
    let an accuser stand at his right hand.
⁷ When he is tried, let him be found guilty,
    and may his prayers condemn him.
⁸ May his days be few;
    may another take his place of leadership.
⁹ May his children be fatherless
    and his wife a widow.
¹⁰ May his children be wandering beggars;
    may they be driven from their ruined homes.
¹¹ May a creditor seize all he has;
    may strangers plunder the fruits of his labour.
¹² May no one extend kindness to him
    or take pity on his fatherless children.
¹³ May his descendants be cut off,
    their names blotted out from the next generation.
¹⁴ May the iniquity of his fathers be remembered before the Lord;
    may the sin of his mother never be blotted out.
¹⁵ May their sins always remain before the Lord,
    that he may blot out their name from the earth. Psalm 109:6-15

Last time we looked at Psalm 109 as an example of one of those Bible passages which, if we are completely honest, we would probably prefer were not there. Taken as it stands it seems full of venom and hatred for the writer’s enemies, a direct contrast with the words of Jesus about loving your enemy and praying for, not against, them.

The question arises, What is this psalm (not to mention various other parts of the Bible) doing there? Would you pray such a prayer against someone who has injured you? Can you imagine Jesus praying it? What value or use are these passages for us today?

Last time I suggested a number of things in general about reading the Bible, the first of which is to take it as much as possible at face value – always making allowance, of course, for the many different types of literature we are dealing with and the alien cultural background. Some respected Bible translations (the NRSV, for example) try to solve the puzzle of Psalm 109 by inserting the two little words “They say” before verse 6, thus suggesting that the following shocking words are spoken by the psalmist’s enemies rather than by himself. It certainly turns the psalm on its head! For what little I know it is a possible amendment and possibly a justified one, but it strikes me as rather a desperate ploy, a bit of a wriggling out of the plain meaning.

No, we need to look these words fairly and squarely in the face, however uncomfortable they make us.

We might be tempted to say, “Ah, but the man who wrote this psalm lived before Jesus. He had never read the New Testament or heard the Sermon on the Mount, so what can we expect?”

That is obviously true enough. But as a devout Jew (“a man of prayer”, verse 4), had he never been taught parts of the Law of Moses such as Exodus 23:4-5: “If you come across your enemy’s ox or donkey wandering off, be sure to return it. If you see the donkey of someone who hates you fallen down under its load, do not leave it there; be sure you help them with it”. Had he never been taught Proverbs 25:21: “If your enemy is hungry, give him food to eat; if he is thirsty, give him water to drink”? Jesus in the Sermon on the Mount wasn’t introducing a new law of love to replace a law of hate; no, he was reminding the people of something they should have known perfectly well already but had chosen to ignore.

For me personally, the most challenging, if rather disturbing, use of this psalm can only be this: it is a frighteningly honest probing of the human heart. Putting it another way: this could be me speaking. It reveals myself to me…

Oh, don’t worry, I have been far too well brought up to hate anyone with such a naked hatred (no credit to me there, of course, and I like to think I don’t have any enemies anyway), but I don’t have any illusions either about the darkness that lurks in the depths of my own heart. Do you?

I know what it is to be jealous, to be unjustly angry, to look down on somebody. I always feel a grim smile coming on when I think of David’s wife Michal looking furtively out of her window, seeing him dancing exuberantly “before the Lord” at the recovery of the ark of the covenant, and “despising him in her heart” (1 Chronicles 15:29). Have I never despised someone in my heart, perhaps while smiling sweetly? Don’t I know what it means to be petty, or spiteful, or selfish or just plain nasty? What about you?

Perhaps this is just me; but I suspect not. Most of us learn to live outwardly respectable, “decent” lives; but the key word there is “outwardly”. If we return for a moment to the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5:21-42), didn’t Jesus warn us that hatred and anger are tantamount to murder? that lust is tantamount to adultery? These sinful poisons are what fester invisibly in our inmost beings - and isn’t it our hearts that God knows and “searches” (Psalm 7:9)?

If nothing else, the writer of Psalm 109 (a “man of prayer”, remember) helps us to take this truth seriously, even if that wasn’t his intention. No doubt there are other things we can learn from his inner toxicity. There are many parts of the Bible, after all, which are to be learned from – of course – but not imitated.

But perhaps that’s enough to be going on with for the time being.

Father, we know that hatred and holiness cannot co-exist, and that we are called to have pure, forgiving hearts. As we read this psalm, help us to face the wickedness that dwells secretly within us and to hunger after the purity of Jesus himself. Amen.

Can hatred and holiness co-exist?

Appoint someone evil to oppose my enemy;

    let an accuser stand at his right hand.
⁷ When he is tried, let him be found guilty,
    and may his prayers condemn him.
⁸ May his days be few;
    may another take his place of leadership.
⁹ May his children be fatherless
    and his wife a widow.
¹⁰ May his children be wandering beggars;
    may they be driven from their ruined homes.
¹¹ May a creditor seize all he has;
    may strangers plunder the fruits of his labour.
¹² May no one extend kindness to him
    or take pity on his fatherless children.
¹³ May his descendants be cut off,
    their names blotted out from the next generation.
¹⁴ May the iniquity of his fathers be remembered before the Lord;
    may the sin of his mother never be blotted out.
¹⁵ May their sins always remain before the Lord,
    that he may blot out their name from the earth. Psalm 109:6-15

Some churches start the reading of scripture with the words, “Hear the word of the Lord” and perhaps finish it with the solemn pronouncement, “This is the word of God”. If you believe, as I do, that the Bible is indeed the inspired word of God, you may very well feel that that’s not a bad practice (unless, of course, it has become a mere formula). But there are passages where (let’s be honest) you may find yourself hoping that the congregation aren’t listening too hard!

Psalm 109 is one such. At face value it’s just full of hatred, a full-blown cry to  God for vengeance on the psalmist’s enemies. He seems to be giving expression to precisely the opposite of what Jesus teaches in Matthew 5:44: “But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you…” I’ve picked out verses 6 to 15, perhaps the most vicious-seeming section, but the rest is not much better. I encourage you to take a minute or two to absorb the feel of the whole psalm and to get the full force of the writer’s vitriol. This is the word of the Lord? You can’t, surely, be serious!

Yet… it is – it’s as much part of God’s word as John 3:16, or as Jesus’ cry from the cross, “Father, forgive them – they don’t know what they’re doing”. So, if we want to take our Bibles seriously, we need to look full in the face of these disturbing passages (and there are, of course, plenty of others: try Psalm 137:9, for example) and grapple with them as honestly as we can. I am, of course, no expert, but having done a bit of a trawl of various commentaries I would tentatively make the following suggestions, applicable to the whole Bible, not just this particular psalm…

First, we must resist the temptation to turn a blind eye.

We have a natural human tendency to avoid things we know we are going to dislike or find difficult. Be honest, when did you last read Zechariah or Song of Songs or Jude? But these passages are there, and they aren’t going to go away. If God has caused them to be part of his word, then it’s for a reason, and so, treading very carefully and humbly, it’s for us to make what sense we can. Better to end up unsure if we have got it right (who in the world has got it all right!) than not to try at all.

Second, always opt for the most natural meaning that suggests itself.

All sorts of strange and fanciful interpretations have been suggested, especially of course for books such as Revelation or Daniel – interpretations that offer perhaps an over-confident understanding of how the world is going to end. Get hold of a good Bible commentary – or, better still, two or three - recommended by a trusted pastor or friend. But be open to the possibility that even these trusted commentaries may not be right in every last detail.

Regarding Psalms in particular, some respected Christians understand them as “the song book of Jesus” and see him in it whether he is there or not. Certainly, it seems agreed among many modern scholars that Psalm 109 is basically crying to God ultimately for nothing more than the Old Testament idea of just retribution upon the people who have behaved so badly. Well, perhaps so. But, even if that’s right, it still sounds pretty nasty and I for one confess that I find it very hard to imagine Jesus singing or praying it.

Third, be open to the possibility that the interpretation favoured by your particular “camp” could be mistaken.

Sadly, as Christians we all end up getting grouped into camps – perhaps more traditionally known as “denominations” or “movements”. Some of us, for example, are convinced that adult believers’ baptism is the only form justified by scripture. That’s fine, of course, but let us also be happy to recognise that others who take a different view are brothers and sisters in Christ (quite likely more Christlike than we are!).

Fourth, read the Bible always in context.

The Bible is a big book – or, more correctly, a big collection of books. It’s written in languages that most of us cannot read, so, whether we like it or not, we have to depend on experts who know infinitely more than we do (this is one of the reasons we need those commentaries I mentioned). It uses all sorts of types of speech – metaphors, similes, poetry, stories, parables, hyperbole (that’s obvious exaggeration designed to heighten the impact of what is being said). So not every statement is intended to be taken literally (otherwise wouldn’t we expect to see many more blind or disabled people in church, as per the words of Jesus in Matthew 5:29-30)

I hope these comments are helpful. But we’ve hardly as yet touched on Psalm 109 itself! So I shall have to return to this theme next time. I hope you will join me.

Father, we thank you for the word you have given us in the Bible. Thank you especially for those times it delights us with the truth of your great forgiving love for all people, demonstrated supremely in the death and resurrection of Jesus. But other times it troubles us by spelling out unwelcome truths, or puzzles us with things we find hard to understand. Help us to read it humbly and with open minds, always conscious that we could be mistaken in our understanding. Amen.

When the going is hard

We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers and sisters, about the troubles we experienced in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself. 2 Corinthians 1:8.

I can do all things through him who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13

Do you see any contradiction between these two verses? On the face of it, surely yes - one is about hopelessness and despair from someone who, looking back, is even surprised that he has survived at all; the other is a declaration, bursting with confidence and optimism, that nothing is beyond his God-given strength.

The seemingly contradictory thing is that the same man, the apostle Paul, wrote both verses – though at different points in his life. We are used to thinking of Paul as one of the great giants of faith, so the Philippians verse sounds very natural - “Well, of course, that’s Paul, isn’t it?” – whereas 2 Corinthians 1:8 may come as a bit of a shock – “Hey, that’s not like Paul at all!”

If such a great follower of Jesus can experience such diametrically opposed shifts of mood, surely there are things the rest of us can learn? I think so, anyway.

First, very simply, such unwelcome things can and do happen. Or, as my children used to say with a shrug of the shoulders after something had gone wrong at school, “stuff happens”.

We often say that “the Christian life isn’t easy”, but do we really mean it, or is it just a platitude we trot out to acknowledge that, as people say, “life has its ups and downs”? Jesus, after all, told his followers that they must “take up your cross and follow me”. That’s serious, isn’t it? And it’s a reality we need to seriously digest. Have we done so?

On the positive side it means that we needn’t feel ashamed, surprised or guilty if we find ourselves struggling. There’s no need to develop a mentality, even subconsciously, that “if I’m a Christian I should be immune to  such things”.

Perhaps Paul’s crisis was quite short-lived, but whether that was the case or not, it was certainly of serious intensity: “far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired of life itself”. The words “Paul” and “despair” don’t exactly sit naturally together in the minds of most of us, do they! All I can say is that, if a giant of the faith such as Paul can write such a thing, let’s be careful not to dismiss the possibility of something similar in our own lives - yes, even under the eye of our loving heavenly Father.

Second, if this is right, let’s resist any temptation to play the hero when things get hard.

One of the most impressive characteristics of Paul was his openness about how much he needed the support of others: his true humility, in fact. He frequently asks those who read his letters to pray for him; he has no illusions about his dependence on his loyal friends and companions.

Some of us, I suspect, while we say all the right things about how weak and needy we are, don’t really mean it; deep down we like to think we are self-sufficient.

This may be the case especially if we are in some form of Christian leadership. Yes, those we lead will expect – and rightly expect - from us competence, faith and energy, but they know – or should know, and need to learn it if they don’t! – that we are not spiritual supermen or women. “Burnout” may not be a sin; but at the same time it’s no great advertisement for the Christian life. Jesus, we are told, advised his disciples to “come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest” (Mark 6:31), a command we are foolish to ignore.

What can we say about the Philippians verse – “I can do all things through him who gives me strength”?

In essence, Paul is simply saying that he has no doubt about his God-given strength when it comes to God-given service.

That word “God-given” is important. Preachers sometimes hold out unrealistic hopes and stir up unrealistic expectations of miracles pretty well every day of our lives. This can end up making Christians look foolish and out of touch with reality – rather as if we are Popeye swallowing a helping of spinach and suddenly displaying a whole new energy.

There’s a bit of me that hesitates to sound that warning – I would hate to be guilty of dowsing true, sincere faith, even faith that might be such as to “move mountains”. But, whether preachers or not, we need to look reality right in the eye. If such a miraculous thing is to happen (as God grant it may), let it be a surprise even to ourselves, thus confirming that the strength really is from God and God alone.

So…. At first sight Paul might indeed seem to be contradicting himself in these two passages. But his full story gives the lie to that: rather, he had learned from hard experience that living a life of Spirt-led service can turn out in practice to be complex and puzzling. Which, of course[CS1] , is why, later, in 2 Corinthians 12:10, he can toss out another wonderful paradox: ”… it’s precisely when I’m truly weak that I am in fact strong”.

Is that a truth we can put to the test and prove this very day, even in the ordinary circumstances of our ordinary lives?

Father, we do sometimes find following you hard, though we know that in comparison with many our way is actually quite easy. Grow in us, we pray, the kind of faith Paul had, so that like him we may learn the secret of being content in any and every situation. Amen.

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