Commitment
Commentary
Object:
When Louis Pasteur was researching the deadly anthrax virus, he found that once a cow that had the disease recovered, it could never die from anthrax. It was immune.
Our faith can also develop a kind of immunity. If our faith demonstrates that itself in commitment, exercises itself in moral habits, and reaches out for the power offered in scripture and in the church, then it cannot be easily lost when life gets tough.
That's why we need to make small commitments of faith when we're young. Imagine, as Harry Emerson Fosdick did, that life is a journey down the banks of the Jordan River. At some time before we die, we need to cross the river and take up residence in the Promised Land.
In the church, we often direct attention to the lower end of the river, to the wild surge of waves just before the Jordan empties itself into the Dead Sea. Standing on the banks of the Promised Land, we look across at those urging them to come into the grace of God before it's too late. Many step into the roaring waters and try to swim. Sometimes they struggle across, nearly exhausted by the effort. Sometimes they don't make it. They get lost among the waves, and the waters close in around them. Their hands reach out for help, but it appears to be too late.
But people can easily cross the Jordan earlier than that. They can cross midstream, where the current is weaker. They can even wade across near its source at the Sea of Galilee, where the waters are shallow and trickle slowly.
People who cross the river near its source are like those who make early commitments of faith, who are drawn to a life of faith by the firm hands of parents, teachers, and friends. Isn't it wonderful that they can now walk for a lifetime on the shores of the Promised Land and know faith's preventative power during the rough times?
Today's passages speak about commitments that lead to a lifetime of recognized service (Elijah), deepening faith (Paul in Galatians), and changing social dynamics in a world that has too long been mired in genocidal sectarianism (Jesus and his disciples with the Samaritans). Time to step up!
2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14
The dynamic duo of Elijah and Elisha marks both the low-water mark of Yahweh-worship in ancient Israel and the high-water mark of Yahweh testimony in the same milieu. It is interesting to note the emerging and changing role of the public "prophets." Moses and Joshua each had a unique and ongoing relational interchange with Yahweh that made their leadership positions virtually unassailable (cf. Numbers 12, 16-17). After the nation was settled in Canaan, such clear, regular, and unequivocal communication with Yahweh appears to have been muted. During the times of Eli, we are told, "the word of the Lord was rare; there were not many visions" (1 Samuel 3:1).
That is why, when Yahweh began speaking directly with Samuel, the Israelites were ready to follow him (1 Samuel 3:19-21). This seems to be the beginning of a national recognition of the status of prophets as part of the necessary social fabric.
When Samuel's leadership was challenged because the people wanted a king (1 Samuel 8), it caused the first subtle separation of church and state. Samuel was a priest by adoption and worked within the parameters of the cultic shrine. But the kings were clearly outside of the Levitical priesthood or its extended family. Prophets at first began to bridge the connection and then later sparred with the kings as the sovereignty role of Yahweh was increasingly forgotten.
This tension is clearly seen in the dominant stories of Elijah and Elisha who battled with the rulers of the northern kingdom in 1 Kings 17--2 Kings 8. Elijah was given the weapons of the curses of the Sinai covenant to bring Ahab and Jezebel to their knees (1 Kings 17:1). He wielded divine power in public displays of combat (1 Kings 18). He was authorized to determine and appoint the leaders of nations (1 Kings 19). And when Ahab and Jezebel presumed that they could displace God-fearing Israelites from their divinely determined inheritance in the land (1 Kings 21), Elijah confronted the pair with stern prophecies that they instead would be removed.
Throughout the rest of the Old Testament history of Israel, the prophets would take on a changing and growing role as the legitimate and authorized spokespersons for Yahweh and the Sinai covenant. Most of their speeches are not new revelations, but rather interpretations of the covenant stipulations for current situations. Ultimately the prophets became the interpreters of Israel's history, and their writings were collected as a unique section of Hebrew scripture.
Elijah and Elisha are the clearest indication that Yahweh has turned away from the kings of Israel and has begun a new leadership dynasty resident in the school of the prophets. The names of these larger-than-life characters are the first clue: Elijah's name means "My God is Yahweh"; Elisha's signifies "My God saves." Together Elijah and Elisha show how insignificant is the presumed power of Ahab, Jezebel, and their successors. And in today's lectionary reading comes the confirmation and affirmation of all that Elijah stands for.
For one thing, Elijah is aware that his earthly journey is completed. That in itself is a great gift, for Elijah had grown weary and discouraged through the lonely years of his duel with Ahab and Jezebel. Earlier, in near exhaustion and emotional despair, he had asked for his life to end (1 Kings 17). At that time he was told by Yahweh that he was neither alone nor at the end of his weighty career. But recently the gentle hand of divine congratulations had been laid upon his shoulder, and he was walking with quicker step as he set out on this pilgrimage of final destiny.
Second, Elijah had grown to appreciate and to trust Elisha. Even now, though Elijah knew that his end was near, and that it was a passage he needed to travel alone, Elisha would not be dissuaded from companioning him as far as possible. There was a fierce loyalty that bound the understudy to the Lone Ranger. Moreover, once Elisha became aware of Elijah's one-way ticket on this adventure, he demanded a blessing from his mentor, not asking to replace Elijah, but to mark steps worthy of succession.
Third, the waters of the Jordan parted at Elijah's command. Not since Joshua initiated this same action when the Israelites entered Canaan (Joshua 3-4), in imitation of Moses' similar rule over the Red Sea (Exodus 14-15), had such power been wielded in direct access to heaven's resources and confirmation. Elijah is a direct successor to Moses and Joshua in the leadership dynasty directly dictated by Yahweh, Israel's true king. No concurrent ruler in Samaria could claim any such anointing. Moreover, Elisha's follow-up command over the same waters reaffirmed this coronation and succession.
Fourth, the fiery chariot and horses were a royal invitation to a divine banquet. No one rode in chariots except warriors and royalty. Elijah was a warrior, but one without the backing of a nation. Now he was accorded the ride he deserved, an end-of-life ride without equal.
Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Commitments are sometimes tough for us to cope with because we love freedom. We crave it. We don't want government to restrict us. We don't want our parents to be too strict. We don't want our jobs to consume us. We want to be free!
But what is freedom? What does it meant to be free?
Usually freedom means throwing off our bonds and fetters, tearing down the walls that might close us in. It means taking hold of our own destinies, owing nothing to anyone, standing tall at the head of our ship.
Yet liberty by itself cannot hold our lives together. It can't steer us or shape us. It can't give us purpose or direction. Liberty merely opens the gate; if there's nothing beyond the gate, we stand there staring out into the void. We may end up destroying ourselves by trying to go in too many directions without a purpose.
Listen to this suicide note left by a young woman who had kept herself free by moving from lover to lover, throwing off all restraints: "I am killing myself because I have never sincerely loved any human being all my life."
She was free! A free spirit, freely giving herself in free relationships, but liberty alone can never give us meaning in life. Freedom opens the door for us, but faith gives us direction when we walk out into the open spaces of our lives.
Abraham had to learn that, as Paul makes clear in the section of his letter leading up to today's New Testament lesson. The early chapters of Genesis document a series of promises that God made to Abraham, making him truly free. Interestingly, every time God opened a door Abraham went wandering by himself and lost his sense of purpose. In Genesis 12 God promised him a homeland, but when the famines came he ran off to Egypt. In Genesis 15 God promised him a son, but Abraham schemed with a younger woman to find an heir.
God repeats these promises to Abraham in Genesis 17, this time going a step further. God challenges Abraham: "If you really believe that I'm God, if you believe I can keep my word, then it's time for you to turn your faith into a promise. You do something to show that you belong to me. Cut the skin of your flesh and remind yourself of where you got your identity!"
Do you see what God was doing? God didn't want Abraham to hurt, and he wasn't just out to see blood. God wanted Abraham to take hold of his faith for his own sake. Faith had to be Abraham's promise as well as God's, or it would never stick.
Faith is a promise. If it isn't, it dies. When Michelangelo was young, he felt trapped by the demands and pressures of his family. They wanted to repress him, to hold his creativity and energy in check. In fact, they wanted him to become a banker or businessman.
When he spoke to his family about painting, they beat him. "Fool!" they said as the whip hit his back. "What kind of profit is there in such things?"
How he craved freedom! How he longed for the day when the door of this family prison would swing open and he could walk the streets of the city on his own terms. Finally he grabbed his destiny and pulled himself to freedom -- he ran away from home.
What did freedom mean to him? Listen to the words recorded by his biographers: "Now at last I am free! Now at last I can give myself to beauty and to art!"
Freed to serve! Liberated to be once again enslaved, but this time by a vision and a power much greater than himself. Beauty was the ordering principle of his life. It was the faith he clung to when he lay on this back, cooped and cramped, beneath the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, where he painted the magnificent sweep of human history.
We also have things we long to be freed from: disease, addictions, repressive relationships, and the like. But if we don't have other commitments to replace the things that bind us -- as Michelangelo did -- we are in danger of floundering through life adrift.
I'll never forget the first funeral I conducted as a young pastor. It was for an 86-year-old man who had been baptized as a baby and had known about God all his life. He wanted so much to believe that God loved him. But he was never able to bring himself to publicly profess his faith.
On his deathbed he cried like a baby, wanting some assurance that God would take him into the everlasting kingdom. His family surrounded him. They knew that God loved him. They knew that their Pa and Opa was going to heaven. They saw the grace of God in his life. But he, of all people, didn't know it. He, of all people, missed the joy of God's grace. He, of all people, went to his grave a restless spirit.
Why? Because even though God had taken hold of his life, the man had never taken hold of his faith in God. You can't affirm a contract without signing on the dotted line. You can't cash a check without endorsing it and taking it to the bank. You can't make your faith vital and alive without deepening it through the personal attachments of commitment and devotion.
In other words of George Matheson:
Make me a captive, Lord,
and then I shall be free;
force me to render up by sword,
and I shall conqueror be.
I sink in life's alarms
When by myself I stand;
Imprison me within thine arms,
And strong shall be my hand.
Luke 9:51-62
The "Samaritans" figure prominently in post-exilic literature (Ezra) and also in the New Testament (e.g., here, Luke 10, John 4, Acts 8). Who were these people and where did they come from?
The story begins in 2 Kings 17 where, after the northern kingdom of Israel had been conquered and displaced, the Assyrians relocated other tribes into the area. Following a series of local mishaps that fed their superstitions, these settlers begged for someone from among the former inhabitants who might teach them about the gods of this region. An Israelite priest was found. Since the northern kingdom of Israel had cut itself off from Jerusalem and the temple, the only sourcebook of ancient Israelite religion was the Pentateuch, Genesis through Deuteronomy.
In that collection Moses laid great emphasis on the covenant renewal ceremony that was to take place near Shechem from Mounts Gerezim and Ebal. Since the blessings of the covenant were to be shouted from Mount Gerezim, this high spot became associated with holiness. Instructions related to the tabernacle (Exodus 25-40) were used to create a worship shrine on that mountain, and the minimalist religious identity of the Samaritans began.
Since the Jews (people of Judah) considered these Samaritans deficient in religious understanding and ethnically outsiders to the original Israelite nation, they treated the Samaritans with disdain and scorn. This led to several incidents of military violence and terrorist activities as each community grew in resentment toward the other.
The rival temple to that in Jerusalem will be an ongoing source of tension between the Samaritans and the Jews, as reflected in the conversations between Jesus and the woman at Sychar (the first-century AD name for Shechem) in John 4. But it also shows up in today's gospel passage. If Jesus is going to travel from Galilee to Jerusalem, the straightest route lies through Samaria. Although most devout Jews would avoid both the territory and the conflict by going down to the Jordan River valley and bypassing the Samaritan highlands on their way to Jerusalem, even at the threat of having to traverse the dangerous road up from Jericho (remember Jesus' story of the "good Samaritan"?), Jesus seems intent on traveling the ridge road, directly through Samaritan territory.
The Samaritans do not want Jesus and his disciples anywhere near, and the feelings are mutually shared by Jesus' followers. But greater values are at stake, and the one who is the true outcast will bring both of these enemies to the same communion table.
Application
We go with the flow. We follow the crowd. We get on the treadmill with everyone else and are worn down by the same daily grind. "If you don't know where you are going," says the Koran, "any old road will get you there."
To live in a different way requires some goals that pull us toward the narrow path that leads to the kingdom of God. Goals don't have to be big or outlandish or extravagant. They do, however, have to be important. In the preface to his magnificent novel Moby Dick, Herman Melville says, "To write a mighty book you must have a mighty theme."
It is similarly so on the pages of life. How do you see the world? Do you see it like God sees it? Do you know what he is planning with it? Do you understand his purposes for the world, and the meaning he gives to human existence? Have you found the road that leads to life?
When the BBC wanted to do a program on the work of Mother Teresa in Calcutta, she at first refused. She didn't want publicity and didn't think it would be worth her time or their while. She certainly did not want to be famous.
Finally Malcolm Muggeridge talked her into it. He helped her to see that others needed her vision, her sense of purpose, her understanding of what God means for life. When he explained it to her like that she became excited. "Yes!" she said. "Malcolm, let's do it! Let's do something beautiful for God!"
That became the title of the program: "Something Beautiful for God." It can also be the theme of lives of deep commitment everywhere: to walk with Elijah, to grow the fruit of the Spirit, to journey through Samaria toward Jerusalem without calling down the fire of heaven in vengeance. Let's do it!
Our faith can also develop a kind of immunity. If our faith demonstrates that itself in commitment, exercises itself in moral habits, and reaches out for the power offered in scripture and in the church, then it cannot be easily lost when life gets tough.
That's why we need to make small commitments of faith when we're young. Imagine, as Harry Emerson Fosdick did, that life is a journey down the banks of the Jordan River. At some time before we die, we need to cross the river and take up residence in the Promised Land.
In the church, we often direct attention to the lower end of the river, to the wild surge of waves just before the Jordan empties itself into the Dead Sea. Standing on the banks of the Promised Land, we look across at those urging them to come into the grace of God before it's too late. Many step into the roaring waters and try to swim. Sometimes they struggle across, nearly exhausted by the effort. Sometimes they don't make it. They get lost among the waves, and the waters close in around them. Their hands reach out for help, but it appears to be too late.
But people can easily cross the Jordan earlier than that. They can cross midstream, where the current is weaker. They can even wade across near its source at the Sea of Galilee, where the waters are shallow and trickle slowly.
People who cross the river near its source are like those who make early commitments of faith, who are drawn to a life of faith by the firm hands of parents, teachers, and friends. Isn't it wonderful that they can now walk for a lifetime on the shores of the Promised Land and know faith's preventative power during the rough times?
Today's passages speak about commitments that lead to a lifetime of recognized service (Elijah), deepening faith (Paul in Galatians), and changing social dynamics in a world that has too long been mired in genocidal sectarianism (Jesus and his disciples with the Samaritans). Time to step up!
2 Kings 2:1-2, 6-14
The dynamic duo of Elijah and Elisha marks both the low-water mark of Yahweh-worship in ancient Israel and the high-water mark of Yahweh testimony in the same milieu. It is interesting to note the emerging and changing role of the public "prophets." Moses and Joshua each had a unique and ongoing relational interchange with Yahweh that made their leadership positions virtually unassailable (cf. Numbers 12, 16-17). After the nation was settled in Canaan, such clear, regular, and unequivocal communication with Yahweh appears to have been muted. During the times of Eli, we are told, "the word of the Lord was rare; there were not many visions" (1 Samuel 3:1).
That is why, when Yahweh began speaking directly with Samuel, the Israelites were ready to follow him (1 Samuel 3:19-21). This seems to be the beginning of a national recognition of the status of prophets as part of the necessary social fabric.
When Samuel's leadership was challenged because the people wanted a king (1 Samuel 8), it caused the first subtle separation of church and state. Samuel was a priest by adoption and worked within the parameters of the cultic shrine. But the kings were clearly outside of the Levitical priesthood or its extended family. Prophets at first began to bridge the connection and then later sparred with the kings as the sovereignty role of Yahweh was increasingly forgotten.
This tension is clearly seen in the dominant stories of Elijah and Elisha who battled with the rulers of the northern kingdom in 1 Kings 17--2 Kings 8. Elijah was given the weapons of the curses of the Sinai covenant to bring Ahab and Jezebel to their knees (1 Kings 17:1). He wielded divine power in public displays of combat (1 Kings 18). He was authorized to determine and appoint the leaders of nations (1 Kings 19). And when Ahab and Jezebel presumed that they could displace God-fearing Israelites from their divinely determined inheritance in the land (1 Kings 21), Elijah confronted the pair with stern prophecies that they instead would be removed.
Throughout the rest of the Old Testament history of Israel, the prophets would take on a changing and growing role as the legitimate and authorized spokespersons for Yahweh and the Sinai covenant. Most of their speeches are not new revelations, but rather interpretations of the covenant stipulations for current situations. Ultimately the prophets became the interpreters of Israel's history, and their writings were collected as a unique section of Hebrew scripture.
Elijah and Elisha are the clearest indication that Yahweh has turned away from the kings of Israel and has begun a new leadership dynasty resident in the school of the prophets. The names of these larger-than-life characters are the first clue: Elijah's name means "My God is Yahweh"; Elisha's signifies "My God saves." Together Elijah and Elisha show how insignificant is the presumed power of Ahab, Jezebel, and their successors. And in today's lectionary reading comes the confirmation and affirmation of all that Elijah stands for.
For one thing, Elijah is aware that his earthly journey is completed. That in itself is a great gift, for Elijah had grown weary and discouraged through the lonely years of his duel with Ahab and Jezebel. Earlier, in near exhaustion and emotional despair, he had asked for his life to end (1 Kings 17). At that time he was told by Yahweh that he was neither alone nor at the end of his weighty career. But recently the gentle hand of divine congratulations had been laid upon his shoulder, and he was walking with quicker step as he set out on this pilgrimage of final destiny.
Second, Elijah had grown to appreciate and to trust Elisha. Even now, though Elijah knew that his end was near, and that it was a passage he needed to travel alone, Elisha would not be dissuaded from companioning him as far as possible. There was a fierce loyalty that bound the understudy to the Lone Ranger. Moreover, once Elisha became aware of Elijah's one-way ticket on this adventure, he demanded a blessing from his mentor, not asking to replace Elijah, but to mark steps worthy of succession.
Third, the waters of the Jordan parted at Elijah's command. Not since Joshua initiated this same action when the Israelites entered Canaan (Joshua 3-4), in imitation of Moses' similar rule over the Red Sea (Exodus 14-15), had such power been wielded in direct access to heaven's resources and confirmation. Elijah is a direct successor to Moses and Joshua in the leadership dynasty directly dictated by Yahweh, Israel's true king. No concurrent ruler in Samaria could claim any such anointing. Moreover, Elisha's follow-up command over the same waters reaffirmed this coronation and succession.
Fourth, the fiery chariot and horses were a royal invitation to a divine banquet. No one rode in chariots except warriors and royalty. Elijah was a warrior, but one without the backing of a nation. Now he was accorded the ride he deserved, an end-of-life ride without equal.
Galatians 5:1, 13-25
Commitments are sometimes tough for us to cope with because we love freedom. We crave it. We don't want government to restrict us. We don't want our parents to be too strict. We don't want our jobs to consume us. We want to be free!
But what is freedom? What does it meant to be free?
Usually freedom means throwing off our bonds and fetters, tearing down the walls that might close us in. It means taking hold of our own destinies, owing nothing to anyone, standing tall at the head of our ship.
Yet liberty by itself cannot hold our lives together. It can't steer us or shape us. It can't give us purpose or direction. Liberty merely opens the gate; if there's nothing beyond the gate, we stand there staring out into the void. We may end up destroying ourselves by trying to go in too many directions without a purpose.
Listen to this suicide note left by a young woman who had kept herself free by moving from lover to lover, throwing off all restraints: "I am killing myself because I have never sincerely loved any human being all my life."
She was free! A free spirit, freely giving herself in free relationships, but liberty alone can never give us meaning in life. Freedom opens the door for us, but faith gives us direction when we walk out into the open spaces of our lives.
Abraham had to learn that, as Paul makes clear in the section of his letter leading up to today's New Testament lesson. The early chapters of Genesis document a series of promises that God made to Abraham, making him truly free. Interestingly, every time God opened a door Abraham went wandering by himself and lost his sense of purpose. In Genesis 12 God promised him a homeland, but when the famines came he ran off to Egypt. In Genesis 15 God promised him a son, but Abraham schemed with a younger woman to find an heir.
God repeats these promises to Abraham in Genesis 17, this time going a step further. God challenges Abraham: "If you really believe that I'm God, if you believe I can keep my word, then it's time for you to turn your faith into a promise. You do something to show that you belong to me. Cut the skin of your flesh and remind yourself of where you got your identity!"
Do you see what God was doing? God didn't want Abraham to hurt, and he wasn't just out to see blood. God wanted Abraham to take hold of his faith for his own sake. Faith had to be Abraham's promise as well as God's, or it would never stick.
Faith is a promise. If it isn't, it dies. When Michelangelo was young, he felt trapped by the demands and pressures of his family. They wanted to repress him, to hold his creativity and energy in check. In fact, they wanted him to become a banker or businessman.
When he spoke to his family about painting, they beat him. "Fool!" they said as the whip hit his back. "What kind of profit is there in such things?"
How he craved freedom! How he longed for the day when the door of this family prison would swing open and he could walk the streets of the city on his own terms. Finally he grabbed his destiny and pulled himself to freedom -- he ran away from home.
What did freedom mean to him? Listen to the words recorded by his biographers: "Now at last I am free! Now at last I can give myself to beauty and to art!"
Freed to serve! Liberated to be once again enslaved, but this time by a vision and a power much greater than himself. Beauty was the ordering principle of his life. It was the faith he clung to when he lay on this back, cooped and cramped, beneath the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, where he painted the magnificent sweep of human history.
We also have things we long to be freed from: disease, addictions, repressive relationships, and the like. But if we don't have other commitments to replace the things that bind us -- as Michelangelo did -- we are in danger of floundering through life adrift.
I'll never forget the first funeral I conducted as a young pastor. It was for an 86-year-old man who had been baptized as a baby and had known about God all his life. He wanted so much to believe that God loved him. But he was never able to bring himself to publicly profess his faith.
On his deathbed he cried like a baby, wanting some assurance that God would take him into the everlasting kingdom. His family surrounded him. They knew that God loved him. They knew that their Pa and Opa was going to heaven. They saw the grace of God in his life. But he, of all people, didn't know it. He, of all people, missed the joy of God's grace. He, of all people, went to his grave a restless spirit.
Why? Because even though God had taken hold of his life, the man had never taken hold of his faith in God. You can't affirm a contract without signing on the dotted line. You can't cash a check without endorsing it and taking it to the bank. You can't make your faith vital and alive without deepening it through the personal attachments of commitment and devotion.
In other words of George Matheson:
Make me a captive, Lord,
and then I shall be free;
force me to render up by sword,
and I shall conqueror be.
I sink in life's alarms
When by myself I stand;
Imprison me within thine arms,
And strong shall be my hand.
Luke 9:51-62
The "Samaritans" figure prominently in post-exilic literature (Ezra) and also in the New Testament (e.g., here, Luke 10, John 4, Acts 8). Who were these people and where did they come from?
The story begins in 2 Kings 17 where, after the northern kingdom of Israel had been conquered and displaced, the Assyrians relocated other tribes into the area. Following a series of local mishaps that fed their superstitions, these settlers begged for someone from among the former inhabitants who might teach them about the gods of this region. An Israelite priest was found. Since the northern kingdom of Israel had cut itself off from Jerusalem and the temple, the only sourcebook of ancient Israelite religion was the Pentateuch, Genesis through Deuteronomy.
In that collection Moses laid great emphasis on the covenant renewal ceremony that was to take place near Shechem from Mounts Gerezim and Ebal. Since the blessings of the covenant were to be shouted from Mount Gerezim, this high spot became associated with holiness. Instructions related to the tabernacle (Exodus 25-40) were used to create a worship shrine on that mountain, and the minimalist religious identity of the Samaritans began.
Since the Jews (people of Judah) considered these Samaritans deficient in religious understanding and ethnically outsiders to the original Israelite nation, they treated the Samaritans with disdain and scorn. This led to several incidents of military violence and terrorist activities as each community grew in resentment toward the other.
The rival temple to that in Jerusalem will be an ongoing source of tension between the Samaritans and the Jews, as reflected in the conversations between Jesus and the woman at Sychar (the first-century AD name for Shechem) in John 4. But it also shows up in today's gospel passage. If Jesus is going to travel from Galilee to Jerusalem, the straightest route lies through Samaria. Although most devout Jews would avoid both the territory and the conflict by going down to the Jordan River valley and bypassing the Samaritan highlands on their way to Jerusalem, even at the threat of having to traverse the dangerous road up from Jericho (remember Jesus' story of the "good Samaritan"?), Jesus seems intent on traveling the ridge road, directly through Samaritan territory.
The Samaritans do not want Jesus and his disciples anywhere near, and the feelings are mutually shared by Jesus' followers. But greater values are at stake, and the one who is the true outcast will bring both of these enemies to the same communion table.
Application
We go with the flow. We follow the crowd. We get on the treadmill with everyone else and are worn down by the same daily grind. "If you don't know where you are going," says the Koran, "any old road will get you there."
To live in a different way requires some goals that pull us toward the narrow path that leads to the kingdom of God. Goals don't have to be big or outlandish or extravagant. They do, however, have to be important. In the preface to his magnificent novel Moby Dick, Herman Melville says, "To write a mighty book you must have a mighty theme."
It is similarly so on the pages of life. How do you see the world? Do you see it like God sees it? Do you know what he is planning with it? Do you understand his purposes for the world, and the meaning he gives to human existence? Have you found the road that leads to life?
When the BBC wanted to do a program on the work of Mother Teresa in Calcutta, she at first refused. She didn't want publicity and didn't think it would be worth her time or their while. She certainly did not want to be famous.
Finally Malcolm Muggeridge talked her into it. He helped her to see that others needed her vision, her sense of purpose, her understanding of what God means for life. When he explained it to her like that she became excited. "Yes!" she said. "Malcolm, let's do it! Let's do something beautiful for God!"
That became the title of the program: "Something Beautiful for God." It can also be the theme of lives of deep commitment everywhere: to walk with Elijah, to grow the fruit of the Spirit, to journey through Samaria toward Jerusalem without calling down the fire of heaven in vengeance. Let's do it!
