“Looking At Ourselves: Using Scriptures as the Mirror - Part 1”

Friday, December 06, 2024

Looking At Ourselves: Using Scriptures as the Mirror - Part 1

By Tom Rose

As nearly as I can tell, most Christians as well as secular people today are goal-oriented. It fits the American style. The less popular option is to be process-oriented. Just getting there is not all that counts, because how you get there and what happens to you and to others along the way are at least equally important.

Consider the Parable of the Good Samaritan in Lk. 10:25-37. The priest and Levite on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho were goal-oriented. On their minds were things other than a mugging victim, perhaps important things. The Samaritan of the parable was process-oriented. He, too, was on his way to Jericho, but for him getting there was not only less than half the fun but three-quarters of the pain. He saw not only the road, but the ditches alongside. He didn’t pretend that he had not seen what he saw. He didn’t try to convince himself that his goal down the road was more important than a deed of mercy to be transacted then and there. In stopping and stooping, he was not taking time out of his life; he was living life. Goals are points in time; process is time itself.

In one of his books, William Barclay tells the story of a group of people who were talking about heroism. Everyone, they said, sooner or later must practice some kind of heroism. A brash young man in the group turned to an old woman who looked ordinary and serene; he did not know that life for her had been a series of tragedies. “And what kind of heroism do you practice?” he asked lightly. “I?” she replied. “I practice the heroism of going on.” Recall that Jesus told Peter and Andrew, “Follow me and I will make you to become. ...fishers of men.” (Mk. 1:17), it was not an overnight transformation. Every step along dusty Galilean roads, every encounter with need, every response to happenings, would be a bit of “becoming.”

We generally demonstrate so little staying power. Most often what we do is to leapfrog, bypass the difficult or messy things in life in order to get on with it, when the process of everyday living is what life is mainly about. Even in our attempts to shortcut or anesthetize ourselves, we are “becoming.” When we shut our eyes, stop our ears, try to shield ourselves from feeling our own pain or that of others, we are “becoming.” By the road they traveled and their unique reaction to events along the way, the priest, the Levite–as well as the Samaritan–were in the process of becoming and thereby being shaped into their own respective personalities.

So where does individual responsibility begin? And end? When I look at the way Jesus ministered, He, like we, lived in a sea of need. In that hot land of Palestine, blindness was common, leprosy was a feared scourge, and sickness, hunger and sorrow abounded. Yet, Jesus did not heal all the sick, feed all the hungry, and raise all the dead. Surely Jesus knew He was only scratching the surface of need. How did He live with that knowledge? In searching for an answer, I find it instructive that in all the Gospel accounts, Jesus never turned away anyone who came within the scope of His awareness and ability to help.

Scope of awareness. It was this which placed an inescapable compulsion upon Him, and which places it upon us. When I see, when I hear, and when I know, then something happens to me that has not happened before. It is then that the problem, the concern becomes mine. When the knock comes to my door. When the empty hand reaches toward me. When the eyes look into my eyes. Then I must do something or surrender some piece of my Christian credibility.

Fortunately, awareness is an ability that can be cultivated. We hear what we need to hear, what we want to hear, in the same way that a mother immediately catches the first cry of her awakening baby. However, there are those who are afraid that they will hear something, who avert their eyes lest they see something. How lonely to walk the streets of life, afraid to look up, afraid of what might be seen in even a fleeting glance at another face. In truth, we avert not only our eyes, but also our hearts, lest some compulsion leap across the gap and forever bind us together. For, even from our own small experience, we know deep down that having seen, we cannot ever again unsee. Having heard, we will never again be able to unhear. And unless our conscience is dead, we will have to act.

Consider two scriptures: one paints a negative picture “Therefore, to him who knows to do good and does not do it, to him it is sin” Jas. 4:17. On the other hand, Jn. 3:16 reminds us of a singular, supremely positive event that changed everything, “For God so loved the world that He gave. . .” Let us continue to become and to give of ourselves, as unto the Lord, as that is the penalty, and the incomparable reward, for being a follower of His Son.

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