The Good Samaritan

We hit the parable of the Good Samaritan today in Luke, and it occasioned a few thoughts, some new, some old.

The scribe asks Jesus (tempts him; the Greek indicates he was testing him to cause him to fail) what he should do in order to inherit eternal life. In response, Christ asks him what he finds in the Law; the answer, rightly given, is "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" (Lu 10.27).

What is terrific about this response is that the lawyer realizes that he has condemned himself—he has admitted that he has failed and will not inherit eternal life. How do we know? "But he {that is, the lawyer}, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, 'And who is my neighbor?'" (Lu 10.29).

Two things might be said here. First, that the lawyer wouldn't desire if to justify himself had he not just condemned himself. Second, he has skipped past loving the LORD with all his heart, soul, mind, and strength and gone straight to loving his neighbor. I surmise from the white spaces that he does this because he recognizes the absolute futility of trying to live up to such a command. The heart, soul, strength, and mind represent a totality of his being: his emotional, spiritual, physical, and mental exercise.

In passing by the first command to the second, he also reveals the eventual course of all legalistic practice: the redefinition of the command or of the sin in order to exonerate oneself. The sinless perfection crowd generally does two things: they redefine sin, and that failing (or sometimes even succeeding) they redefine perfection. The consequence is a devastation of grace and the Cross—the sins that Jesus Christ died for are sin no more, and the purpose (result) of his death is diminished.

The gospel is bound up in a proper definition of sin—if we cannot see our sinfulness for what it is, we will never appreciate the superlative nature of the death, burial, and resurrection of our Lord.


In the parable itself, it seems that Jesus echoes the ineffectiveness of the Law to do man any good. Again, I'm reading a bit of the white space here, but the Levite and the priest who pass by may have done so because it would have made them unclean according to the law (Nu 19.11ff; cf Ez 44.25, Nu 6.6ff). (Of course, the law would penalize them for knowingly ignoring a man's distress, so the interpretation here really depends on how badly the man was beaten.)

The Samaritan, estranged from the fellowship of Israel, is "permitted" to aid the man because in a sense he is already judged under the Jewish law. I think in some respects this mirrors the way that Jesus took our own burdens; he was condemned for us, and his condemnation is what restores us from death.

I see him also in the Samaritan's pledge to the innkeeper: "Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back" (Lu 10.35). There is such comfort in knowing that Jesus Christ did not just provide for a part of our sin, but the whole of it. He does not pay for a part of the recovery, but all of it.


I know this is already a bit long, but there is a parallel here to the story of the rich young ruler (Lu 18.18ff). The question is the same (in fact, it's identical in the Greek, as near as I can tell). As with the lawyer, Jesus causes the young man to understand that while he has adhered to the commandments (if we take him at his word, v21), he has nonetheless still failed to keep the law (v22).

In answering these questions, Jesus leaves no wiggle room: we cannot achieve what is demanded in the law. Even in asking the question we condemn ourselves.

A fitting conclusion fails me at this point, as it does in many of my writings. I was not expecting to hear this today (I obviously didn't read ahead), but I'm glad I did. While my upbringing was not legalistic, and I was taught well (I think) about grace, it is the experience of it that has made me appreciate passages like these more.

Grace is great until you recognize your need for it—and that is precisely when we (I) turn to "What must I do," instinctively trying to make amends on our own rather than through the cross. It is good news indeed that we cannot justify ourselves.

Theologica and Other

So I was recently turned on to Theologica by a couple friends. I don't know that I'll post there often, as my interest in online theological debate has waned some over the years as I have realized how little I actually know. (I suppose it's that, and the fact that I prefer to be a student these days.)

It seems like it could be quite interesting, regardless, and if there's actually anyone other than those couple friends who reads this, you should look at it.


The Other part of the title stems from a Sunday incident, when I was accosted by an older, nearly bald man (save some longer hair tied back—I hope the Lord takes all of my hair instead, though I admit if sin is its own worst consequence, he'll likely repay my vanity with something like it) who revealed in me a startling inadequacy in verbally discussing my theological convictions.

After introducing ourselves, he mentioned he was interested in finding a Bible study; he appreciated the Christ-centered sermons and hoped to involve himself further—specifically with younger people. He preferred them for their zeal. The discussion winded a little ways on, and he then told me he wanted to start a Messianic Jewish church. I asked him if he was a Messianic Jew—negative, but "That's where it's at." Specifically he was keen on the deity of Christ, which warmed me to him some.

But he proceeded to blurt out a lot of works-based forumlae for salvation, and then completely flabbergasted me with the statement that some guy (by saying which, I think he meant "idiot") at Westminster Presbyterian taught that it was the faith of Christ that saves us, not our own faith. While I have some reservations about saying it that way, I got the gist and was surprised anyone at a reputable seminary would teach something like that.

He was considerably disturbed by the doctrine and Calvinism in general; I don't think he understood it very well. His verbal onslaught reduced me to half-hearted attempts to direct him to the list of Bible studies in the church; I have never met someone who simultaneously hit on all those points at once in a negative way in roughly three minutes of frantic speech.


I suppose my lack of enthusiasm (zeal, I guess he would say) probably has left him thinking I don't understand a lick of it all and he had better find someone else to talk to. (I confess I am not too upset by that.) Yet it highlighted for me how poorly prepared I was for a blindsiding of that variety.

I suppose there was no question in his statements, but undoubtedly there was challenge; and I had no idea what to say. I'm sure the meeting was providential (made possible by redemption, eh? ;), but I haven't the foggiest about the purpose, unless it is simply to sharpen my sword and better soldier. And perhaps that is the impetus for finally getting a Theologica account.

Short thoughts on Titus

So the first attempt at posting this failed, due to a vagary of the computer I'm using to write these. Hopefully the second effort works.

The senior pastor was on vacation today, so we were treated to some study in Titus. We spent a fair amount of time on the somewhat unique opening (to my knowledge, this is the only Pauline epistle in which he calls himself a bond-servant of Jesus, with the possible exception of another co-authored with Silvanus).

I was mostly intrigued by the use of the phrase "for the faith of God's elect" (as translated by the NAS and NIV). The word "for" here is KATA in the Greek and is usually rendered "according to" or "against" or "down" depending on the case of the object.

I think the translation is due partly to the content of the letter: certainly Paul's instructions to Titus would have an effect on the faith of those God chose. But I wonder if we might think about the faith here not as belief so much as doctrine, that is, the faith God delivered to the saints. In this way, we can read KATA as we usually do: "according to the doctrine delivered to God's elect...."


A consistent theme in our study this morning was soundness, in particular soundness of faith and of doctrine. Sound doctrine produces sound faith. This shouldn't be surprising, but considering how many churches have abandoned doctrine entirely, it is worth emphasizing.

I'm not a pastor, nor will I ever be one, in all likelihood, but it seems obvious to me that part of the duty of a pastor is to educate his congregants in sound doctrine. Having watched a small amount of Osteen's interview on 60 Minutes, it makes me wonder if he has ever considered the book (he apparently doesn't feel that teaching doctrine is his gift).

In any case, it was a good and interseting study, and one I hope to pick up again soon.