So, Jesus is hanging out and chatting with this legal expert when he’s asked a kinda important question: What does it take to gain eternal life?o And we see Jesus do something that is very Jesus-esque here, not to mention incredibly infuriating. He answers this major, significant question with another question. Now, I don't know about you, but I cannot STAND it when people do this to me. I am not asking you because I want to come up with the answer myself. I want to know what YOU think.
But, that’s just not what Jesus does. He’s notorious for hitting us with that double question. In the New Testament, Jesus is asked _____ questions. In return, he asks others _____ questions. But does anyone know how many questions he just gifts an answer to? Three. That’s it. That’s a frustrating statistic. And, as frustrating as it is, it also reminds us of a couple things.
1. Jesus is a relational kinda guy.
When we ask questions, we’re forming connections, and bonds, and relationships. The only way to really get to know who someone is, is by inquiring about them. I can’t get to know things about you if I never ask.
And at the same time, questions allow us to get to know one another. They help us see what the other person thinks, feels, and values. Jesus knows this. When he asks his return question, he’s pushing the legal expert to connect the dots for himself. By answering the question, the expert can find the words to articulate what he actually believes, not just what he was taught. Speaking it forces us to take ownership if what it is we feel, and what we think we know. Jesus, I’m sure, learned an abundance about the man by asking one simple return question.
In Tarzan, we see the value of an inquisitive mind. Jane and Tarzan know nothing about one another. They’re in a cycle of questioning and answering, of building trust and forming a bridge-building relationship. They’re able to question everything, as we say in The Neighborhood, but they do so with an intent to learn. Notice that they don’t bicker and fight about who’s way is right or wrong or weird. They are able to learn information about the life of the other and to value and respect them and the experiences that got them to this moment.
The same goes for Jesus. He doesn’t argue with the man about his answers. He also doesn’t tell him he’s wrong. He just asks questions, tells stories, and has a healthy conversation around a difficult topic. In the end, the man was challenged to articulate what the right answer was. I think we can also learn a bit about healthy conversation around hard subjects from Jesus here.
2. It also reminds me that Jesus isn’t interested in thinking for me.
It would be so easy for Jesus to just give the man his answer. I mean, he is God, right? He definitely has the answer. But Jesus saw the value of allowing this man to come to his own conclusion.
And it’s something we see again and again in Jesus’s ministry. Except for a handful of exceptions, he doesn’t just come out and tell people who he is. He allows them to see, to experience, and to come to the conclusion on his identity on their own.
There’s value to experiencing and uncovering an answer for yourself. In the movie, when Tarzan wants to explain a piece of himself to Jane, he shows her. He allows her to not only hear, but to experience, and she does the same. I think this adds a layer of authenticity to the answers they come up with. It’s one thing to read or hear or learn a bit of information. It’s another thing to live or witness someone else’s life experience.
Jesus doesn’t want to think for us. When the expert gives his answer, to love God with all your heart, soul, mind and strength, and your neighbor as yourself, he still has questions. He follows up again and asks, “Who’s my neighbor?” To which Jesus responds with a story about a robbery, bystanders, and a Samaritan man.
So, the first thing we see in this story is an innocent man who has been beaten, robbed, and left for dead on the side of a busy and dangerous road. As he is lying there, a temple priest walks along the road. He sees the man but chooses to cross the road and do nothing. And I know what you’re thinking: "Of course he crossed the road! He was responsible for sacrifices on behalf of the entire Israelite community and if the man were dead, he’d be impure and unable to do his job for like a week!”
And yes, you’re right. He did have a job to do that kept him from being able to stop and physically care for the man. BUT that didn’t let him off the hook for doing anything. He could have made a scene, could have drawn the attention of another who would have been able to help him. He did not have an excuse to turn a blind eye.
It’s easy to get overwhelmed when we assume that we are on the hook for solving the entirety of an issue by ourselves. But we’re not called to do this alone. We’re called to a community, and there are gifts and talents and things you have access to that I may not. And there are areas within my community that need aid. I’m not on the hook for solving the entirety of the problem, but I can solve a piece of it. And you can solve a piece of it. And you can solve a piece of it. When we see this, the scope of what we’re able to accomplish and the heaven that we’re able to create drastically changes.
Just Tarzan, or just Jane, or just Tantor, or just Terk couldn’t have ended the harm being done by Clayton. But by teaming up and utilizing each other’s gifts, they were able to bring an end to the injustice being done. Not one, but all.
When we did what Moana did and we stepped into the waters, and we answered the call, we left behind our ability to turn a blind eye.
Our next passer-by is a temple assistant. He too crosses the road. Now, it’s less clear why he chose to avoid helping the man. But to me, I would imagine that he was just following the lead of the priest. I mean, that’s his boss. He holds a high position of power, and he is perceived to be of sound judgment. If it’s okay for him to ignore the situation, it should be fine for the assistant, right? Or, perhaps he felt helpless. Maybe he held the priest to an unworthy standard or expectation based off his title, leaving him to feel as though there was nothing he could do. If the priest couldn’t help – with all of his status and power – what would he be able to accomplish? And if I’m honest, this is the character I feel the most connected to. It’s easy to feel powerless, when I don’t think I hold the title or power necessary to make a change. It’s easy to just project what is my responsibility onto the title or role of another, leaving it up to them to make the change. But the reality is, the priest was just another person, called to address the same injustice and hurt, just with a different set of tools. He still saw the hurting man, and he still crossed the road and chose not to help.
And then, here came the Samaritan man. He was the most unlikely of the three bystanders to extend aid. The Israelites and the Samaritans were two worlds that opposed one another. There were a lot of cultural wounds that these communities suffered through the generations that left them enemies. It would have made sense for the Samaritan to keep moving. I don’t think anyone at home would have batted an eye at his decision to keep moving because of the wounds that existed between these two communities. He made the choice to stop. And that alone would have been nice enough. He could have picked him up and taken the injured man to a safe place, handing him off to another to take care of. He could have done the bare minimum, but that’s not what he does either. The Samaritan stops. He invests in the well-being of the injured man. He bandages his wounds, he makes a financial investment of 2 days wages to take care of him, and he offers to do more if it’s needed. The Samaritan man wasn’t ignorant to who this was. He knew this was an Israelite man. He knew the history of the two nations, the wounds and conflicts of their people. He also knew his own personal experiences with the Israelites. And in that moment, he was able to push that to the side. Because before him was a human – beaten, broken, left for dead, that needed his help. We see these two worlds choose to acknowledge their differences, to recognize their history, and still choose to move forward together, one family. We see something similar in Tarzan. When Jane realizes Clayton is inflicting harm on the gorillas, she takes a stand with them. She and Clayton might have a shared past, but he was wrong. And his choices were dangerous and unjust, and she chose to stand with them in their need and push back. She became an ally of the gorilla community. She stood with them, fighting with those that could and for those that couldn’t, to take down Clayton.
I wonder, what stirs compassion within you? What situations or circumstances draw your attention or energy? Are we paying attention to these things, or are we crossing the street, projecting our responsibilities onto the label or rank that another carries? Waiting for another to come along and solve the problem? Or, are we pausing and stepping into the role of family? Are we recognizing the needs of our neighbors around the world or around the block? Are we standing with those who might not be able to stand themselves? To see people, for all the good, all the bad, all the experiences, and to choose to ask questions and to sit with them at their lowest points, to stand with them when it’s necessary, that is what it means to become one family.