I’ve been attending the “Adult Formation Class” at my church. Those with other church experiences may think of it as “Sunday School” for grown ups. One of the things I’ve appreciated in this group is the open format that invites dialogue rather than one person expounding on the Bible.
This last Sunday's class was based on the parable of “The Good Samaritan”. I’ve often pondered this story of Jesus because I find it challenging about what Jesus says about the “weightier matters of the law” and how we should look at people we consider “not one of us”.
We didn’t get very far, just the first few verses that set the scene because of going through the cultural context. But just that much was thought provoking.
While I had some awareness of the class distinctions during that time period (men and women, Israelites and foreigners) I really wasn’t aware that it was structured to a far greater degree. As Fr. Richard explained that there was a definite societal hierarchy. The center of power was Jerusalem and the temple complex and power spread out and down from there. At the top were the Priests, then Levites (who could be but were not all priests), then the “pure” Hebrews, the mixed races and then foreigners. Within each stratum were rankings and you could move up or down within your own class but very rarely move up and out of it.
At the heart of social interaction was the concept of shame and honor. Right social actions brought you honor, wrong brought you shame. This was above and beyond simple moral behavior. A person did not shame himself by socializing with a social inferior because it tainted him by association. Inferiors were expected to treat their superiors with respect and not address them with any kind of familiarity.
Before Jesus offers the parable, he is approached by “an expert in the law” who asks him what he needs to do in order to inherit eternal life. Rather than giving him a straight answer, Jesus asks a question in return. According the cultural norms of the day, this was all part of the dance of social exchange. The man approaches Jesus with a question as an equal but is doing so to feel him out. Jesus in return isn’t going to give anything away that easily so he asks the man how he interprets the law.
When the man gives the canned answer, Jesus gives him a metaphorical “good job” pat on the back but the guy decides to push it just a bit more with a slightly more debatable point. As a learned person, this guy knew his first question was a simple one that anyone who claimed to be a teacher should know. That was the test to see where Jesus stood in the hierarchy, but now he’s going to up the ante a little to see if Jesus stands a bit higher than himself.
So we got this far in the class and the questions that came out as discussion points were:
First the simple one: Who is your neighbor?
Then the tougher one: Who do you love?
It’s natural to differentiate between those that “belong to us” and those who don’t
Then (for me) the hardest one: Who do you let love you?
The thing that struck me during this discussion was that it seems that the society into which Jesus was born had a set up an expectation that life was about an exchange of obligations. If someone did something to or for you, you had to do something of equal or greater value to preserve your position.
But the parable of the Good Samaritan is an unequal exchange. Further more, the person offering the greater deed was someone lower in the social hierarchy.
This is hard for me. Somehow, I bought into the need to keep exchanges equal or come out as the greater giver. I think my parents meant well but I was trained to deny my own desires, wishes, and sometimes needs in order to be “unselfish”. I sometimes feel inferior if someone does or give more to me than I for them. Somehow I have to repay or I’ve been selfish. And by default “inferior” as a person.
It’s a rather poisonous way of being because it forestalls others being able to act out their better natures and cuts me off from just simply feeling loved without having to worry about feeling as though I deserve it.
Thanks to my best friend who has put up with all these little twisty bits inside my head and challenges me on them, I think I’ve been getting better about it. But it was a little unpleasant to find that I can still be brought up short by the question. Yet it is also oddly comforting to know that if I need to be corrected still, it can be done in such a kindly and gentle way.