Bible texts with commentary
These Bible meditations are meant as a way of seeking God in silence and prayer in the midst of our daily life. During the course of a day, take a moment to read the Bible passage with the short commentary and to reflect on the questions which follow. Afterwards, a small group of 3 to 10 people can meet to share what they have discovered and perhaps for a time of prayer.
March 2015
Luke 10:25-37: Becoming a Neighbor
On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?” He answered, “‘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, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.” But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’ Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:25-37)
The question the man asks Jesus is very direct: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” We could translate this: what could I do to be really alive, so that my life is not a life for death, but a life for life, a life for ever? Jesus’ reply calls upon the abilities of this man, who is an expert in the law, in other words a specialist in Scripture: “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” The man answers by associating two Bible passages. The first part, on loving God, comes from the Book of Deuteronomy (6:5). The second, love your neighbor, comes from the Book of Leviticus (19:18). Though the texts are well-known, putting them together is original. The man makes one flow into the another. The word “love” is not repeated twice, as we might expect, but just once. Loving one’s neighbor is therefore not a second reality added to the first. God and one’s neighbor are part of one and the same movement, the same love. And so Jesus congratulates the man. This is what is essential in order to find true life.
But the man does not stop there. “And who is my neighbor?” he asks. The world in which Jesus lived was already a multicultural world. In the Roman Empire, peoples, cultures and religions were mixed. But it is probable that the answer to this question would have been evident, in any case for many people at that time: my neighbor is first of all a member of my own people. Although I should respect foreigners, and even offer them hospitality, they remain foreigners; they are not “my neighbors.”
Jesus replies by a parable. An anonymous traveler, alone and defenseless, is beaten and left for dead. Two people pass by and leave him to his fate. Why did the priest and the Levite not stop? Were they afraid? Did they think the man was already dead and therefore impure? The road from Jerusalem to Jericho was 25 kilometers long. It passed through an almost uninhabited region and was known for its bandits. Who would not have been afraid? In contrast the Samaritan seems totally unworried. He is filled with pity at what he sees. The text expresses a dilemma that we all experience: being caught between our good intentions and our fears.
All we know about this man is that he is a Samaritan, in other words, an inhabitant of Samaria, a neighboring country hostile to the Jewish people. When Saint John describes the meeting between Jesus and a Samaritan woman beside a well, he simply says, “Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.” This man is thus not only a non-Jew. He is something worse than that—a member of a nation considered as unacceptable.
In the parable, the kindness does not come from the Levite or the priest—they are the ones who should recognize the wounded man as their neighbor—but from an unknown person from whom no sympathy would be expected. True kindness is always something unexpected. It does not belong to us. It belongs to God; it is everyone’s and meant for everyone. Look at the accumulation of details that the story gives, all the things the Samaritan does for the wounded traveler. He bandages his wounds, put the man on his donkey, brings him to an inn and takes care of him during the night. The next day he leaves money with the innkeeper, two denarii—two days’ salary for a worker in those days—and says he will return. He knows how to give without calculating, and no one sees him to praise him except the innkeeper. The parable causes us to see all these acts so that we can recognize ourselves in them: healing, transporting, watching over, giving, returning….
Then Jesus says, “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The man answers, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus says, “Go and do likewise.” The conversation is subtle. The expert in the Law does not speak of the “Samaritan” but of “the one who had mercy.” He no longer sees a Samaritan and a Jew; he simply sees one person who did good and another who was needy.
Compared to the beginning of the story the question has changed. At the end, Jesus does not ask the expert in the Law “who is my neighbor?” but “who was the neighbor of the man attacked by robbers?” The perspective is reversed. One can no longer ask who is my neighbor and who is not. I no longer try to divide those I meet into two groups. Instead, I ask myself: am I acting as a neighbor? Am I a neighbor? Wanting to know who should be loved and who should not be loved, is that really love? To love in the steps of Christ, must we not let love take all the space, all the breadth it requires?
What aspects of the conversation and the parable especially strike me? Why?
Becoming a neighbor: what does that imply?
If I transposed this story into the circumstances of the world today, what would it look like?
On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” “What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?” He answered, “‘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, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’” “You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.” But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” In reply Jesus said: “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, when he was attacked by robbers. They stripped him of his clothes, beat him and went away, leaving him half dead. A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he put the man on his own donkey, brought him to an inn and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper. ‘Look after him,’ he said, ‘and when I return, I will reimburse you for any extra expense you may have.’ Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The expert in the law replied, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus told him, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:25-37)
The question the man asks Jesus is very direct: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” We could translate this: what could I do to be really alive, so that my life is not a life for death, but a life for life, a life for ever? Jesus’ reply calls upon the abilities of this man, who is an expert in the law, in other words a specialist in Scripture: “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” The man answers by associating two Bible passages. The first part, on loving God, comes from the Book of Deuteronomy (6:5). The second, love your neighbor, comes from the Book of Leviticus (19:18). Though the texts are well-known, putting them together is original. The man makes one flow into the another. The word “love” is not repeated twice, as we might expect, but just once. Loving one’s neighbor is therefore not a second reality added to the first. God and one’s neighbor are part of one and the same movement, the same love. And so Jesus congratulates the man. This is what is essential in order to find true life.
But the man does not stop there. “And who is my neighbor?” he asks. The world in which Jesus lived was already a multicultural world. In the Roman Empire, peoples, cultures and religions were mixed. But it is probable that the answer to this question would have been evident, in any case for many people at that time: my neighbor is first of all a member of my own people. Although I should respect foreigners, and even offer them hospitality, they remain foreigners; they are not “my neighbors.”
Jesus replies by a parable. An anonymous traveler, alone and defenseless, is beaten and left for dead. Two people pass by and leave him to his fate. Why did the priest and the Levite not stop? Were they afraid? Did they think the man was already dead and therefore impure? The road from Jerusalem to Jericho was 25 kilometers long. It passed through an almost uninhabited region and was known for its bandits. Who would not have been afraid? In contrast the Samaritan seems totally unworried. He is filled with pity at what he sees. The text expresses a dilemma that we all experience: being caught between our good intentions and our fears.
All we know about this man is that he is a Samaritan, in other words, an inhabitant of Samaria, a neighboring country hostile to the Jewish people. When Saint John describes the meeting between Jesus and a Samaritan woman beside a well, he simply says, “Jews have no dealings with Samaritans.” This man is thus not only a non-Jew. He is something worse than that—a member of a nation considered as unacceptable.
In the parable, the kindness does not come from the Levite or the priest—they are the ones who should recognize the wounded man as their neighbor—but from an unknown person from whom no sympathy would be expected. True kindness is always something unexpected. It does not belong to us. It belongs to God; it is everyone’s and meant for everyone. Look at the accumulation of details that the story gives, all the things the Samaritan does for the wounded traveler. He bandages his wounds, put the man on his donkey, brings him to an inn and takes care of him during the night. The next day he leaves money with the innkeeper, two denarii—two days’ salary for a worker in those days—and says he will return. He knows how to give without calculating, and no one sees him to praise him except the innkeeper. The parable causes us to see all these acts so that we can recognize ourselves in them: healing, transporting, watching over, giving, returning….
Then Jesus says, “Which of these three do you think was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?” The man answers, “The one who had mercy on him.” Jesus says, “Go and do likewise.” The conversation is subtle. The expert in the Law does not speak of the “Samaritan” but of “the one who had mercy.” He no longer sees a Samaritan and a Jew; he simply sees one person who did good and another who was needy.
Compared to the beginning of the story the question has changed. At the end, Jesus does not ask the expert in the Law “who is my neighbor?” but “who was the neighbor of the man attacked by robbers?” The perspective is reversed. One can no longer ask who is my neighbor and who is not. I no longer try to divide those I meet into two groups. Instead, I ask myself: am I acting as a neighbor? Am I a neighbor? Wanting to know who should be loved and who should not be loved, is that really love? To love in the steps of Christ, must we not let love take all the space, all the breadth it requires?
What aspects of the conversation and the parable especially strike me? Why? Becoming a neighbor: what does that imply? If I transposed this story into the circumstances of the world today, what would it look like?March 2015
‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me’ (Mk 8:34)
While visiting the north of Galilee, in the villages around Caesarea Philippi, Jesus asked his disciples what they thought of him. Peter, speaking for them all, declared his belief that he was the Christ, the Messiah awaited for centuries. To avoid misunderstandings, Jesus explained how his mission should be understood. He would indeed free his people, but in an unexpected manner, paying in person. He would suffer greatly, be condemned, killed and, after three days, rise again. Peter did not accept this vision of the Messiah. As many others of his time, he imagined the Messiah to be someone who would act with power and strength, defeating the Romans and putting the nation of Israel in its proper place in the world. He reprimanded Jesus, who in turn said to Peter: ‘You are not thinking in God’s way, but as humans do’ (see Mk 8:31-33).
Jesus set off again, this time in the direction of Jerusalem, where he was to fulfil his destiny of death and resurrection. Now that his disciples knew he was going to his death, would they want to carry on following him? Jesus’ conditions are clear and demanding. He called the crowd and his disciples together and he said to them:
‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.’
They had been fascinated by him, the Master, when he walked by the lakeside, as they cast their nets to fish, or at the tax booth. Without hesitation they had left their boats, nets, booth, father, house, family to go running after him. They had seen him work miracles and had heard his words of wisdom. Until that moment they had followed him in a spirit of joy and enthusiasm.
Following Jesus, however, was something that required far more. Now what it meant to share fully in his life and destiny became clear: failure and hostility, even death, and what a death! It was the most painful, the most shameful of deaths; the one reserved for murders and the most vicious criminals. A death the Scriptures called ‘cursed’ (see Dt 21:23). Just mentioning the ‘cross’ caused terror. It was almost unspeakable. This is the first time the word appears in the Gospel. Who knows what impression it made on his listeners?
Now that Jesus had clearly affirmed his own identity, he could demonstrate with equal clarity the identity of someone who was his disciple. If the Master is one who loves his people to the point of dying for them, taking their cross upon himself, so too his disciple, to be such, must set aside his or her own way of thinking and share in the entire way of the Master, starting with the cross:
‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.’
Being Christian means being another Christ, to have ‘the same mind that was in Christ Jesus’ who ‘humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross’ (Phil. 2:5,8), to be crucified with Christ, to the point of being able to say with Paul: ‘it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me’ (Gal. 2:20), knowing nothing ‘except Jesus Christ, and him crucified’ (1 Cor. 2:2). It is Jesus who continues to live, die, rise again in us.
This is the greatest desire and the ambition of the Christian, the thing that has created the great saints: being like the Master. But how can we follow Jesus and become like this?
The first step is to ‘deny yourself’, distance yourself from your own way of thinking. It was what Jesus asked of Peter when he reprimanded him for thinking in the manner of human beings and not God. We too, like Peter, wish at times to assert ourselves in an egotistical manner, or at least according to our own criteria. We look for easy and immediate success, with every difficulty smoothed away; we look with envy at those rising up the career ladder; we dream of having a united family and of building around us a caring society and a Christian community without our having to pay a high price.
Denying ourselves means entering into God’s way of thinking, which is how Jesus thought and is displayed in his way of doing things: the logic of the grain of wheat that must die to bear fruit, of finding more joy in giving than in receiving, of offering one’s life out of love, in a word, of taking up the cross:
‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.’
The cross, the ‘daily’ cross as Luke’s gospel calls it (Lk 9:23), can have a thousand faces: an illness, a job loss, the inability to sort out family or work problems, the sense of failure in being unable to create genuine relationships, the feeling of impotence before the world’s massive conflicts, indignation at the recurrent scandals of society… The cross does not need to be sought, it comes on its own, perhaps when we least expect it and in ways we would never have imagined.
Jesus invites us to ‘take it up’, not resigning ourselves to endure it as an evil we cannot avoid, not letting it come down on us and crush us, not even putting up with it by acting with stoicism and detachment. Instead welcome it as a sharing in his cross, as a possibility of being his disciples even in those situations and live in communion with him even in that suffering, because he first took our cross on his shoulders. In every suffering, whatever it may be, we can thus find Jesus who has already made it his own.
Igino Giordani saw in this an instance of role reversal with Simon of Cyrene who bore Jesus’ cross: the cross ‘weighs less if Jesus becomes our Cyrenian.’ And it weighs still less, he goes on to say, if we bear it together. ‘A cross borne by one person ends up as crushing; a cross borne together by several persons with Jesus in their midst, which is to say with Jesus taking it up as a Cyrenian, grows lighter: an easy yoke. A climb, with many climbers roped together, in agreement with one another, becomes a joy, even while the ascent is being made.’
So we are to take up the cross and bear it with him, knowing that we are not alone in carrying it because he bears it with us. This is relating, it is belonging to Jesus, even to the point of full communion with him, to the point of becoming another him. And this is the way that we follow Jesus and become true disciples. The cross will then become for us, as for Christ, ‘the power of God’ (1 Cor. 1:18), the way of resurrection. In every weakness we will find strength, in every darkness light, in every death life, because we will find Jesus.
Fabio Ciardi
‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me’ (Mk 8:34)
While visiting the north of Galilee, in the villages around Caesarea Philippi, Jesus asked his disciples what they thought of him. Peter, speaking for them all, declared his belief that he was the Christ, the Messiah awaited for centuries. To avoid misunderstandings, Jesus explained how his mission should be understood. He would indeed free his people, but in an unexpected manner, paying in person. He would suffer greatly, be condemned, killed and, after three days, rise again. Peter did not accept this vision of the Messiah. As many others of his time, he imagined the Messiah to be someone who would act with power and strength, defeating the Romans and putting the nation of Israel in its proper place in the world. He reprimanded Jesus, who in turn said to Peter: ‘You are not thinking in God’s way, but as humans do’ (see Mk 8:31-33).
Jesus set off again, this time in the direction of Jerusalem, where he was to fulfil his destiny of death and resurrection. Now that his disciples knew he was going to his death, would they want to carry on following him? Jesus’ conditions are clear and demanding. He called the crowd and his disciples together and he said to them:
‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.’
They had been fascinated by him, the Master, when he walked by the lakeside, as they cast their nets to fish, or at the tax booth. Without hesitation they had left their boats, nets, booth, father, house, family to go running after him. They had seen him work miracles and had heard his words of wisdom. Until that moment they had followed him in a spirit of joy and enthusiasm.
Following Jesus, however, was something that required far more. Now what it meant to share fully in his life and destiny became clear: failure and hostility, even death, and what a death! It was the most painful, the most shameful of deaths; the one reserved for murders and the most vicious criminals. A death the Scriptures called ‘cursed’ (see Dt 21:23). Just mentioning the ‘cross’ caused terror. It was almost unspeakable. This is the first time the word appears in the Gospel. Who knows what impression it made on his listeners?
Now that Jesus had clearly affirmed his own identity, he could demonstrate with equal clarity the identity of someone who was his disciple. If the Master is one who loves his people to the point of dying for them, taking their cross upon himself, so too his disciple, to be such, must set aside his or her own way of thinking and share in the entire way of the Master, starting with the cross:
Following Jesus, however, was something that required far more. Now what it meant to share fully in his life and destiny became clear: failure and hostility, even death, and what a death! It was the most painful, the most shameful of deaths; the one reserved for murders and the most vicious criminals. A death the Scriptures called ‘cursed’ (see Dt 21:23). Just mentioning the ‘cross’ caused terror. It was almost unspeakable. This is the first time the word appears in the Gospel. Who knows what impression it made on his listeners?
Now that Jesus had clearly affirmed his own identity, he could demonstrate with equal clarity the identity of someone who was his disciple. If the Master is one who loves his people to the point of dying for them, taking their cross upon himself, so too his disciple, to be such, must set aside his or her own way of thinking and share in the entire way of the Master, starting with the cross:
‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.’
Being Christian means being another Christ, to have ‘the same mind that was in Christ Jesus’ who ‘humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death—even death on a cross’ (Phil. 2:5,8), to be crucified with Christ, to the point of being able to say with Paul: ‘it is no longer I who live, but it is Christ who lives in me’ (Gal. 2:20), knowing nothing ‘except Jesus Christ, and him crucified’ (1 Cor. 2:2). It is Jesus who continues to live, die, rise again in us.
This is the greatest desire and the ambition of the Christian, the thing that has created the great saints: being like the Master. But how can we follow Jesus and become like this?
The first step is to ‘deny yourself’, distance yourself from your own way of thinking. It was what Jesus asked of Peter when he reprimanded him for thinking in the manner of human beings and not God. We too, like Peter, wish at times to assert ourselves in an egotistical manner, or at least according to our own criteria. We look for easy and immediate success, with every difficulty smoothed away; we look with envy at those rising up the career ladder; we dream of having a united family and of building around us a caring society and a Christian community without our having to pay a high price.
Denying ourselves means entering into God’s way of thinking, which is how Jesus thought and is displayed in his way of doing things: the logic of the grain of wheat that must die to bear fruit, of finding more joy in giving than in receiving, of offering one’s life out of love, in a word, of taking up the cross:
‘If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.’
The cross, the ‘daily’ cross as Luke’s gospel calls it (Lk 9:23), can have a thousand faces: an illness, a job loss, the inability to sort out family or work problems, the sense of failure in being unable to create genuine relationships, the feeling of impotence before the world’s massive conflicts, indignation at the recurrent scandals of society… The cross does not need to be sought, it comes on its own, perhaps when we least expect it and in ways we would never have imagined.
Jesus invites us to ‘take it up’, not resigning ourselves to endure it as an evil we cannot avoid, not letting it come down on us and crush us, not even putting up with it by acting with stoicism and detachment. Instead welcome it as a sharing in his cross, as a possibility of being his disciples even in those situations and live in communion with him even in that suffering, because he first took our cross on his shoulders. In every suffering, whatever it may be, we can thus find Jesus who has already made it his own.
Igino Giordani saw in this an instance of role reversal with Simon of Cyrene who bore Jesus’ cross: the cross ‘weighs less if Jesus becomes our Cyrenian.’ And it weighs still less, he goes on to say, if we bear it together. ‘A cross borne by one person ends up as crushing; a cross borne together by several persons with Jesus in their midst, which is to say with Jesus taking it up as a Cyrenian, grows lighter: an easy yoke. A climb, with many climbers roped together, in agreement with one another, becomes a joy, even while the ascent is being made.’
So we are to take up the cross and bear it with him, knowing that we are not alone in carrying it because he bears it with us. This is relating, it is belonging to Jesus, even to the point of full communion with him, to the point of becoming another him. And this is the way that we follow Jesus and become true disciples. The cross will then become for us, as for Christ, ‘the power of God’ (1 Cor. 1:18), the way of resurrection. In every weakness we will find strength, in every darkness light, in every death life, because we will find Jesus.
Fabio Ciardi
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