The Lectionary and Scripture Interpretation for Ordinary Time
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Overview and Connections
Today’s readings issue a call to wholehearted commitment, but they also remind us that such a call comes with a price. And yet, the call is given to each and every one of us.
Deuteronomy 30:10-14
Deuteronomy chp 27 to end the of the book were the last words of Moses – his farewell discourse – used to remind the people of his important teachings. Leading up to today’s reading were
- 29:15-20 a warning against idolatry
- 29:21-38 future punishment – which assumes that at some point they will not heed those warnings
- 30:1-10 assumes punishment, a promise of mercy if they return to God; merciful restoration. This is before they even rebel!
- 30:11-14 the nearness of god’s word
- 30:15-20 in light of all this, a fundamental choice is required
Religion is usually as complicated or as simple as we choose to make it. Moses reminded the people that the covenant was really quite simple – not easy, but simple: love God and love neighbor as self. Spirituality can sometimes be other-world focused. This passage roots our spiritual life very much in this world and in the concrete choices we make every day.
Later in the New Testament, Paul will explicitly reinterpret vv12-14 in Romans 10:5-13 to refer to Christ, seeing this passage as pointing beyond itself, to a new covenant reality.
The “book of the law” in v10 refers to the whole of the Torah – all the laws and commandments that outlined what it meant to live in covenant with God. Vv11-13 continues to reflect on that book of the law, the “command,” which is neither mysterious or remote. Instead, says v14, it is so near as to be within. It is “in your mouth,” meaning it can be memorized and recited. And it is “in your heart,” meaning that it can be internalized. This is all “so that you can do it,” or more literally translated, “you have only to do it.”
Re-read this passage, substituting “the book of the law” and the commands as “God’s presence.” Think about God as something not mysterious and remote, but so near that God is within us. What light does this shed on your relationship with God?
Colossians 1:15-20
The community in the city of Colossae is being tempted by someone preaching practices that the author considers superfluous to the gospel. In 1:9-14, the hope seems to be that if the community comes back to the joy experienced in baptism, they will see the futility of the strongly ascetic measures promoted by false teachers.
Today’s passage was most likely a very early Christian hymn or poem, and it reflects an early liturgy.
Many scholars agree that the text was redacted by the author of the letter; that is, the author inserted phrases to make his point clear. Generally, it’s agreed that “the church” in v18 and “through the blood of his cross” in v20 were not part of the original liturgical text but were added by the author of the letter.
One of the false teachings in this community, which this letter argues against, is that Christ was on par with some angelic beings, “thrones, dominions, principalities, powers.” This hymn argues, instead, that Christ is above all.
The author also eloquently argues that Christ is the agent of creation and also the goal of it. The source and summit as it were.
V15 uses the word ikon: Christ is the ikon of the invisible God. In Orthodox spirituality, icons play a major role in mediating God’s very presence. This belief stems largely from this idea of Christ as the ikon of the invisible Father. This image is also used in 2 Corinthians 4:4 (Christ as “the image of God”) and in Hebrews 1:3 (“The exact representation of his being”).
Vv15-17 show the primacy of Christ’s role in creation. V17 is often seen as an important scriptural underpinning for the theological argument of the preexistence of Christ.
Vv18-20 then shift to show the primacy of Christ’s role in salvation. In v19, the NAB says that in Christ, “all the fullness was pleased to dwell.” Some versions, such as the RSV, add “all the fulness of God was pleased to dwell,” but “of God” is not present in the Greek but added for clarity.
Ponder the idea of Jesus as the ikon of God. How helpful are icons in your own devotional life?
Luke 10:25-37
Today’s parable is so familiar, we might be forgiven for dismissing it altogether. After all, we know the story, right? “The Good Samaritan.” We know what it’s about and we know what we’re supposed to take away from it: help those we might dislike or disagree with – help them anyway and help them generously.
Barbara Brown Taylor titled a sermon on this parable, “The Good Heretic.” I love that title because it helps capture what the original audience might have taken away from Jesus’ story. In first-century Palestine, Samaritans were despised as those who followed a form of Judaism that didn’t conform, that didn’t interpret the rules correctly, a form of Judaism that “good” Jews considered heretical. And yet it is the heretic who is the hero of today’s story.
The passage begins with someone trying to flesh out the rules and legal obligations. The scholar of the law knew that he was duty-bound to love. But he wants to clarify, “Who deserves my love?” As he often does, Jesus responds, not with a checklist of rules, but with a story, inviting each listener to enter more deeply into the question and search out an answer for themselves.
Traditionally, this parable is seen as telling us that we are to give charity freely to all, even those we might want to hate. I think Jesus wants us to go deeper than that. I see this as a story that invites us to also receive help from those we might want to hate, from those we might even consider heretical in their beliefs. In actuality, the parable is a two-way street and encompasses both viewpoints: both the giving and the receiving. It reminds us that God’s mercy knows no boundaries and that we are called to both give and receive the same mercy.
One modern-day adaptation of this parable goes something like this: somewhere in the West Bank, an orthodox Jew walks by a Jewish soldier, wounded and left for dead. A while later, an upstanding Jewish rabbi walks by the same man, passing on the other side of the street. Somewhat later, a Muslim member of Hamas walks by and is moved with deep compassion at the sight of his enemy. He stops and tends the man, at great personal expense.
Below, I will provide my usual commentary on this passage. But I would encourage you to stop right here for now. This parable is so rich beyond what we usually see in it. It is definitely a story that invites imaginative prayer. And there are many characters to pray with: the man in the ditch, the people who pass by him, the one who stops to help him. But also consider the innkeeper. How about the robbers who caused the story in the first place? What about the families of any of the characters? You could even extend it to the crowd originally listening to this story, or the man who asked the question in the first place. This story provides so many opportunities for personal transformation, it would be a shame to pass by them on the way to a technical understanding.
The passage begins with a question: “What must I do…” This is a key question in the gospel of Luke. It is posed as a test, which is a word with hostile overtones. This scholar is asking the question not to see how he can gain eternal life, but to test Jesus, to show Jesus up and expose his ignorance.
Jesus responds in v26 in a way typical of rabbis of the time: he starts by gauging the man’s current understanding. What do you know and how do you interpret what you know? Just in this one verse, Jesus gives us a crucial model of the Christian life: start with listening, not assuming.
Predictably, because this man is a teacher of the law, he starts with what he teaches, quoting from the Torah. He combines Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18. Loving God with all your heart, soul, and mind is not about discrete ways of loving God, as though loving with your heart is something different than loving with all your being. He is not talking about discrete ways of loving, but rather he means to love with everything you’ve got. Love and hold nothing back.
I think it’s interesting that in Matthew and Mark, Jesus is the one who cites these in response to the question, “What’s the greatest commandment?” Here in Luke, it’s a different question: “How do you inherit eternal life?” And it’s a hostile teacher who puts these two ideas together. This teacher of the law basically says that there can be no love of God that does not express itself in love of neighbor, which is a beautiful summary of the Old Testament law.
I always wonder what Jesus’ facial expression said in v28. Was Jesus astonished at the answer? Did it surprise him that this man so succinctly said what Jesus himself taught? Jesus doesn’t argue with the hostile teacher; he simply says to do it. Move from knowing to action if you want eternal life.
But the teacher of the law is not satisfied with winning the argument. It seems he wants to engage Jesus in a debate. And so, to justify himself, he challenges Jesus to define “neighbor.” Put another way, he asks Jesus, “Who deserves my love and compassion?”
Jesus’ response begins a story with a setting that every one of his listeners would have identified and known. Jericho is about 23 miles south of Jerusalem, and it sits at 770’ below sea level. In addition to being one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities, it is the lowest permanently inhabited place on Earth. Jericho was a popular winter place where the rich would vacation. Everyone in Jesus’ audience would have pictured a dangerous route going down from Jerusalem into Jericho.
The story invites us to picture a making man the dangerous trip, but he gets waylaid, robbed, and beaten. Now he’s lying on the side of the road, half-dead. He’s helpless, everything stolen. He looks homeless and destitute. This is perhaps a good point to stop and ask yourself how you would react to someone in this situation.
Now Jesus is going to have three different people pass by this man. Two of these are men who know how to interpret the Jewish law; they know how they’re supposed to act. The third is an outsider who does not observe the law.
So this priest comes along first. He’s going down the road, which tells us he’s coming from Jerusalem. Most likely, he was in Jerusalem doing his priestly duty in the temple, and now he’s headed either home or on vacation. According to the law, if this man’s shadow even touches a dead man, the priest becomes ritually unclean for a time. He gives the victim a wide berth.
Leviticus 21:1-3 talks about the ritual impurity. The priest would have to undergo a week of ritual cleansing if he was defiled in this way. But there is also plenty in the Torah about mercy and compassion, especially for fellow countryman. The priest would have known all that and the implication is – he should have known better. He should have known that ritual impurity was worth accepting in order to show compassion. But keep in mind that many in the audience would have been sympathetic to this priest’s dilemma. They would not necessarily have judged him harshly at this point.
And then comes the Levite. These were of a lower rank than a priest, who in that society would have been at the top of the prestige pyramid. The Levite is still up there, but a step down. They didn’t have as many duties and so they could afford to be a little less concerned with ritual purity. Many teachers and scholars of the law were Levites. But this guy, as well, passes by.
Now, at this point in the parable, there’s nothing surprising really. Jesus has used the example of two people with which the audience could identify but also excuse. They would be somewhat sympathetic to their actions and could excuse their lack of compassion.
And then in v33 Jesus will introduce the final character. Today, we call this parable the “good” Samaritan and we view it through a lens of seeing this man as inherently good. It’s important to see the Samaritan traveler as the original audience did.
As soon as Jesus says “Samaritan,” a whole worldview comes into play. If you think about American politics for a moment, you might imagine someone saying the name of your political rival. Consider all the things you inherently know and assume about someone just based on their political label. That’s how it was when Jesus said “Samaritan” and none of it was good. Immediately, the audience hates this man. No questions asked.
They would assume that a Samaritan is incapable of anything good; he doesn’t know the law or have any respect for it; he certainly doesn’t know God. All these assumptions about a person based simply on their label.
You might take a moment here to consider all the assumptions you make about people on the “other” side of whatever issue comes to mind.
But Jesus says about this man, “he was moved with compassion.” And he doesn’t just stop at feeling it. In v34, he goes over to the victim. He’s taking a huge risk here – this whole thing could have been staged and the robbers could be waiting to jump him. But he goes over and tends the man and then rescues him. In v35 he provides for his ongoing care.
Let’s stop here a moment and just take in how the original audience would have heard this. It’s not hard in our polarized world to imagine “us” and “them.” So take a moment to imagine “us,” all those who agree with your worldview, those who seem to be on your side. Imagine they’ve done something that you think is probably not quite right, but you can justify their actions and let it go.
And then imagine “them.” The others. The ones you don’t agree with and who don’t agree with you. One of “them” does something that seems completely at odds with what you expect of them. That’s not how it’s supposed to go! They’re not supposed to be good people and they’re not supposed to do good things. This story is intended to leave you a little disoriented!
In v36, Jesus brings attention back to the original question: who is my neighbor? The teacher’s expectation was that Jesus would engage in a debate about the finer points of neighbors as “us” and all the laws around how to treat them. He wanted to have a debate about who deserves mercy and compassion, and from whom mercy and compassion can justly be withheld.
But Jesus turns it. Instead of making categories about who deserves what, Jesus says that we are to become people who have compassion for anyone and everyone. Jesus makes a very simple point: the neighbor was one who acted compassionately, regardless of the “us” vs “them.”
When the teacher answers Jesus’ question in v37, he can’t even bring himself to say “Samaritan.” He hated the Samaritans that much. But that was the right answer to the question and he knew it. Jesus simply tells him to go and do likewise.
The scholar asked who deserves love. Jesus turns it upside down to one of giving: to whom am I to show myself as neighbor?
As with most passages of scripture, we can look at this story through multiple lenses, any of which give us food for thought. There is another lens through which to view this story.
Imagine that you yourself are in dire need. You are the victim in the ditch, helpless and dependent. You can do nothing, not even ask for help. As you lay there, you watch to of your own appear and pass by. You give up all hope because if one of your own won’t help, who will.
Just when the story seems at its end, you see a hated “other” appear. You expect nothing from this person because you know all about who they must be. To your amazement, the “other” stops and then comes to you. And then renders aid. And then picks you up and rescues you. Your own have left you to die but this one, this “other,” is saving you.
Part of Jesus’ invitation with this story, I think, is to not only see those to whom we should render mercy and compassion, but those from whom we might gratefully receive it. What if the victim had refused the aid of the Samaritan because he was a hated “other”? How have you implicitly refused compassion from another because they did not conform to your expectation of “good”?
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© 2025 Kelly Sollinger