A few weeks ago I read an op-ed in the Washington Times that really bothered me. The author—a professing evangelical—said that the National Association of Evangelicals encouragement for Christians to provide hospitality and welcome to immigrants regardless of status was more reflective of 70’s era Marxism than biblical Christianity. He went on to say that the Wesleyan Church’s position statement on immigration (https://www.wesleyan.org/wesleyan-church-position-statement-on-immigration) was the product of a worldview that is much more about social justice than personal salvation and uses more the language of critical race theory more than orthodox Christianity. He concluded his piece by stating that believers should be wary of this and a failure to distinguish between immigrants who honor the law and those who don’t is opening ourselves up to cultural suicide.
As I reflected on what bothered me so much, a couple of things jumped out at me. First—a statement such as the one the Wesleyan Church put out is not developed by a single individual. Just as the most reliable Bible translations are developed by gathering a number of biblical scholars together and tasking them with translating these ancient texts into today’s language, so the statement the Wesleyan statement is, in all likelihood, the product of the denomination gathering a number of the best and brightest minds in the movement and having them develop something that reflects their understanding of the truth of God’s Word on the topic of immigration. For one person to intimate that, as a group, they were duped by a way of thinking that has been around for years and say that what they arrived at is recycled 70s Marxism and not reflective of biblical Christianity comes off as extremely haughty and hubristic. Perhaps the problem is not that a certain ideology is clouding the judgment of the men and women that developed the statement. Maybe the problem is that a different ideology is clouding the understanding of the gentleman who authored this column and that he is unhealthily influenced.
If so, he wouldn’t be the first person in recent years to succumb to this temptation. One of the things that came out of the Covid pandemic was that, in many North American congregations, ideology trumped theology. A number of churches struggled to navigate the “should we be open or close down” issue and people broke fellowship with their Christian brothers and sisters—not because there was a theological issue that came between them, but because of an ideological divide. Many churches are either still living with the tension, or they’ve become monolithic fraternities that appeal only to those who embrace a certain ideology. The gospel of Jesus Christ calls us to love without constraint or reservation. We should be able to disagree politically and still love unconditionally. But when we allow our ideological opinions to assume a higher priority and greater place of importance than our understanding of God, I believe it not only creates this division and fragmentation but also saddens and grieves our Heavenly Father greatly.
But the second reason I was so bothered by this column traces back to one of the most famous and provocative parables Jesus told—the story of the Good Samaritan. It’s a story that is driven by a question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” As was so often the case, Jesus responded to this question not with an answer but with a question of his own—"What does the Law say?” When the questioner responded appropriately, Jesus acknowledged that his answer was spot on. But then the questioner asked a follow-up question: “Who is my neighbor?”
Have you ever noticed how some questions indicate a belief more than they inquire? For instance, it is not uncommon for my wife, when we’re getting ready to go somewhere for her to ask me, “Is that what you’re going to wear?” It’s a question, but there’s a very strong belief behind that question—that what I’m wearing is inappropriate for the setting, or there’s a very discernible stain that I didn’t notice—and I need to try again.
I believe this follow-up question is one of those questions that comes with a pre-loaded belief lurking beneath the surface. He asks, “Who is my neighbor? not because he is genuinely inquiring, but because he believes there is such a thing as a “non-neighbor” and he wants clarity on who qualifies for neighbor status. His question is an attempt to validate the humanity of some in order to invalidate the humanity of others. What he’s essentially asking is, “From whom can I withhold my love and care and still be good with God?”
And Jesus, in response, launches into this familiar story … one most of us are deeply familiar with. It’s a story about a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho—a 17-mile journey, but one that also involved a 3500-foot elevation change. It was along a twisty path full of rocky outcroppings where bands of robbers could easily hide and lie in wait. The situation Jesus described was not at all an uncommon event.
It says that the man who was victimized was stripped of his clothes and lay unconscious along the side of the road. This is an important detail because, in that day, the way a person dressed helped to identify them—their ethnic origin or social background. For him to be stripped of his clothes means those passing by couldn’t determine whether the man was an “us” or a “them”. The fact he was in an unresponsive state furthered the mystery for he couldn’t answer questions. They wouldn’t be able to pick up on a dialect or accent that might hint at his identity. The only thing those passing by could determine was that he was a human.
The first guy to walk by was a priest … a member of the upper echelon of Jewish society … a man who was thought to represent God and by and large revered for his honorableness. But Jesus says he intentionally tried to avoid the man—in other words, he said to himself, “He’s not my neighbor.” The second guy was a Levite who did the same thing. But then a Samaritan came upon the scene and, in contrast to the priest and Levite, he stopped and rendered aid.
When Jesus opted to make the third person in his story a Samaritan, instead of an everyday citizen or commoner, he really amped things up. For as most of us know, there was an entrenched and fixed hatred between the Jews and the Samaritans. They were considered “half-breeds” and “less than” because they were religiously defiled and ethnically compromised. But in Jesus’ story the Samaritan “took pity” upon the man. Where the priest and Levite had moved away from the man, the Samaritan intentionally moved toward him. He was not the least bit concerned about the out-of-pocket expense or his personal safety or well-being.
Then Jesus comes back with a follow-up question of his own: “Which of these three was a neighbor to the guy who fell into the hands of robbers?” In many ways, this question is a complete reversal of the question that prompted the story to begin with. For the question, “Who is my neighbor?” was focused on the object—"Who is worthy to be the object of my love?” But Jesus’ ending question was focused on the subject. The nature of the object is of no consequence to Jesus. And the point he’s making is that there is no such thing as a non-neighbor … that selective compassion is antithetical to the way of Jesus and is not the heart of God.
The original question sought to limit what love required of him and what obedience looked like, but Jesus’ question shut down any limits altogether. The original question was about what kind of person was worthy of compassion, but Jesus’ question was about you and I being the kind of people who show mercy indiscriminately. And I believe the question for us, in this very polarized and divided day, is, “Are we going to walk toward those we see who can benefit from our love and compassion, or are we going to avoid them and walk on by? Are we going to empathize, or are we going to villainize?”
The difference in this story boils down to this: The Priest and Levite saw someone from a category they couldn’t identify that made them uncomfortable, and the Samaritan saw a human being made in the image of God that needed assistance. When Jesus ended the story by saying we should, “Go and do likewise”, he’s challenging us to see the humanity of everybody we cross paths with and respond to them on that basis. He’s not asking us to investigate their immigration status or make sure their documentation is in order. He’s not asking us to check their papers and verify that they’re here legally. He’s asking us to lead with love, model mercy, and choose compassion. And he’s reminding us that, in the vocabulary of God’s Kingdom, there is no such thing as a “non-neighbor”.