30th Sunday 2023
Exodus 22:20-26; 1 Thessalonians 1:5-10; Matthew 22:34-40
You don’t need me to tell you that all the so-called Synoptic Gospels—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—report an encounter in which Jesus is questioned about the greatest commandment of the Law. In Mark’s Gospel, it is the “good scribe” who questions Him, and who is delighted by His response. In Luke, it is a hostile lawyer, and Our Lord’s answer leads eventually to the parable of the Good Samaritan. Matthew’s account we have just heard; here, His inquisitors are the Pharisees and, like Luke’s lawyer, they are seeking to disconcert Him.
Were these three separate incidents, or different accounts of the same occurrence? That doesn’t matter. What does matter is that all these three evangelists felt that this question and answer were important enough to record, and that, in all of them, Jesus’ answer is the same.
What is this answer? It begins with the First Commandment of the Ten given to Moses on Mount Sinai: “You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, and mind”--sometimes the word “strength” is added. Our Lord stresses that “this is the greatest and the first commandment”. Thus far, He is in total agreement with the Law passed on to the people by Moses.
There then comes a rather startling deviation. Instead of continuing with Moses’ list, Jesus takes a different commandment, not from the Book of Exodus, but from the Book of Leviticus: “You must love your neighbour as yourself”. Not only that, but He adds that these two commandments form the whole basis of the Jewish Law and prophets—in other words, what we know as the Old Testament.
A few things strike me. Our Lord hasn’t been asked about the Second Commandment, yet He regards it as essential, and links it inextricably to the First. In Mark’s account, this is enthusiastically endorsed by the scribe who has asked the original question. And Jesus is saying that if you (if we) keep these two commandments, then we shall have encompassed all the rest, and shouldn’t become sidetracked, worrying about the minutiae of graven images, or of coveting your neighbour’s donkey.
“Grand as owt!” I hear you cry. “Lennon and McCartney were right after all. All you need is love, and once I’ve done that, I can do what I like. I quite fancy my neighbour’s wife, even though I’m not too bothered about his donkey.”
Er, no. Jesus doesn’t say that love replaces all the other commandments. It doesn’t nullify them, but completes them. If your love is genuine, then you won’t covet someone else’s wife, or steal, or set up false gods. Love will rule these things out automatically. Our Lord may have simplified things, but He hasn’t made them easier. In fact, He has made them more demanding, because “thou shalt not kill” now encompasses becoming angry, hurling insults, nursing grudges. Love is difficult, and painful, and in one way or another it will bring you to the Cross.
Right then, how do you and I fulfil these commandments? How do we love God in the way that Jesus demands? We don’t achieve it by giving the occasional “nod to God” as a former parish priest of mine used to describe it, turning up reluctantly to Mass, going through the motions, fitting in the odd prayer when we remember, and can be bothered.
We do it by attempting to align our whole lives with God’s will, recognising that He is with us in every moment, that He has a call for us in every situation. Lord, what do you want me to do? What do you want me to do with the rest of my life, with these precious moments, hours, and days that you have given to me? What do you want me to do for others? What do you want me to do for you? What do you want me to do today?
Love takes time and it takes effort. Do you give time to God, or is there always something else which is more important? I remember being told in the seminary that to say that you haven’t time for something means that it isn’t really important to you. What are your priorities? Where does God feature among them? Do you give God time to operate in your life?
Then, you must love your neighbour as yourself. As I have said before, I don’t think that this means “as much as yourself”. Rather, it implies “as being yourself”. You must see your neighbour—and remember that the parable of the Good Samaritan spreads the concept of neighbour very widely—as part of you. You must have that beautiful quality, compassion—cum passio, suffering with. You must walk in your neighbour’s shoes, live in his/her skin, feel what s/he feels. Then, as the Book of Exodus demands, you will have no desire to “molest the stranger or oppress him” or to be “harsh with the widow or the orphan”, because these people are you.
Your neighbour is all over the world, but s/he is also at home. Somehow, you must love those closest to you, those with whom you have dealings, who may rub up against you—and that may be the most difficult of all. There is no point in being like Mrs. Jellyby in “Bleak House” who is full of philanthropy for people whom she does not know, but who neglects her own family. Lennon and McCartney WERE right. All you need IS love, but by heck, that isn’t an easy option.
