Do you remember the difference between “May” I and “Can” I? One is seeking permission to proceed with an action and the other questions one’s ability to undertake the specific task. Can I do this job is a very different question than may I do this job.
So, a child walks in to the kitchen on a hot summer afternoon. The Mother is there and she asks, “Hey Mom, can I have a glass of lemonade?” What is the proper response of the mother? It would be, “Well, I see no reason why you are not able to drink from a cup. You have two arms and two feet and are physcially able to walk over to the refrigerator, open the door, and pour yourself a glass. I guess you can.” Wouldn’t you just love to have had a mother with an English major?
That may sound like a bit of nit picking but what the child is saying is, “Do I appear capable of drinking a glass of lemonade.” Can I do this?
The right question would be, “Hey Mom, may I have a glass of lemonade?” She asks permission from her Mother to do so and Mom simply says, “Sure, you may.”
I’m sure you get the point I’m making here. But, we may be substituting our responsiblities towards others with excuses: “O, I can’t do that.” Really? Did someone nail your feet to the floor?
The real question in regards to our Christian moral teaching is, “Should” I do it or should I not? If I can but I don’t, then what? God has given us more than permission to carry out the teachings of Jesus. Long ago he already said, “You may.” We don’t need to ask his permission.
I bring this up because the well known story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10: 25-37 was chosen by our school children this morning for their last Mass before summer break begins. I felt it was a good reflection and a timely one for us as well. In this classroom of Christian discipleship, Ordinary Time, such a fundamental parable of Jesus is never old news.
As the story goes, the lawyer stood up to ask Jesus a question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” It’s a respectful and sincere question but was also meant to be somewhat of a challenge to Jesus’ credibility. “Let’s see if he answers this correctly,” was likely on the mind of his questioner. The answer he got was more than he expected as often happened when Jesus was confronted. He not only told him what he must “do” to go to heaven (inherit everlasting life) but also showed him how to do it. It is not only obedience to the law of God as in to follow the Ten Commandments but it even more has a very practical implication and a broad scope as to our free moral choices – the law of love according to Jesus.
As I asked the children, “Who is our neighbor?” They heard the story and answered correctly, “Everybody!” Right – but what does that imply for us? This parable implies action on our part. It does not necessarily mean that I have to like them or agree with their political opinions. If we were all selective in who deserves our charity, I suspect the list may be very short. But Jesus telling example clearly implies that “eternal life” is gained not only by faith in him but in doing something for another after the example of Christ himself because I can and I should.
The most poignant moment in the parable, I think, is carried out by the one who showed the ultimate compassion. The priest and the levite were able to do something for the man. They can do it. But, they simply chose not to and gave in to ritual fears of impurity and fear of public shame. “That’s not my problem.”
But, a Samaritan, a known enemy of the Jews, risked defilement, ignored the law and ritual restrictions, for a higher purpose – that of love. He had no idea who this man was nor did it make any difference. He chose to act because he was capable of doing so and saw the safety and health of the injured man as a compelling priority.
What about the Mother Teresa’s in our midst? Is that the length to which
I must go to gain eternal life? Well, if we all lived as she did, and as her sisters do, the average person in the pew and we priests might not have a fighting chance. Mother Teresa was a living parable. Jesus in this parable, as was customary, used an extreme example to make his point. What am I able to do, considering my present state in life, in order to spread the law of love to others – not just those that I agree with or who bring me comfort and affirmation. Not just those who say “thank you” for your service or who might increase my pay check if I do an outstanding job. To do what I am able to do according to my state in life.
If I can but I don’t, all things being equal, I am guilty of a sin of omission. I have knowingly omitted from my life that part of the Gospel which calls me to a higher standard of morality. I have omitted from my life the corporal works of charity we read of in Matthew 25 not because I can’t but because I just don’t care enough.
Sins of omission are such moments in my life. I don’t do anything really all that bad but I don’t do anything particularly kind or charitable either. If I find myself a senior citizen I may not be physically able to achieve great things in this regard but I can do what I can do for the sake of another after the example of Christ. Each according to his abilities.
But, what about all the Rosaries, Novenas, Chaplets of Divine Mercy, and hours in Eucharistic Adoration? Don’t they make a difference as I build up my divine bank account of good prayers? Devotions have their rightful place indeed. But if they never move my heart and mind to actions of compassion and love, something is definitely missing in my spiritual life. Maybe I’m too much about Me and not enough about God. Why do I really want to be holy?
The lives of the saints and their extraordinary charitable works confirm the fruit of prayer. They are proof for us that prayer and action are syngeristic.
The Good Samaritan is a call to be God-like in our moral choices. A great challenge for sure and a high standard Jesus has set. As Jesus said, “Go, and do the same.”
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