19. On the Way From Galilee to Jerusalem. The Inhospitality of the Samaritans. The Sending Out of the Seventy. The Parable of the Good Samaritan. The Visit to Martha and Mary. The Lord’s Prayer

The Savior, occupied with the preaching of the Gospel and works of beneficence, had spent not less than a year and a half in the northern part of Palestine since His last visit to Jerusalem. His enemies had deprived Him of the possibility of being there at the great annual feasts, but now the time was approaching for the final completion of His ministry; the fullness of the time was drawing near; and the Savior, considering the preparation of His teaching work complete, resolutely set about the work of redemption and again directed His steps to Jerusalem, in order there once more to declare His Divine dignity and to give the chief leaders of the people—who had constantly treated Him with unbelief and enmity—the opportunity to repent and, by acknowledging in Him the promised Messiah, to fulfill their appointed calling.

It was autumn; one of the most remarkable of the annual Jewish feasts was approaching—namely, the Feast of Tabernacles, which drew to Jerusalem an enormous multitude of people from all the regions of Palestine. Many from Galilee too were preparing to go; the Savior set out somewhat earlier than the ordinary caravans of pilgrims, but this did not prevent a great multitude of people from gathering around Him, who moved enthusiastically in His wake, seeing in Him the great Prophet, the honor and glory of their region. As was His custom, the Savior took His favorite route through Samaria, where He had earlier sown the seeds of the glad tidings and where He found receptive soil. But now even Christ had occasion to experience to what degree tribal and religious enmity can go. When the pilgrims, wearied from the road, arrived at the first Samaritan village and wished to find in it the welcome rest they sought, the Samaritans refused and would not receive the Jews whom they hated. This refusal inflamed the Apostles James and John—who had been specifically entrusted with the task of arranging accommodations for the Savior and the disciples and pilgrims accompanying Him—with strong indignation. Full of hope for the kingdom of the Messiah, which, in their view, was at last now on the very eve of its solemn proclamation, the indignant brothers wished to open it with the flame of terrible vengeance. “Lord, wilt Thou that we command fire to come down from heaven, and consume them, even as Elias did?” (Luke 9:54). “What wonder,” says St. Ambrose, “that the sons of Thunder wished to call down lightning?” This impulse of their indignation found justification not only in Elijah’s act of vengeance but in the fact that it had taken place precisely in this region of Samaria. But Christ forbade them and rebuked them. The heavens of God have another purpose than hurling thunderbolts. “Ye know not what manner of spirit ye are of,” He said to them (Luke 9:55). The Son of Man had come to save, not to destroy, and if anyone hears His word and does not believe, He will not condemn him (John 3:17; 12:47). And thus without a single angry word He went to another village; and St. John, who at the time of writing his Gospel already knew what spirit he was of, undoubtedly recalled these words of Christ when he went with Peter to Samaria to confirm the newly converted and to bestow on them the Holy Spirit.

Meanwhile the Savior at this time chose from among His followers another seventy disciples, who were to form alongside the twelve a second circle of the nearest preachers of the Gospel and spreaders of the Kingdom of God. He now sent them out two by two everywhere to prepare the way before Him, and gave them instructions similar to those with which He had sent forth the twelve disciples. They differ only in being briefer, because they were given on the occasion of a more temporary mission; they omit the now superfluous restrictions about not visiting Gentiles and Samaritans. At the same time they already had a somewhat sadder tone, evidently colored by the sad experiences of constant rejection.

As they drew closer to Jerusalem, among the crowd surrounding Christ there began to appear more frequently the “Jews”—meaning not the common people but the scribes and Pharisees. One of them came to the Savior and asked Him: “Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?” (Luke 10:25). Jesus, discerning his crafty motives, simply asked him what answer the law—the study and interpretation of which was the very purpose of his life—gave to this question. The lawyer gave the best summary then known. Jesus confirmed his answer and said: “this do, and thou shalt live” (Luke 10:28). But wishing to gain something more and trying to justify the question which from his own point of view was superfluous and had been asked with an ignoble intent, the lawyer thought to cover his retreat with a new question: “And who is my neighbour?” (Luke 10:29). Christ knew that if one were to ask the lawyer’s own opinion on this question it would be extremely narrow and false; He therefore answered Himself—or rather gave the lawyer the means to answer it—by one of His most moving parables. He told how once a man, passing through the rocky ravine leading from Jerusalem to Jericho—whose frequent robberies had given the very pass the ominous name of “the bloody way”—fell into the hands of robbers. The plundering Bedouin left him on the road stripped, bleeding, and half dead. A priest, returning that way to his priestly city, saw him, but immediately crossed to the other side of the road. A Levite also passed by, but with even colder indifference looked at him and walked on. But along the same road there came a Samaritan—the very sight of whom would have stirred in the unfortunate man a tremor of tribal enmity—a good Samaritan, an image of that divine Preacher whom men rejected and despised, but who had come to heal the wounds of humanity. He went up to the unfortunate man, had compassion on him, bound up his wounds, set him on his own animal, himself walked on foot on the hard, baked, dusty, and dangerous road, and did not leave him until he had fully ensured his safety, even generously providing for his future needs. “Which now of these three,” Jesus Christ asked the lawyer, “thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves?” (Luke 10:36). The lawyer, of course, was not so dull as to fail to see who it was; however, feeling that he could by no means include Samaritans or Gentiles in the concept of “neighbour,” he lacked the sufficient courage and frankness to say “the Samaritan,” and used the pitiful circumlocution: “He that shewed mercy on him.” “Go,” said Christ to him, “and do thou likewise” (Luke 10:37).

Thus the journey gradually drew near to its goal, and there already Jerusalem was visible. But Christ did not immediately go to the holy city; He stopped for a time in Bethany, nestling on one of the slopes of the Mount of Olives. In this village on the outskirts of the city there lived a devout family which had more than once been honored by visits from Christ during His stays in Jerusalem, and each time it welcomed the divine Guest with extraordinary warmth and joy. It consisted of three members—Lazarus and his two sisters Martha and Mary. The arrival of the Savior in their home brought them, as was customary, to indescribable joy, the more so as the Savior had long been absent from them. Both sisters vied with each other in showing attention and reverence to the exalted Guest, and especially Martha busied herself, hurrying back and forth to prepare the best possible hospitality for Him. Her sister Mary was also concerned about receiving Him fittingly, but being of a more elevated character, she showed Him love and reverence in other ways. Knowing that Martha was blissfully glad to do everything possible for His material comfort, she herself humbly sat at the feet of Jesus and listened to His word. Mary cannot be blamed for this, because her sister had evidently taken upon herself with joy the care of fulfilling the requirements of hospitality to the best of her ability and could, without any assistance, do everything that was needed. Nor can Martha be blamed for her busyness; her sole error was that in her outward activity she had lost the necessary equilibrium with the demands of inner life. While she was toiling and bustling, something like envy disturbed her peace of mind at the sight of her sister sitting “idly,” as she thought, at the feet of their exalted Visitor and leaving all the chores to her alone. Had she thought more carefully she could not but have admitted that in Mary’s withdrawal from household cares there was less selfishness than sound reasoning; but to be just and magnanimous is always difficult, and when one allows oneself to yield to a base feeling like petty envy, it becomes impossible. So in her burst of irritation, Martha, instead of gently asking her sister to help her—if indeed this help was truly needed—came up almost crossly and irreverently and asked Jesus whether He cared nothing that her sister was sitting idle while she alone had to busy herself with the household. But this unnecessary fussiness met in Christ a loving rebuke: “Martha, Martha,” He said to her in a tone of gentle reproof, “thou art careful and troubled about many things: but one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her” (Luke 10:41–42).

In the morning the Savior withdrew to a solitary place to pray. The disciples had more than once seen Him at prayer, but now, under the impression of solemn expectations of something great, they wished to learn prayer from Him. When His prayer was ended they came to Him and expressed their request, and the Savior at once gave them that wondrous “Lord’s Prayer” which has formed the basis of all Christian prayers. In it the Savior set forth in a prayer form the very essence of what is necessary for the spiritual perfection of man. Previously prayers had existed, often distinguished by a remarkable elevation of thought and feeling, and the Jewish rabbis considered it their obligation to teach their disciples prayers that encompassed the whole law and the prophets; but only the Lord’s Prayer embodies everything that a sincerely believing and truly human heart can feel and desire. There is in it nothing that proceeds from any personal wishes; all of it breathes the consciousness of the common sonship of humanity in relation to the heavenly Father, whose coming kingdom is set forth as the chief desire of every pure heart. Of material goods only the daily bread is asked for, as the necessary condition of existence; but with greater earnestness the forgiveness of our debts or sins is asked, on the condition of our own forgiveness of the sins of others against us. The world is surrounded by temptations, and man is weak, and therefore the Savior taught His disciples to pray that the heavenly Father would not expose us to the danger of excessive temptations or trials, and in conclusion, that He would deliver us from the chief author of temptations—namely, from the evil one. All these petitions to the heavenly Father are concluded with a solemn doxology: “For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, for ever. Amen” (Matt. 6:13).