On one occasion, a legal expert stood up to put him to the test with a question: "Teacher, what do I have to do to inherit eternal life?"
He said to him, "How do you read what is written in the Law?"
And he answered: "You are to love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your energy, and with all your mind; and your neighbor as yourself."
Jesus said to him, "You have given the correct answers; do this and you will have life."
But with a view to justifying himself, he said to Jesus, "But who is my neighbor?"
Jesus replied:
There was a man going from Jerusalem down to Jericho when he fell into the hands of robbers. They stripped him, beat him up, and went off, leaving him half dead. Now by coincidence a priest was going down that road; when he caught sight of him, he went out of his way to avoid him. In the same way, when Levite came up to the place, he took one look at him and crossed the road to avoid him. But this Samaritan who was traveling that way came to where he was and was moved to pity at the sight of him. He went up to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring olive oil and wine on them. He hoisted him onto his own animal, brought him to an inn, and looked after him. The next day he took out two silver coins, which he gave to the innkeeper, and said, 'Look after him, and on my way back I'll reimburse you for any extra expense you have had.'
'Which of these three, in your opinion, acted like a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?"
He said, "The one who showed him compassion."
Jesus said to him, "Then go and do the same yourself."
--Luke 10:25-37 (SV)
There was this rich man, who wore clothing fit for a king and who dined lavishly every day. This poor man, named Lazarus, languished at his gate, all covered with sores. He longed to eat what fell from the rich man's table. Dogs even used to come and lick his sores. It so happened that the poor man died and was carried by the heavenly messengers to be with Abraham. The rich man died too, and was buried.
From Hades, where he was being tortured, he looked up and saw Abraham a long way off and Lazarus with him. He called out, 'Father Abraham, have pity on me! Send Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue, for I am in torment in these flames.'
But Abraham said, 'My child, remember that you had good fortune in your lifetime, while Lazarus had it bad. Now he is being comforted here, and you are in torment. And besides all this, a great chasm has been set between us and you, so that even those who want to cross over from her to you cannot, and no one can cross over from that side to this.'
But he said, 'Father, I beg you then, send him to my father's house--after all, I have five brothers--so he can warn them not to end up in this place of torture.'
But Abraham says, "They have Moses and the prophets;, why don't they listen to them?'
'But they won't do that, father Abraham,' he said. 'However, if someone appears to them from the dead, they'll have a change of heart.'
[Abraham] said to him, 'If they don't listen to Moses and the prophets, they won't be convinced even if someone were to rise from the dead.'
Luke 16:19-31, SV.
One could argue that Luke's gospel has a central theme, and that theme is hospitality. Don't worry, I won't make that argument here. But take it as read, and the rest of this makes more sense. Las Posadas, the great Advent celebration of the journey of the Holy Family from Nazareth to Bethlehem, celebrates the story of hospitality, though it inverts Luke's meaning. There was no "Holiday Inn" or "Motel 6" in 1st century Bethlehem. There isn't even an innkeeper in Luke's story. But the inhospitality of Caesar (forcing people to travel for the convenience of his census) is part of Luke's tale, just as Herod's massacre of the innocents, hoping to kill the Christchild in the slaughter, is part of Matthew's. They're both working the same end of the street: the inhospitality of the world to the Christchild, and the hospitality of family (Mary and Joseph stay with family in Bethlehem, just not in the "guest room" (Katalamati, in Luke's Greek)). and strangers (shepherds; magi) who are, not coincidentally for either gospel, far outside the main power structures of Palestine (the shepherds are outlaws, the magi are foreigners). So by the time we get to Luke 10, we've had a pretty good introduction to Jesus' ideas about hospitality in Luke's gospel (like Luke 4, where Jesus tells the elders a prophet is without honor in his own country, and pisses them off pretty badly with his implied rebuke of their willingness to accept him. And what is hospitality except accepting, even welcoming, the stranger?)
The parable of the Good Samaritan is about boundaries and acceptability. My New Testament professor liked to recast it as a modern day story of an Israeli Jew and a Palestiniant from Gaza. The Israel is the beaten man, the Palestinian the one who picks him up, treats his wounds, takes him to an inn, and pays for his care. How would the Jew feel, especially now, if this happened after the massacre? Maybe make the Israeli a member of the IDF, if it helps.
Now, VPOTUS Vance, who is your neighbor? Who stands in the hierarchy you imagine ordo amoris to be (it isn't), and comes between the Samaritan and the Jew, or the Palestinian and the soldier?
The parable is entirely about boundaries, about who is in, and who is out, and who stands closest to us and is most "deserving" of our attention and care. And the answer is obvious. It's so plain even the lawyer (I love putting it that way!) gets it on the first pass. So obvious he has no further responses, no objection, no argument. He's a smart lawyer (I like to think); he knows when to sit down. And you notice Jesus doesn't leave the conversation at that. Doesn't give the appearance he's thought to himself "Suck on that, punk! I've run rings 'round you logically." No, he ends with a simple directive: "Go; do the same yourself." And how easy is that?
Or hard, if you conjure up a comforting hierarchy that absolves you from responsibility and blame and burden because, after all, the man in the ditch is not in your family. He's not your next-door neighbor, your BFF, your frat brother, your friends from high school you haven't seen in 10 years. He's not even a Haitian living in Ohio (wonder how many of them ICE has tried to round up? Or have they not gotten around to it yet? Somebody should ask VPOTUS Vance about that.)
And what about Abraham and Lazarus?
It's a funny thing, but the name Lazarus appears twice in the gospels. Like the parable of the Good Samaritan (which is a parable of hospitality, among other things. Hospitality because welcoming the stranger can also mean caring for the stranger, even in a public place like a roadside ditch.), the parable of Lazarus and Dives (the name comes from the tradition, not from Luke) appears only in Luke. But the name "Lazarus" shows up in the non-synoptic Gospel of John. Except there Lazarus is a friend of Jesus, who dies, causing Jesus to weep, and to resurrect him. No resurrection of Lazarus in Luke; but another story about hospitality.
Now apply VPOTUS Vance's odd ordo amoris to this parable. To Vance that's "a hierarcy of obligations" which means his (Vance's) moral duties are NOT "the same as his duties to a stranger who lives thousands of miles away." (Again, with emphasis: not what Aquinas said.) There is no hierarchy of charity (Aquinas' term) that relieves you of obligation to a stranger, whether thousands of miles away, or just outside your gates (do you imagine Vance doesn't live in a gated community when he's not VPOTUS?). Certainly the parable sees an obligation is there. And one Dives knew about all the time:
But Abraham says, "They have Moses and the prophets;, why don't they listen to them?'
'But they won't do that, father Abraham,' he said. 'However, if someone appears to them from the dead, they'll have a change of heart.'
[Abraham] said to him, 'If they don't listen to Moses and the prophets, they won't be convinced even if someone were to rise from the dead.'
