the pitiful life

Jesus said to love your neighbor as yourself. And He told us the story of a good Samaritan to open our eyes to what that means—to love your neighbor means to have pity on him. So to live the way Jesus lived is to live a life of pity.

But that sounds so condescending, doesn’t it? So there’s a group of people, called the church—good people, people without problems, people who are supposed to have it all together—and they have pity on the troubled and the less fortunate. Hmm. Seems to me a lot of people do think that way. But on my walk with Jesus today here’s what he said to me.

The whole world lies under the power of the evil one. Nobody gets through this life unscathed. You have to look beyond your own interests to others if you want to live My way. Help those in need. And don’t despise the help you get.

Nobody gets through unscathed. Even Jesus didn’t get through without being robbed, stripped, beaten, and left for dead. Just like the traveler in the story. Just like all us travelers in this Story. The whole world lies under the power of the evil one. And that’s why the way to live is a life of pity, a life of compassion, a life of desire to help the miserable and the afflicted with kindness and good will in their hour of trouble. As Philo of Alexandria said, “Be kind, for everyone you know is facing a great battle.”

Some people are in worse shape than others. That’s why Jesus spent his time with the oppressed, not in the middle class circles of a carpenter or the upper class circles afforded to a rabbi.

But what is even more remarkable to me than God in the flesh having mercy and doing good to the afflicted is that God in the flesh allowed others to have pity on Him. Think about it. He came into this world as a helpless baby, with others, mainly his mother, having pity on him and helping him with his basic needs. As an adult he was aided financially by others, specifically some women that are mentioned in the bible by name. Before he made his final trip to Jerusalem, a woman made this beautiful gesture of compassion on him by pouring perfume on his body—Jesus said it was to prepare his body for burial. Simon the Cyrene helped him carry his cross to his death. When he was being crucified, his mother and only a handful of friends were there looking on in pity. Just before he died, he said he was thirsty, and they gave him a drink of wine vinegar from a sponge on a hyssop branch. Joseph and Nicodemus carried his corpse, wrapped it, and put it in a donated tomb. So many things Jesus not only allowed others to do for him but appreciated, and defended if they were questioned.

It doesn’t seem right, does it? Look how the chief priests, scribes, and elders mocked him: “He saved others,” they said, “but he can’t save himself!” But I don’t think the life of Jesus would have been complete if He only saved others. I think he wanted to show us that part of the new humanity is being pitiful, needing the kindness and goodwill of others. The whole gospel story—from the incarnation to ascension could not have happened without someone helping Jesus—at least Mary in birth, and Joseph and Nicodemus after death. Others were involved in advancing the purpose of His life—both villains in their spite and friends in their pity.

And now I’ve thought of one more important aspect of living the truly pitiful life. There’s no pride in it. The grace with which Jesus simply gave and simply received pity offers me a way to live a life of pity: a life of love. Not giving or receiving because I’m supposed to. Not giving looking for payback, whether payback in kind or even in gratitude. Just giving so that I can by a son of my Father in heaven. And not receiving with the intent to pay back once I get on my feet again, and not being embarrassed that I needed help. Just receiving so that I can be a little brother to God’s perfect Son.