Obligation

Jesus said, “Who among you would say to your servant who has just come in from plowing or tending sheep in the field, ‘Come here immediately and take your place at table’? Would he not rather say to him, ‘Prepare something for me to eat. Put on your apron and wait on me while I eat and drink. You may eat and drink when I am finished.” Is he grateful to that servant because he did what was commanded? So should it be with you. When you have done all you have been commanded, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants; we have done what we were obliged to do.’” (Luke 17.7-10)

As a general rule, people have roles, understood as a function assumed in a particular situation. It is how the wheels of society are greased. When our roles are clear, we enter a situation with foreknowledge of how we are to behave and what is expected of us. If we go to a medical clinic for a checkup, our role is understood as that of a patient. We allow others whose role is one of medical expertise to run tests on us and to suggest remedies for whatever ails us.

Likewise, if we take a flight somewhere, our role is that of a passenger. We sit in the seat assigned to us. We listen to instructions given to us by the flight attendant. We follow the rules of the airline. In this way, those with other roles–such as the pilot or the attendants—can do their jobs efficiently and without interruption from us.

All of society operates similarly, different people having different roles, the interaction determined and facilitated by the role each person has, allowing activity between people to proceed orderly and efficiently. It would be difficult to think of a social context without assigned roles. If none exists at the start, roles quickly develop within the group, each person assuming a particular function within the group. 

Once we understand the importance of roles, we can better attempt an explanation of Rabbi Jesus’ teachings today when he speaks of his followers as servants, the Greek word sometimes translated as slaves. Already, with little else said, we’re entering a minefield, since our history has prejudiced the use of the word servant or slave. We bristle at the notion of being anybody’s servant, however entertaining “Downton Abbey” may be to its viewers.

While the role may have worked in earlier times, it doesn’t anymore, our social structure no longer based on masters and servants, but on employer and employee. We accept the role of employee, but we instinctively reject the role of a servant, seeing it as condescending or humiliating. So, when Rabbi Jesus speaks of our being servants, we react negatively.

So, to appreciate what he is saying to us, we almost have to switch the word “servant” for the word “server,” a more palatable and less problematic word for contemporary times. We have servers across the social spectrum from restaurants to computers. We can more easily see ourselves as a server, someone who provides a service. 

Admittedly, if pressed, we have to say the two words denote the same role; however, there is a difference in nuance, the word “server” not having the baggage of the word “servant” or “slave.” So, if we allow the exchange, then we can possibly examine Rabbi Jesus’ words with a more open mind, not thinking he is promoting or condoning slavery, instead seeing that he is inviting us to see our role as servers, people who are interested in and willing to commit ourselves to serving others in some capacity. And when he tells us to put on our apron, we can see ourselves as one of those servers at Red Lobster who wear a black apron over their slacks.

However, even with the word “server,” we have to be clear-eyed about our role, at least as Rabbi Jesus sees it. Unlike servers in the social sphere who may have additional motives for serving, we do not serve others for personal profit, not for recognition, and not for praise. We serve–or give to others–because it is the example that Rabbi Jesus set before us to follow.

Of the many roles that he played, the role that encompassed his life’s work was that of someone who served, who helped others. It was how he saw himself. So, when he saw his time on earth was coming to an end, and wanting to leave his followers with a template for living their own lives in the way he did, he put on an apron, took a bowl, and washed their feet, making clear that if they want to be like him, then they must be willing to put their lives at the service of others.

Of course, his service to others took many forms, not all requiring an apron. He healed the sick. He fed the hungry. He welcomed to his table those rejected by society. He sat with the lonely, cried with the bereaved, and walked alongside the dispirited. Most importantly, he opened his heart to those in need, whatever their pain, their lack, their want. He saw the other person as someone he could help, someone he could lend a hand to. And so he did, without wanting anything back, not seeking recompense, recognition, or recommendation.

In other words, it was selfless service to others, which simply meant putting the other person front and center instead of himself. And that is where the real challenge lies for us, living as we do in an age of self-promotion and self-advertisement, our faces and our deeds constantly on live stream for others to see, pushing ourselves to the front of the pack on Facebook, on Instagram, on Twitter and anywhere else we can parade our achievements and opinions.

All the more important, then, that we listen carefully to the Rabbi when he says we should conduct ourselves as “unprofitable servants,” meaning, in short, we serve others not for what service brings us, but only for what our service brings to others. Another word sometimes used in this phrase is “unmeritorious,” a good word because it makes clear that what we do is not done for our own merit.

So, why in the world would we want to have a role as a server, somebody who puts our time and our efforts in the service of others? That is the question for the ages, or, at least for those who say they follow the Galilean Teacher. And the only good reason, once we are able to escape the traps of self-enhancement or name recognition, is because Rabbi Jesus tells us “we are obliged to do it.” As he said on that particular occasion, “We have done what we were obliged to do.”  

Of course, “obligation” is another one of those words that rub us the wrong way, a people obsessed with our freedoms, but not with our responsibilities. Rarely do we hear anyone talk about obligations these days, too many politicians ignoring their obligation to those they are supposed to serve, instead interested only in promoting themselves; too many parents concerned with doing their own thing instead of meeting their obligations to their children; too many people obsessed with getting their own piece of the pie with little to no sense of their obligation to the greater community.

Yet, obligation is the glue that keeps the human family together, this sense of a shared responsibility to and for one another. Not coincidentally, the etymology of obligation is from the word “to bind.” Hence, a ligament–from the same root word–is a tissue that connects bone to bone just as an obligation is a commitment that binds a person to a person. So police are obligated to protect others; spouses are obligated to cherish one another; followers of Rabbi Jesus are obligated to serve those in need. 

It is a commitment that one enters into freely, promising to fulfill the obligation that is part and parcel of the role. For the disciple, the promise is to imitate Rabbi Jesus in his service to the deprived and the despised, to the leper and the lonely, to the hungry and the harassed. And we do it for no other purpose than wanting to become Jesus to others, not for earthly rewards and not for heavenly rewards. 

We serve others simply because we feel in our bones that living as Jesus lived is the right way to live, the right thing to do. And we commit our days on earth to turning around the ways of the world, returning it to God’s way, a world where everyone is equal in the eyes of God, a world where skin color is no more a definer of self than eye color, a world where love flows across the terrain like a torrential rain. 

On March 1, 1961, John F. Kennedy, elected president the year before, issued Executive Order 10924 that created an agency to recruit young Americans for peaceful service overseas. It was called “the Peace Corps” and many young people rushed to answer the President’s call. He wanted to replace the image of “the Ugly American” with the image of the young American who could win the hearts and minds of people in faraway places through their simple desire to serve.

Several months later, on September 7, Kennedy invited the first group of Peace Corps volunteers to the White House, their destination in South America. Speaking to them in the West Wing, he told them that they “would work in the jungles and mountains of Colombia where they would help build roads, health centers, and schools, and they would learn the local language and they would listen to people as they explained their needs.”

When the group touched down in Bogata, they were greeted warmly as “Kennedy’s children” and when the President came to visit in December the people lined the streets of the city. The Colombian President said to Kennedy, “It is because they believe you are on their side.” 

Some weeks later, a tragic accident occurred, as it would occasionally in future years among the Peace Corps volunteers. Two volunteers, David Crozier and Larry Radley were killed when the plane they were traveling on crashed into the side of a mountain in the jungles of Colombia. Rather than see it as defeat, others saw it as sacrifice and courage on the part of the two young men.

Some weeks before, David Crozier had written to his parents, telling them of his view of the Peace Corps. He wrote, “Should it come to that, I would rather give my life trying to help someone than to have to give my life looking down the barrel of a gun at them.” The Croziers gave the letter to the Director of the Peace Corps, Sargent Shriver, Kennedy’s brother-in-law, who framed it and hung it on the wall of his office where it remained as a symbol of the spirit of the Peace Corps worker, one who came to serve, not to be served.

Young David Crozier, answering the call to change the world into a better place, understood better than many others what Rabbi Jesus was saying when he told his followers, “When you have done all you have been commanded, say, ‘We are unprofitable servants. We have done what we were obliged to do.’” Now, the same opportunity is ours; the same call to serve others awaits a response from us.

–Jeremy Myers