Ex. 22:21-27; 1 Thess. 1:5c-10; Mt. 22:34-40
A lawyer asks Jesus,
“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?” (Mt 22:36). There were
hundreds of commandments in the Jewish religious tradition, so perhaps the
lawyer expected an interesting theological debate. Jesus answers by quoting Deuteronomy:
“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul,
and with all your mind” (Mt 22:37; Dt 6:5). Then, without being asked for a
second commandment, Jesus adds one from Leviticus: “You shall love your
neighbour as yourself” (Mt 22:39; Lev 19:18). And then comes the sentence that
gives meaning to everything: “On these two commandments hang all the law and
the prophets” (Mt 22:40). Jesus is not merely giving two more rules. He is
telling us what holds all the rules together.
The word “hang” gives us a
simple picture. A door may be beautifully carved, polished and painted, but it
hangs on two rather small hinges. Remove either hinge and there will soon be
trouble. It is possible to have a great deal of religion but rusty hinges!
Jesus says that one hinge is love of God and the other is love of neighbour.
The prophets repeatedly warned Israel about trying to keep one while neglecting
the other. Isaiah speaks for God: “Is not this the fast that I choose… to share
your bread with the hungry, and bring the homeless poor into your house?” (Is
58:6-7). Amos is even stronger: “I hate, I despise your festivals,” God says,
when worship is separated from justice; instead, “let justice roll down like
waters” (Amos 5:21, 24). The prophets were not against worship. They were
against worship that never reached the street.
That explains the surprising
details in the first reading. God says, “You shall not wrong or oppress a
resident alien, for you were aliens in the land of Egypt” (Ex 22:21). Then come
the widow and the orphan, the people with little social protection. Finally,
God speaks about something as ordinary as a coat. If a poor person gives his
cloak as security for a loan, “you shall restore it before the sun goes down,”
because “in what else shall that person sleep?” (Ex 22:26-27). The Creator of
the stars is concerned about whether a poor man is cold tonight. That is
biblical religion in one unforgettable image. Loving God is not an escape from
ordinary human needs. It makes those needs visible.
Abraham had already
demonstrated something similar. Sitting at the entrance of his tent during the
heat of the day, he saw three strangers approaching. He could easily have
remained comfortably in the shade. Instead, “he ran from the tent entrance to
meet them” (Gen 18:2). He offered water, rest and food. Only gradually does the
story reveal the mystery of his visitors and the promise they bring (Gen
18:1-15). Abraham welcomes strangers and discovers that God has come to his
tent. The Letter to the Hebrews later remembers the story: “Do not neglect to
show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels
without knowing it” (Heb 13:2). Sometimes heaven arrives without an
appointment.
The same connection appears
in the prophet Elijah’s encounter with the widow of Zarephath. She is
desperately poor. She has only “a handful of meal in a jar, and a little oil in
a jug,” and expects that she and her son will soon die (1 Kgs 17:12). Yet she
shares what little she has with Elijah. The jar of meal does not empty and the
jug of oil does not fail (1 Kgs 17:14-16). The story is not a romantic picture
of poverty; hunger is frightening. But it shows a recurring biblical truth:
faith in God and responsibility toward another human being keep meeting at the
same table.
St Paul sees this happening
among the Thessalonians. He tells them, “You became imitators of us and of the
Lord,” and consequently “you became an example to all the believers” (1 Thess
1:6-7). Their faith became visible. Paul even says that their faith in God had
become known everywhere (1 Thess 1:8). They did not need an advertising
campaign. People had seen what the Gospel had done to them. Christianity is
most convincing when somebody can point to a life and say, “Something has
happened there.”
St. Damien of Molokai gives a
powerful example. In the nineteenth century, people suffering from Hansen’s
disease were isolated on the Hawaiian island of Molokai. Damien volunteered to
serve among them. He built houses, organized practical assistance, cared for
the sick and buried the dead. Eventually he himself contracted the disease and
died in 1889. At his canonization, Pope Benedict XVI recalled that Damien felt
called to become “a leper with the lepers,” serving those who had been
abandoned. His love of God did not keep him safely away from suffering; it
carried him toward people whom much of society preferred not to see. He
illustrates St John’s uncompromising words: “Those who do not love a brother or
sister whom they have seen, cannot love God whom they have not seen” (1 Jn
4:20).
But heroic love does not
always require an island or a saint’s biography. During the COVID-19 pandemic,
countless ordinary people quietly did something similar on a smaller scale.
Neighbours bought groceries for elderly people who were afraid to leave their
homes; volunteers delivered meals; people telephoned those living alone;
medical workers remained with patients whose families could not visit. Much of
this never became news. Pope Francis has often used the expression “saints next
door” for ordinary people whose goodness is quietly lived in daily life.
Perhaps that is where the second commandment is most often fulfilled—not in
dramatic moments, but in noticing that someone nearby needs a little time,
food, patience, company or kindness.
Jesus brings us back to the
two hinges. Love God. Love the person in front of you. The Good Samaritan is
the perfect illustration. A priest sees the wounded man and passes by. A Levite
sees him and passes by. A Samaritan “saw him” and “was moved with pity” (Lk
10:33). He bandages the wounds, puts the man on his animal, brings him to an
inn and pays for his care (Lk 10:34-35). Notice how practical love becomes:
bandages, transport, accommodation and money. Compassion becomes concrete or it
remains only a pleasant feeling.
Jesus himself joins the two
commandments even more closely when he says, “Just as you did it to one of the
least of these… you did it to me” (Mt 25:40). The hungry person, the stranger,
the sick person and the prisoner unexpectedly become meeting places with Christ
(Mt 25:35-36). That is why the Law and the Prophets hang on these two
commandments. The first keeps the heart turned toward God; the second tests
whether that love has become real. One without the other leaves the door
hanging crooked.
Oscar Wilde’s Happy Prince discovered the
suffering of his city only after he was placed high enough to see it. The
Gospel asks for something simpler: eyes open enough to notice. The person
needing kindness may not be far away. It may be someone at the next desk, an
elderly neighbour, a migrant worker, a tired spouse, a difficult relative, a
lonely parishioner, or somebody whose name we do not even know. The message of
today’s readings is therefore wonderfully simple: love God enough to
see people, and love people in such a way that they can glimpse something of
God. On these two small hinges, Jesus says, hangs everything.
Satish Selvarance