My cupboard is bare

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Luke 11:1–13... Teach us to pray. Hmm.

...one of [Jesus'] disciples said to him, "Lord, teach us to pray..." ...Then he said to them, "Suppose one of you has a friend, and she goes to that friend at midnight and says, 'Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, because a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have nothing to set before him.'

"Then the one inside answers, 'Don't bother me. The door is already locked, and my children are with me in bed. I can't get up and give you anything.' I tell you, though he will not get up and give her the bread because she is his friend, yet because of the woman's boldness he will get up and give her as much as she needs."

I heard this, went home, and sat in my chair to reflect. Here's what hit me: This woman is not asking for something for herself. She's asking for food for a visiting friend, because her own cupboard is bare.

In my intercession for the people I love, my cupboard is bare—and Jesus is telling me what I can do about it. If I go to my creator God, who is far more powerful and compassionate (one assumes) than any of my neighbors, and ask for something on behalf of a stranded visitor who's in my house, God will not refuse me.

So....

1. In this particular passage, Jesus is talking about asking on behalf of others, not on behalf of ourselves, and
2. He's talking about asking for *food* ... necessities; sustenance, not luxuries, and
   
3. The one praying is literally the "intercessor" in that she herself will deliver the bread. (*sigh*)
   

The rest of my prayer time went something like this....

God, God! It's the middle of the night inside me, I am so tired inside, and I have no power to help these people I love. Help, help! They are tired too, and they need food, and only you have it. Please provide it. I can't save them! I can't heal them!

And if I must be the one to deliver what you give them, I will, if you show me how. I don't want to. But you know that.

(*sigh*)

Who takes care of me?

Luke 10:25–37

But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?"

That is, "Who must I love if I want to inherit eternal life?" And then Jesus hit him with the story of the good Samaritan:

A man is robbed and beaten. A man just like the lawyer asking the question, perhaps? Two upstanding citizens walk past without helping, but a Samaritan (read: outcast) bandages his wounds, gets him a room at a hotel, and leaves a credit card in case the man needs more help.

Jesus asks which of the three is a neighbor to the man who was robbed. The Samaritan, of course.

Neighbor = the one you must love if you want eternal life.

Neighbor = the amazingly generous outcast who isn't too busy to help the story's "me" (the man to whom Jesus is replying).

Therefore, the one you must love if you want eternal life = the amazingly generous outcast who isn't too busy to help you and others like you.

Jesus packs three massive concepts into one little story: Receive the love of the Samaritan, love as the Samaritan loves, and love the Samaritan. I'm humbled by the difficulty of doing any of these things.