The Plumb Line of Compassion
Proper 10, Year C
There is a lot of measuring going on these days, but we are using the wrong tools.
We measure churches by attendance and budget reports. We measure people by how much they produce, how they vote, where they live, who they associate with, and how closely they align with whatever version of power we have decided to call good. We have measured with the wrong tools, and in doing so, we have confused what it means to live upright lives.
This week’s lectionary texts remind us that God measures differently.
In Amos 7, the prophet sees a vision: a plumb line, stretched out by God in the middle of a people who think they are standing tall.
“See, I am setting up a plumb line in the midst of my people Israel; I will spare them no longer” (NRSVUE).
It is a startling image. The wall still looks solid from a distance, but something is not right. The foundation is off. The plumb line reveals a lean, a shift, a crack in the structure. So God sends Amos, not to condemn non-religious outsiders, but to call out the “faithful.” Because the people still worshipped. They still built altars. They still said all the right things. But their religion had ceased to resemble the heart of God. They still claimed to follow God while justice was nowhere to be found. The poor were being crushed. The powerful were left unchecked. Injustice had become embedded in the nation’s very rhythms of worship and politics.
It is not hard to see parallels.
We live in a time when Christian language is being used to prop up power instead of lay it down. Political agendas are being baptized in the name of Jesus. Cruelty gets repackaged as strength. The poor are blamed for being poor. Immigrant families are separated with little more than a shrug. The stranger is treated with suspicion or violence. All the while, the name of Christ is invoked and distorted.
Many of our churches are more captivated by branding than by the Beatitudes. We build ministries around charisma and strategy while forgetting the actual character of Christ—his humility, his mercy, his nearness to the lowly. Somewhere along the way, we stopped asking whether the wall is straight.
But God still has a plumb line.
Psalm 82 puts it plainly:
“How long will you judge unjustly and show partiality to the wicked?
Give justice to the weak and the orphan;
maintain the right of the lowly and the destitute.
Rescue the weak and needy;
deliver them from the hand of the wicked” (NRSVUE).This is not a political talking point. It is not a call to individual kindness. It is the voice of God calling to account rulers, systems, and those of us who have grown comfortable with the way things are. When compassion is absent, God’s patience runs thin. Justice, love, and mercy— especially for most vulnerable—is God’s standard. If we claim to follow God, this is the measure we must meet. Not theological precision. Not national strength. Not our comfort.
Then Jesus tells a story.
A lawyer asks, “Who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:29), trying to draw a boundary around his obligations. Jesus responds with a parable that shatters the boundary altogether. The one who fulfills the law is not the priest or the Levite, but a Samaritan (a religious outsider, presumed heretic, and ethnic enemy) who crosses the road, tends to wounds, and pays the cost.
This is not a feel-good story. It is a confrontation.
It asks us: Who are we stepping over? What wounds are we too busy to see? Who have we deemed unworthy of care? What systems of power are we silently blessing while the weak cry out for help? What boundaries have we drawn to excuse ourselves from mercy?
In the end, compassion is not a nice bonus to the Christian life. It is at the core of it.And if our faith, our churches, our communities, and our politics do not bear that kind of fruit, then they are not aligned with the kingdom of God.
Still, Colossians 1 does not leave us in despair. Here we are offered a final word, not just of critique, but of hope. Paul prays for a church being shaped in a different direction: bearing fruit in good works, growing in wisdom, and learning to endure with joy.
“He has rescued us from the power of darkness and transferred us into the kingdom of his beloved Son” (NRSVUE).
The plumb line is compassion. The fruit is mercy. And in Jesus, we are given the strength to walk upright not by our own power, but by the Spirit of the one who crossed the road for us first.
So maybe the invitation this week is simple: Repent of what we have built. Begin again. This time, around compassion. Trade power for compassion. Stop measuring with what does not matter and start measuring with love. Cross the road. And become the kind of people who walk upright, not in our own strength, but in the justice and love of God.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
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