The Good Samaritan

The Good Samaritan

Luke 10: 25 – 29

Luke 10: 30 – 37

July 5, 2026

There are moments in Scripture when Jesus answers a question, but somehow leaves us with a deeper one. Luke 10 gives us one of those moments. A lawyer stands and asks Jesus, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” At first glance, it sounds like a sincere spiritual question. But Luke tells us the lawyer’s motive, “To test him.” That changes everything.

This man already knew the answer. As a lawyer or a scribe, these men were often called to resolve disputes over biblical interpretation. These men, these lawyers, were the biblical experts of their day. He knew the commandments. He knew theology. He knew doctrine. This was no honest request for information; it was yet another test from the religious establishment.

Jesus responds by asking, “What is written in the Law?” The lawyer answers perfectly – as expected - “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind; and love your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus says, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.” But the lawyer is not yet finished. He asks, “And who is my neighbor?” That question sounds innocent, but it is not.

Hidden inside that question is one of the oldest spiritual instincts of the broken human heart. How little can I do and still consider myself faithful? Where are the boundaries? Who qualifies? Who deserves my love? Who can I reasonably be expected to exclude?

Jesus answers - not with a definition - but with a story.

A man is traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. That road was notorious - steep, isolated, and dangerous. As late as the last century, it was written about in local documents and known as “The Bloody Way.” I have walked portions of this road. Walking the trail, it winds through canyons, on trails that are narrow with tall, looming canyon walls.

During COVID, I contacted my friends about walking the entire length of this road. My friend Iyad asked first, “Who is going with you?” Then he wanted to know if I had access to a handgun to serve as protection on the road if I was going to walk it alone. I said, “No,” and Iyad cautioned me about walking this road alone. One just simply doesn’t do that – even today. Even more so, during the time of Jesus.

For whatever reason, the victim in our story foolishly chooses to travel this road, this “Bloody Way”, alone. As expected, he is attacked, stripped, beaten, and left half dead.

Jesus then introduces three travelers, three potential ways of encountering this beaten man. First comes a priest, and surely the religious leader will stop. He does not. Then comes a Levite, someone devoted to temple service. He also passes by.

Then Jesus introduces the unexpected hero, a Samaritan. To modern ears, the word “Good Samaritan” evokes thoughts of kindness. But those listening to Jesus hear something closer to “Good Enemy.”

Samaritans and Jews carried generations of hostility. For over 800 years, Jews hated the willingness of Samaritans to collaborate with foreign oppressors, intermarry with pagans occupying their lands, and for daring to build a temple in opposition to the Temple of Jerusalem. Samaritans loudly proclaimed that they had an original text of the Pentateuch written by Moses and it was kept in their temple on Mt. Gerizim. I have actually been in that temple and seen the Samaritan Aron Kodesh that houses the Old Testament scrolls of Scripture to this day.

Jesus could not have selected a more hated villain – or unlikely hero – for his story. The Samaritan sees the near-dead man on the road to Jericho. The priest saw, the Levite saw, but it is only the Samaritan who allows what he saw to move him past the hatred in his heart. Jesus says, “He had compassion.”

Compassion in Scripture is never merely emotional. Biblical compassion always moves; it always acts. The Samaritan goes to the wounded man. He touches him – willing to risk ritual defilement. He treats him, places him on his own animal, takes him to the inn that exists to this day on that bloody road to Jericho, and ensures that the injured man will continue to be cared for.

It is the hated Samaritan – not the priest, not the temple official – it is the Samaritan who interrupts his schedule, spends his resources on a stranger, risks great inconvenience and even danger, and who gives no self-serving speech nor does he seek special recognition for his actions.

The Samaritan simply loves, and out of that love, serves one whom he could have just ignored as the priest and the Levite did. Jesus then asks, “Which of these three was a neighbor?” You know the lawyer had to be gritting his teeth. It had to kill him to identify the Samaritan as the neighbor. He can’t even properly identify the hero. He simply says, “The one who showed mercy.”

Jesus replies, “Go and do likewise.” Now here is where many sermons choose to stop. The story of the Good Samaritan becomes a morality tale about “neighbor” and our call to be compassionate, to try to move beyond cultural boundaries, and to see it as our responsibility to care for all of God’s people.

Those things matter, but simply being generous with our love and service is not yet the Gospel. Because if this story is merely “Be like the Samaritan,” then we will all eventually fail. Because if we are honest, we are not naturally the Samaritan, and we don’t really want to be.

We are often the priest who is busy, occupied, and self-important. We find rituals, traditions, and religious conventions as a way to excuse ourselves from unconditional service.

Sometimes we are the Levite, concerned but distant. We admire mercy while avoiding the messy, time-consuming inconvenience of getting involved.

Sometimes - if we are honest - we are the wounded traveler who has foolishly gone where we know we should not go. And so we are broken, exhausted, unable to rescue ourselves.

It is here that our Reformed theology gives us something profoundly beautiful. We read this story not first as instruction, but as revelation. What does this story tell us about the character of God?

Who is the true Good Samaritan in our story? Jesus. Who is the beaten and broken traveler? A humanity that lies along the thoroughfares of life, wounded by sin, unable to save itself.

Religion passes by. Performance cannot heal. Morality cannot restore. But it is Jesus – and only Jesus – that comes near, becomes human as we are human, and arrives to heal. Jesus crosses the distance from eternity to human life. Jesus binds the wounds, lifts the burdens, pays the cost, and gives what we can never repay.

On the cross, Jesus became the one rejected so that the broken and wounded could live. Grace always moves first. We do not become the neighbor of this story in order to earn salvation. We become neighbors because grace and salvation have found us, restored us, and reconciled us to God first.

The order matters. Mercy received becomes mercy extended. This matters deeply because modern life has created a new way for us to hold our heads high….. and pass on by. We no longer walk roads to Jericho. We scroll, we move quickly, we see endless need. And it is all too easy to become overwhelmed, numb and deadened to the plight of those around us.

Compassion fatigue sets in. We start protecting ourselves. We say, “I care - but someone else will handle it, someone else will be more effective, someone else will have a greater impact than I.”

Friends, Jesus never asks us to solve all suffering. Jesus does not expect us to solve world hunger or to work in such a way that we have world peace. No. Jesus simply asks us to not ignore the person placed in front of us.

The love of neighbor is often not dramatic, but it is faithful. The love of our neighbor looks like calling the widow, mentoring a young believer, and listening before speaking. The love of our neighbor looks like inviting someone into your home, serving quietly, and generously funding ministry. Loving our neighbor means showing up, when, perhaps in the past, you were satisfied with simply sending in a check as a way of avoiding personal involvement. It means saying no to cynicism and yes to prayer.

In a community like ours - full of experience, wisdom, leadership, education, and generosity - there is always a subtle temptation. It is to believe that our greatest contribution is preserving what already exists.

Generally speaking, we have been well served by the status quo; we have thrived in the world just as it is. But I am not sure that preserving the status quo is our highest calling. The continuing existence of the broken, the cast away and discarded on the highways and byways of our existence is proof of far too many of us just choosing to walk on by. Jesus continually invites God’s people to become conduits, not reservoirs, not dead ends, not cul-de-sacs - not merely preserving blessing but extending it.

Friends, the kingdom of God expands whenever mercy crosses a boundary. Perhaps Jesus asks us today, “Who is lying, wounded and broken, on the roads upon which we travel? To whom has God directed your attention – and your heart – but you have placed any response on hold? Who have you categorized instead of loved? Where has compassion become a theoretical conversation resulting in very little action?

Where is Christ calling YOU to action, not because your action saves anyone, but instead because you can’t help but respond to the action inspiring grace and love of Jesus that has first been given to you?

At the end of this story, Jesus never answers the question of “Who is my neighbor?” Instead, Jesus reframes the question. The question is not – as the lawyer intended – “Who qualifies for my love?” Instead, the questions drive introspection. Will I become a neighbor?

That reframing changes everything. Because in Jesus, “neighbor” is no longer a category. It has become a calling. So friends, look – really look – again. Look, see, love – not to earn grace but instead to reflect the grace you have already received. Amen.