A man is attacked, robbed, and left half-dead along the road. A priest comes by, then a Levite—both respected religious figures of their day. Yet neither stops. Then along comes a Samaritan—someone viewed as an outsider, even an enemy. And it is the Samaritan that sees the man, stops, kneels beside him, and cares for his wounds. He lifts him up, brings him to safety, covers the cost of his recovery, and promises to come back. He gives his time, his compassion, and his resources—freely, fully, and without pause.
‘But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was, and when he saw him, he had compassion. ‘
Luke 10:33
There are moments when I like to imagine myself as the Good Samaritan in Jesus’ parable—quick to show compassion, eager to help, willing to cross the road and get involved. It feels good to offer a helping hand, especially when I can see that someone truly needed it.
But then I remember the priest and the Levite. They saw the wounded man too—but they kept walking. And if I’m honest, that sometimes looks a lot like me. Not because I don’t care, but because I’m distracted. Caught up in my own world—my schedule, my responsibilities—I rush past, too busy to notice what God might be trying to show me.
Jesus told this story to answer a simple question: “Who is my neighbor?” And yet, the deeper challenge is whether I’m willing to be a neighbor—even when it’s inconvenient, uncomfortable, or costly.
That challenge becomes even more personal: sometimes it’s easier to be kind to a stranger than to love the people right in front of us. The neighbor I don’t know doesn’t carry the baggage, history, or expectations that I share with those closer to me. But the ones I do know—the ones I’ve hurt or who have hurt me, the ones who challenge me or feel too familiar—are often the hardest to love like Jesus.
This is exactly what Jesus presses into in Luke 10. The parable is the response Jesus lays out to the lawyer who asked, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” The lawyer already knew the answer: love God and love your neighbor. But, seeking to justify himself, he pressed further: “And who is my neighbor?” It’s a boundary-setting question—one that assumes love might have limits.
To Jesus’ Jewish audience, this story would have been shocking. Samaritans were deeply despised outsiders, rejected and avoided for generations. But Jesus places the Samaritan at the center of the story—not to scandalize, but to transform. He redefines love. He confronts prejudice. He shows that neighborliness isn’t about familiarity or shared background—it’s about mercy in action.
Who have I decided is too difficult to love? Who do I pass by emotionally, even if under the same roof? Who do I say I care for, but avoid when it gets complicated?
Jesus raises the bar. He challenges how we see others, how we love, how we live out our faith. Love, as He defines it, crosses boundaries. It costs something. It disrupts comfort and convenience. It doesn’t ask, “Do they deserve it?” It asks, “What does love require of me?”
And yet—Jesus meets us exactly where we are. In our limitations. In our assumptions. In our reluctance. And He gently calls us to do the same for others—to meet them in their need, in their brokenness, even when it’s inconvenient or uncomfortable. That’s what He did for us. God is love.
‘Anyone who does not love does not know God, because God is love. ‘
-1 John 4:8 ESV
The story of the Good Samaritan is more than a call to kindness—it’s a vision of the kingdom Jesus came to establish. A kingdom where mercy overrides division, and where being a neighbor has nothing to do with geography and everything to do with heart posture.
The Samaritan didn’t just help—he noticed. He was moved. He acted. He paid the price. He stayed. He saw the man not as a problem to avoid, but as a person to love.
And Jesus ends the parable with a command: “Go and do likewise.”
As the chapter continues, Luke moves from the parable of the Samaritan to a real-life moment in the home of Mary and Martha—two sisters, both eager to honor Jesus, but in very different ways. Martha busies herself with the details of hospitality, trying to serve well. Mary, however, sits at Jesus’ feet and listens.
And once again, Jesus gently reorients the focus. Once again, we see someone pulled into the busyness of doing, while another chooses to simply be with Him.
‘But the Lord answered her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and troubled about many things, but one thing is necessary. Mary has chosen the good portion, which will not be taken away from her.”’
-Luke 10:41-42 ESV
It’s not that Martha was wrong to serve—just as the priest and the Levite may not have been “bad” men. But both stories confront a deeper truth: in all our rushing, striving, and managing, we can miss the very heart of what God is doing right in front of us.
The Samaritan saw the wounded man. Mary listened to the voice of Jesus. Both stopped long enough to recognize what mattered most.
One website I like to also read scripture on is the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. I went to Loyola and part of what I was required to read was on this site. This is an excellent way to learn other ways to look at the readings.
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