On this Sunday, Jesus leads us once more along a familiar yet challenging road—from Jerusalem to Jericho—not just in geography, but in spirit. The parable of the Samaritan, often softened by the adjective “good,” is not merely about kindness. It is about recognising the gaze of God in the most unexpected person, and discovering in that gaze the path to eternal life.
The lawyer’s question—“What must I do to inherit eternal life?”—is not trivial. It is the most important question anyone can ask. He was not seeking more years on earth, but the kind of life that lasts, the life that flows from God himself. Jesus, true to the wisdom of the rabbis, turns the question back to him: What does the Torah say? The scholar answers well: love God with your whole being, and love your neighbour as yourself.
But then comes the real twist: Who is my neighbour? In the world of that time, the neighbour was often limited to one’s kin, tribe, or nation. Jesus refuses that boundary. He answers not with a theory, but with a story—a man robbed and left half-dead, and three travellers: a priest, a Levite, and a Samaritan.
The priest and Levite “see” but do not stop. Perhaps they feared ritual impurity. Perhaps they justified their inaction with duty or fatigue. But in truth, they missed the very heart of the Law they studied: mercy.
Then comes the Samaritan—the heretic, the outsider, the enemy. He, too, sees. But his gaze is different. The Gospel uses the rare verb splagchnizomai—he was moved with compassion, a word reserved almost exclusively for God or Christ in the Scriptures. This Samaritan becomes the image of God’s mercy, not because he had the right religion or rituals, but because he saw the suffering man with the eyes of the Eternal.
What distinguishes him is not sentimentality, but action. He stops, draws near, binds wounds, pours oil and wine, carries the man, and pays for his healing. Each of his ten actions echoes the healing mercy of God, who does not count the cost. The Samaritan becomes a neighbour, not because of bloodline, but because of love.
Jesus’ final question flips everything: “Which of these three became a neighbour?” The scholar cannot even utter “Samaritan”—he simply says, “the one who showed mercy.” Jesus replies: “Go and do likewise.”
This parable is a mirror. It asks us: whom do we see? And how do we look? Is our gaze that of the priest, the Levite—distanced, guarded, selective? Or is it the gaze of the Samaritan—attentive, tender, risk-taking?
To love like the Samaritan is to love like God. Where love is found—especially love that crosses barriers and sacrifices comfort—there is God. So today, the road from Jerusalem to Jericho passes through our own lives. And someone is lying by the roadside. The question is no longer, “Who is my neighbour?” but, “Will I become one?”
Let us go and do likewise.
Father Josekutty Mathew CMF
