The Jericho Road
The parable of the Good Samaritan is probably one of the most familiar stories in the Bible. We hear it in Sunday school. We find it in children’s books. We preach sermons about it. Even outside the Church, the phrase “Good Samaritan” has become shorthand for someone who helps another person.
Perhaps the danger of knowing the story so well is that we can miss how radical it really is.
Jesus is not merely saying: "Be nice to people."
He is asking something far more uncomfortable: When you see someone bleeding on the road of life, what will you do?
Will you see them?
Will you stop?
Will you come close?
Will you allow another person’s suffering to interrupt your plans?
In other words:
Will you become a neighbour?
Who Is My Neighbour?
The story begins when an expert in the law approaches Jesus with a question:
“Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
Jesus responds by asking what Scripture says. The man knows the answer: Love God with all your heart, soul, strength and mind, and love your neighbour as yourself. Jesus tells him that he has answered correctly. But the man wants to justify himself, so he asks another question: “And who is my neighbour?”
That question matters. Because once we can define exactly who our neighbour is, we can also begin deciding who our neighbour is not. Jesus responds with a story. And He places that story on a road.
The Road of Blood
A man travels from Jerusalem toward Jericho. This was not an insignificant detail. The road between Jerusalem and Jericho stretched for roughly 27 kilometres and descended dramatically from the heights of Jerusalem toward Jericho. It was dry, mountainous and dangerous, with caves and hiding places where robbers could wait for travellers. The road had a reputation for violence. It was sometimes known as the Road of Blood.
Jesus deliberately places His story there. A place of danger. A place of violence. A place where someone might easily be robbed, wounded and abandoned. And that is precisely what happens.
A man is attacked, stripped, beaten and left half-dead beside the road. But the Jericho Road quickly becomes more than geography. It becomes a symbol.
It represents every place where people are wounded by violence.
Every place where dignity is stolen.
Every place where people are exploited or abandoned.
Every place marked by poverty, crime, racism, inequality and injustice.
The Jericho Road is wherever someone has been left bleeding along the road of life.
When Religion Walks Past
Then something deeply uncomfortable happens. A priest comes along. He sees the wounded man. And passes by on the other side. Then a Levite arrives. He also sees the man. And he too walks past.
These were not random people in the story. The priest and Levite represented organised religion. They served in the temple. They were connected to worship, sacrifice, Scripture and the religious life of the community. They were the people who spoke about God. And yet they failed to recognise that the bleeding person in front of them was their neighbour.
Perhaps they had reasons. Perhaps they were busy. Perhaps they had responsibilities waiting for them. Maybe they needed to get to the temple. Maybe there were preparations to finish.
In today's church we might say:
The sound still needs to be checked.
The instruments need to be ready.
The coffee needs to be made.
The chairs need to be arranged.
Those things matter. But the parable makes a striking point:
Nothing we do in the house of God can become so urgent that we fail to see the person suffering on our way there.
What does our worship mean if we sing about God's love but walk past the person who needs love?
What does it mean to preach mercy if we refuse to show mercy?
How can we speak about the God we cannot see while ignoring the neighbour we can?
Faith cannot exist only inside the temple. Our theology is tested on the road. Our worship is tested on the road. Our love is tested on the road. Our compassion is tested on the road.
Then Comes the Samaritan
The third person in the story would have surprised Jesus' listeners. A Samaritan arrives. The relationship between Jews and Samaritans carried deep historical hostility, yet Jesus makes the outsider the person who truly understands what loving a neighbour looks like.
The Samaritan sees the injured man. And he stops. He comes closer. He treats his wounds. He places him on his own animal. He takes him somewhere safe. He pays for his care. And he promises to return. His compassion becomes action. That is crucial. He does not simply feel bad about what happened. He allows another person's suffering to inconvenience him. His journey changes. His resources are used. His time is interrupted. Compassion costs him something.
We Never Learn Who the Victim Is
There is an interesting detail in Jesus' story. We know almost nothing about the man who was attacked.
Was he Jewish?
Was he Samaritan?
Was he wealthy?
Was he poor?
What language did he speak?
What did he believe?
Luke does not tell us.
Because it does not matter.
It is enough that he is human.
It is enough that he bears the image of God.
It is enough that he has been hurt.
It is enough that he is bleeding.
The Samaritan does not stop and conduct an interview before helping.
He does not ask:
Is he one of my people?
Does he belong to my church?
Does he speak my language?
What will people think if they see me helping him?
Compassion does not begin by asking whether someone has earned our concern.
It asks: How can I help?
Perhaps We Have Been Asking the Wrong Question
The expert in the law asks Jesus: “Who is my neighbour?”
But by the end of the story, Jesus has turned the question around.
The issue is no longer: Who qualifies to be my neighbour?
Instead: Will I become a neighbour?
The responsibility does not rest on the wounded person to prove that they are worthy of our compassion. The responsibility rests with us.
Will we see?
Will we stop?
Will we come close?
Will we help?
The Jericho Road Is Still Here
We do not need to travel back to ancient Palestine to find the Jericho Road. We have Jericho Roads around us. There are people travelling through our cities because they need to work and provide for their families, sometimes doing so without safety or protection.
There are people living with poverty. Families struggling with the cost of living. Young people struggling to find employment. Communities affected by violence. Women and children living with abuse. Foreign nationals experiencing xenophobia. People pushed to the margins because they are poor, vulnerable or easy to exploit.
And there are also quieter Jericho Roads.
Your classroom.
Your workplace.
Your friendship group.
Your family.
Perhaps someone sitting next to you is bleeding in a way nobody else can see.
They may be overwhelmed.
Lonely.
Grieving.
Financially desperate.
Afraid.
Carrying wounds they have never spoken about.
The question Jesus asks remains:
Will we stop?
The Greatest Danger May Be Passing By
Most of us probably do not imagine ourselves as the robbers in Jesus' story. But perhaps that is not the greatest danger for religious people. Perhaps the greater danger is becoming like the priest and Levite.
We see.
We know.
We understand.
And then we continue with our lives.
We continue with worship.
We continue with meetings.
We continue with plans.
We continue with our schedules.
And the wounded person remains beside the road.
It is possible to become so busy doing things for God that we stop noticing the people God loves. That should make us uncomfortable.
Give Us Eyes to See
The prayer of the sermon is beautifully simple.
May God give us eyes that see.
May God give us hearts that can still feel.
May God give us the courage to stop.
May He give us willing hands to bind wounds.
And may He give us resources that we are willing to share.
Imagine what the Church could look like if this became normal.
A community that refuses to cross to the other side.
A community that notices.
A community that stops.
A community in which hurting people discover that someone is willing to come close.
That is more than charity.
It is neighbourliness.
What If I Am the One Bleeding?
There is another side to the story. Sometimes we are not the Samaritan. Sometimes we are the person lying beside the road.
We are the ones who have been wounded. We are the ones wondering whether anyone sees.
And here the parable offers a deeply hopeful reminder. God sees.
The story of Hagar reminds us of the God who sees and hears those who feel abandoned. God sees. God comes near. God binds wounds. God carries. God restores. And this is where the Good Samaritan becomes more than simply an example of what we should do.
Christ Himself has become our neighbour. When we were wounded, He came close. When we could not carry ourselves, He carried us. When we were broken, He brought healing. And when we were lost on the road, He did not pass us by.
Go and Do Likewise
Jesus ends the parable with four simple words:
“Go and do likewise.”
Not:
Go and discuss likewise.
Not:
Go and preach likewise.
Not:
Go and agree with the idea.
Go and do.
May we never become so busy with the work of God's Kingdom that we overlook the people for whom Christ gave His life. And when we walk out of church and back into ordinary life, may we remember: The Jericho Road begins just outside the door.
There are wounded people in our communities. In our classes. In our circles of friends. In our families. Even in our churches. May we see them. May we stop. May we come close. And may we become neighbours. Because Christ first became a neighbour to us.
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