One of the most well-known of all the parables is what is traditionally called the “Parable of the Good Samaritan.” Even many people who do not profess Christianity have heard of it and think of it as a heart-warming story. They are impressed with the caring outsider who outdid others in tangible love. Some who hold to a social gospel point to this parable as a summary of what they believe. “It’s all about making this world a better place,” they say. Many take the moral of the story to be simply that we should love others without limits and prejudice.

This parable, then, is a good place to test the principles we have studied in the two previous articles. For if we fail to see properly what Christ designed to teach us, we will turn the meaning of the passage on its head, as so many do. Let’s first take up the context, and then the content of the parable. I think we’ll find that a better title for the parable is: “Mercy on the Road to Jericho.”

The Context⤒🔗

One day, as Jesus was travelling towards Jerusalem to accomplish the purpose for which He had come to this earth (see Luke 9:51), a lawyer emerged from the crowd gathered around Christ (v. 25). During this time lawyers were people who were schooled in the law of Moses. We could call them “biblical scholars.” They were trained in schools of the rabbis to read and interpret the law of God and apply it to their lives and to their society. So this lawyer was used to both asking and answering questions. Yet this day, he would ask a question of the One of whom the whole roll of the Law spoke. And not only that, he would receive an answer from the One who had the law written upon His heart. He asked: “Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?”

This much is commendable in the lawyer’s question: He realized that this earthly life is not eternal. Many today give no thought at all to anything beyond this life. They are content to live their earthly lives and acquire all there is to “inherit” now. By contrast, the lawyer’s question assumes that this life is not all there is. There is such a thing as eternal life.

Moreover, this lawyer realized that eternal life does not simply fall into everyone’s lap. Again, many imagine this to be the case. They never doubt whether they will have life after death. This lawyer, however, does not presume. His study of the law of Moses has taught him at least two things: there is such a thing as eternal life, and not everyone has it or a title to it.

When we take a closer look at his question, though, we see that there is something wrong with it. He asked: “What shall I do to inherit eternal life?” (v. 25). He was after an inheritance, and wanted to know what he needed to do to obtain it. You could say that he was ready to climb the lad­der of actions, at the top of which he saw “an inheritance.” Moreover, he doesn’t ask “What must I do?” But, “What shall I do?” He was poised and ready for the climb upwards.

I once read a saying that goes like this: “Many think of this world as a ladder to climb. And so it is. It’s a ladder to climb down.” This did not at all enter into the lawyer’s mind, nor does it enter into any of our minds. We aspire to ascend, not descend.

Luke tells us two additional things about this lawyer and his motives: He wanted to put Jesus to the test (v. 25), all the while justifying himself (v. 29). He wished to scrutinize what Christ might say, while at the same time shield himself from any scrutiny. Isn’t that a picture of our natural tendency as well, especially as “religious” people? Instead of justifying God and putting ourselves to the test, we do the exact opposite.

This becomes especially clear with his second question: “Who is my neighbor?” (v. 29). He asked this question in a self-justifying way, Luke says (v. 29). He wanted to draw a line around those he must love, clearly insinuating that the fewer people the better. It’s as if he were asking: “Whom do I have to accept as my neighbor? After all, I can’t love everyone.” The question almost anticipates an answer like this: “Lawyer, that is a brilliant question. You shouldn’t really have to be that concerned about that. There is no way you can worry about everyone, so why even start?” This is the kind of response his question assumes he will receive.

The Content←⤒🔗

As the Searcher of all men’s hearts, Christ showed what is fundamentally wrong in the lawyer’s religion. This man knew nothing of mercy. And Christ could have said so sharply and bluntly: “You lack one thing: mercy.” But rather than just say that, Christ told the parable to make him and us feel our lack of such mercy.

How does Christ accomplish this through this parable?

First of all, Christ shows us the bitterness of misery←↰⤒🔗

The lawyer had pictured himself sinless in paradise. He was simply working himself up the ladder of the law into the inheritance that he desired. But Christ’s parable brings before him a scene of pitiful misery: “A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, which stripped him of his raiment, and wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead” (v. 30). Though Augustine famously saw this as Adam’s fall into sin, we don’t need to stretch the parable to see the point of misery. This scene of the half-dead man puts before the lawyer’s mind something that has not entered into his thinking thus far, and that is the reality of misery and sin in the world.

Secondly, Christ shows us the breakdown of morality←↰⤒🔗

Contrary to what the lawyer imagines, religion won’t make a person inherit eternal life. Take the priest and Levite who walk in a large circle around this heap of misery. Of all people, they should have heard the call to act. Aren’t the priests to “have compassion on the ignorant, and on them that are out of the way” (Heb. 5:2)? Not in this case. These religious men do not show mercy; they show themselves miserly. They fail, presum­ably by asking the kind of questions the lawyer did: “And who is my neighbor?”

Thirdly, Christ shows us the beauty of mercy←↰⤒🔗

Christ paints a moving scene. This Samaritan steps upon this scene of misery, and stops, and stoops. This is far better than any definition. Christ says, “He had compassion on him” (v. 33). He bound up his “neighbor’s” wounds and applied medicine. He lifted him up and transported him to a place of rest and safety. He personally took care of him (v. 34). And when he had to leave, he spent of his own money to ensure this man’s care. Then he even promised to return and repay any further expenses. Mercy stopped, stooped, and spent.

As beautiful as this portrait is, it would be offensive to the religious man. As most of his contemporaries would, the lawyer would definitely have excluded a Samaritan from the circle of those whom he considered his neighbors. But it is precisely the Samaritan who displays the fulfillment of the law. Thus Christ puts an irreparable fracture in this man’s definition of who his neighbor is. This “non-neighbor” (according to the lawyer’s prejudice) is actually being the only real neighbor (in the practice of real life).

Now comes the application: “Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was (literally, became) neighbor unto him that fell among the thieves” (v. 36). Notice what Christ is saying in effect: “Lawyer, it is not about delineating in a self-serving way, but doing in a self-sacrificing way. Instead of asking the self-justifying question “Who is my neighbor?” Obey this self-humbling command, “Be a neighbor.” To put it differently, it’s as if Christ stopped the lawyer on his climb up the ladder, saying, “Lawyer, the way is down.”

The word mercy occurs ten times in Luke’s gospel, and almost every time, it speaks of what God does in Jesus Christ. One of those times is another moving scene (Luke 18:35-43), also close to Jericho, when another bundle of misery, blind Bartimaeus, cried out for mercy from the Son of David. There too, Mercy stood still, and did all that was required. “Lawyer, you’ve asked the right person about eternal life. You have before you not only a Prophet who knows your heart and can answer your question perfectly. You have a Priest, who is on His way to display mercy full and free. From heaven He stooped to die for sinners, and on the cross He will spend all that is needed to raise wounded sinners like yourself.

This is what the context and the content disclose about the meaning of the parable.

A Common Mistake←⤒🔗

Now we turn to the question of how we can apply this to ourselves. We may be prone to think too narrowly about how this parable applies to us. People commonly speak about “being a good Samaritan”; we read it in the newspaper. Someone is stranded along the side of the road, and a stranger stops his car to help. Or someone intervenes heroically in a situation that is going wrong. Perhaps a car has gone off the side of the road and is sinking into a swamp, and a passer-by jumps in after the car to see if he can help rescue any pas­sengers.

Such stories are examples of courage and bravery and often also compassion, but the parable of the good Samaritan isn’t about the UN commission on poverty. Nor is it simply about rehabilitating victims of violence. The application of this parable runs far more deeply and extends far more broadly than simply engaging in acts for the civic good.

The Basic Thrust←⤒🔗

The basic thrust of this parable is that our lives must become centered on mercy. By nature we do not truly reckon with mercy. Granted, our society talks a lot about compassion; yet, such compassion can be external, formalistic, and without the right motives. People engage in compassionate acts for all sorts of reasons while lacking the heart of mercy, which Christ is commending here in this parable and elsewhere in His ministry. We all have heard the stereotype of a person who is constantly busy with the needs of strangers around him, but neglects the needs of his wife and children. This parable does not provide such a person with any sort of cover.

I believe this parable lays upon us all the calling to show mercy in every relationship of our lives out of the mercy that God has shown in Jesus Christ. But for that,

1. We need to experience God’s mercy in Jesus Christ←↰⤒🔗

The word “mercy” is used most often in the gospel of Luke in connection with Christ and how God deals with sinners through Him. We will never show mercy if we have not ourselves become recipients of God’s mercy. Like the publican in the temple (Luke 18:13), we need to become beggars for God’s mercy. We need to lose our merit and come to see that we can only be saved out of mercy. If we do not have mercy from God, we will never be anything but fallen and lost and perishing creatures.

The word “mercy” in the Bible usually refers to God’s covenant faithfulness or lovingkindness. It is the tender pity He shows to sinners for His own name’s sake. He shows it above all in pardoning them and restoring them through the death of His Son. This is the mercy that we need. When we taste it, we say: “Because thy lovingkindness (mercy) is better than life, my lips shall praise thee” (Ps. 63:3). We need to have the mercy of God in Christ renew our minds, fill our hearts, and direct our hands.

2. We will become channels of divine mercy←↰⤒🔗

When David experienced the mercy of God, he asked: “Is there not yet any of the house of Saul, that I may shew the kindness of God unto him?” (2 Sam. 9:3). A man who has truly experienced mercy will be a changed man. If he loves God, whom he has not seen, he will also love his brother whom he can see (1 John 4:20). It’s like a torrent of water coming on a dry riverbed; the riverbed cannot help but guide the water into the low places. So the mercy of God becomes a channel of God’s mercy to others, especially those who are low down, when it comes into the heart of man, which of itself is empty of mercy.

Mercy in the Everyday←⤒🔗

Each and every day, this parable plays itself out in our lives. Like this priest and Levite, you’re coming from the house of God, or you’ve done your religious exercises, and are on your way. Everything is normal, predictable, and uneventful. You have your pat answers and stock phrases. But then, something breaks the predictable — some evidence of human misery, small or great. It isn’t just the homeless man sticking half way out of his cardboard shelter next to the downtown bank building. It isn’t just the flyer in your mailbox depicting dying orphans in Chad. It’s much more pervasive and demanding than that. It’s the church member whom you haven’t engaged in meaningful conversation for years. It’s your spouse who is having a difficult day. It’s your alcoholic uncle from whom everyone else keeps their distance. It’s a person in tears down the aisle in church. It’s the person who has made it “impossible” for you to forgive him. It’s your teenager who needs you to break your routine and give him some balm instead of more boundaries. It’s the neighbor who is irksome to everyone in the neighborhood. It’s the ailing patient who needs to see your eyes and feel your loving hand as she goes through the valley. It’s the student who could use a warm meal between services on the Lord’s Day. It’s the family that hasn’t shown up for weeks at church. It’s the coworker who seems to need so much.

Perhaps you feel the burden of the moment. Perhaps an avalanche of questions fills your mind —“What can I do? Can’t anyone else do it? What can I afford? Who will know? Am I at risk? Am I not too important for this?” Meanwhile, your conscience adds its voice: “If you don’t, who will? What if it was you? Aren’t you someone who knows the law of God? Didn’t you just recite this morning, ‘Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself’? Now, here’s an opportunity to live a mercy-centered life in the everyday.”

Somewhere in this array of voices, you close your eyes as if to wish it were all a dream. You ever so slightly clench your jaw and turn your feet away from the opportunity until your steps carve out a wide detour around the opportunity that was there. But this detour is now carved into the fabric of history, and the memory of that heap of misery springs like an arrow out of the bow right into your conscience and says: “This man’s religion is vain” (James 1:26).

The only way to become a fountain of mercy to others is to experience infinite mercy yourself. When God stoops down in Jesus Christ to pour out His mercy in your soul, a sure sign that it is real is when it becomes a fountain in you. Though you will find in yourself a law that makes you walk in a circle around misery that you see, the love of Christ ultimately constrains you. Your spouse, your children, your coworkers, your fellow church member, and people all around you will taste mercy, even if they can’t explain it.

Questions:←⤒🔗

1. Do you recognize mercy in the way Jesus deals with the lawyer?
2. Define mercy. Why is it easy to be religious and yet not merciful?
3. What does this parable have to do with social justice and works of relief in the world? Is it possible to still have a reli­gion like the priest and the Levite while being busy with such things?
4. Give four scenarios from your everyday life (e.g., from this past week or month) in which the call of mercy came to you. Think through what an unmerciful response would have looked like, as well as its opposite.
5. Why is it that true Christians, who have experienced God’s mercy, can fail to be channels of mercy? What must we do so that we follow the call of mercy in a fresh and vibrant way?