In Luke 10, a lawyer approached Jesus with a question that echoes in every heart seeking truth. He asked, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”
How did Jesus respond? With a command as powerful as it is simple: Love. He said, “‘“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself”’” (Luke 10:27).
But the lawyer, seeking to justify himself, pressed further: “‘And who is my neighbor?’”
Jesus then shared one of the most powerful stories ever told—the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:29–37). A man that was beaten, robbed, and left half-dead on the side of the road was ignored by a priest and a Levite—both religious figures who should have stopped. Yet, they passed by. But then came a Samaritan—a man from a group despised by Jews. Moved by compassion, the Samaritan didn’t just stop—he cared for the injured man, bandaged his wounds, and took him to an inn, paying for his continued care. Jesus ended the story with a charge that resonates through the ages: “‘Go and do likewise.’”
In this parable, Jesus shattered the boundaries of who qualifies as a “neighbor.” It’s not about proximity or shared identity—it’s about the heart. Jesus’ call to love challenges our prejudices, pushing us to extend compassion to everyone, even those we might naturally avoid. God’s love compels us to act—not merely feel. True compassion demands we offer our time, our resources, and our attention.
In the rush and chaos of daily life, it’s so easy to miss the divine opportunities placed before us. We feel the pull of time constraints, worry about intruding on others, or sometimes, we’re simply unsure if we should stop and help. Have you ever faced that moment, that internal question, Should I stop, or should I pass by?
It happened to me recently. As I was leaving the church parking lot, I noticed a mother and daughter standing outside their car, locked in a deep embrace. My first instinct was to drive past, thinking they were sharing a private moment. But the Holy Spirit urged me to stop and greet them. When I did, I saw tears in their eyes.
“Are you two okay?” I asked gently.
They both responded, “We’re fine,” but there was a weight behind the mother’s words. She stepped closer to my car and began to open her heart.
“No, I’m not fine. I’m so very sad. I’m losing my vision. My world is becoming blurry and cloudy. I’m losing my independence, my strength, my freedom. I feel old, tired, and useless.”
Her daughter quickly interjected, “But, Mom, you’re getting better since your stroke! You’re stronger, and you’re able to help around the house. You’re still making a difference!”
But the mother wasn’t looking for reassurances—she was looking for a space to express her pain.
As she wiped her eyes, she said softly, “I hate that I’m no longer who I used to be. I’m not the same, and it breaks my heart.”
At that moment, I realized my role. It wasn’t to offer advice or platitudes. This was her “now” moment—the time when she needed to voice her deepest fears. She needed to be heard. We often forget how aging can rob people of their sense of identity, their sense of worth. This dear woman had spent her life serving others. And now, as her body betrayed her, she felt her purpose slipping away.
But as Christians, we know that our identity is not tied to what we can do—it is rooted in Christ.
I understood that my Good Samaritan moment was to listen. God placed me there not to fix anything, but to be a quiet blessing, offering the gift of presence and understanding. I simply listened as she poured out her heart, allowing her the space to express her grief without rushing to fix it. Sometimes, that’s all we need—someone who will listen, who will validate our pain, and stand with us as we process the deep emotions of life.
Her daughter, too, realized this truth and embraced her mother with new understanding. They hugged again, but this time, there was peace. And I drove away knowing God had invited me into a sacred moment of healing and connection.
Jesus calls us to “Go and do likewise.” This means more than a fleeting sense of pity—it’s about showing up in someone’s pain, offering them the dignity of being heard, and reflecting the love of God in those quiet, sacred moments of life. Sometimes, the most profound act of love is simply to be there.
