"Be A Good Samaritan" by Dr. Kenneth Sullivan Jr. (11/09/2025)

Beyond Doctrine: Living Out the Call to Compassion

The parable of the Good Samaritan stands as one of the most challenging and transformative stories in Scripture. Found in Luke 10:25-37, this familiar narrative confronts us with an uncomfortable truth: our relationship with God cannot be measured solely by our theological knowledge or religious practices. True faith must extend beyond the vertical connection we have with Heaven to embrace the horizontal relationships we maintain with humanity.

The Crisis That Reveals Our Hearts

The story begins with a man traveling the treacherous Jericho Road—a winding, dangerous path known for its steep cliffs and hidden dangers. Without warning, he falls victim to robbers who strip him, beat him, and leave him half-dead on the roadside. This man didn't choose his circumstances. He didn't wake up that morning planning to become a victim. Life simply happened, as it so often does to all of us.

This reality should give us pause before we rush to judgment about people in difficult circumstances. The homeless veteran sleeping under a bridge, the single mother working multiple jobs, the person struggling with addiction—each has a story we don't know. Each has faced unexpected turns on their own Jericho Road.

We live in a world where tragedy strikes without warning. A medical diagnosis can wipe out savings overnight. A factory closing can devastate an entire community. A moment of trauma can alter the trajectory of a life forever. The wounded man on the road represents every person who has found themselves in crisis through no fault of their own, desperately needing help they cannot provide for themselves.

Before we criticize or judge, we must remember: it could have been any of us. The same road that led to one person's downfall is a road we all travel. Only grace separates the helper from the one needing help.

The Coldness That Contradicts Our Confession

What makes this parable so piercing is not the brutality of the thieves, but the callousness of the religious leaders. A priest passes by. Then a Levite—both men devoted to serving God, both intimately familiar with Scripture, both positioned to help. Yet both cross to the other side of the road, averting their eyes from human suffering.

Their actions reveal a dangerous spiritual condition: being so heavenly-minded that we become no earthly good. These men could likely recite the Law perfectly. They knew the commandments. They performed religious duties. But their doctrine never translated into deeds. Their theology never touched their humanity.

We live in a culture increasingly marked by callousness. When we're constantly exposed to suffering—whether through news cycles or social media—we can develop spiritual calluses. Like the physical calluses that form on hands through repeated friction, these emotional and spiritual calluses numb us to the pain of others. What once shocked us becomes normalized. What once moved us to action now barely registers.

The priest and Levite had excuses, no doubt. Perhaps they worried about ritual purity—touching a bloodied body would make them ceremonially unclean. Maybe they feared the robbers were still nearby. Or perhaps they simply convinced themselves this wasn't their responsibility, that someone else would help, that they had more important religious duties to attend to.

But Scripture makes clear: ignoring suffering when you have the power to alleviate it is as sinful as causing the suffering in the first place. Inaction in the face of injustice makes us complicit. Silence in the presence of pain makes us guilty.

The Care That Defines True Faith

Then comes the shocking twist—the hero of the story is a Samaritan, someone the Jewish audience would have considered an outsider, a heretic, someone with questionable theology and mixed heritage. Yet this despised foreigner does what the religious leaders refused to do: he stops, sees, and serves.

The Samaritan's actions are comprehensive and costly. He doesn't just offer thoughts and prayers from a distance. He binds the man's wounds with his own supplies. He places the injured man on his own animal and walks alongside him. He takes him to an inn, stays with him through the night, and pays for his care. Then—remarkably—he tells the innkeeper to provide whatever else is needed and promises to cover any additional expenses on his return.

This is the picture of true compassion: inconvenient, expensive, and ongoing. It's not a one-time donation or a momentary feeling of sympathy. It's a commitment to see someone through their crisis, whatever it takes.

The Samaritan represents what Jesus calls us to be: people whose faith is demonstrated through tangible love. The cross of Christ is both vertical and horizontal—reaching up to God and out to humanity. We cannot claim to love the God we haven't seen while hating or ignoring the people made in His image whom we encounter daily.

The Challenge for Today

This parable confronts our modern tendency to prioritize doctrinal purity over practical mercy. We can become so focused on defending theological positions, maintaining religious traditions, or protecting our political allegiances that we lose sight of actual human beings in need.

Jesus makes clear that when He returns, He won't quiz us on Greek and Hebrew or our understanding of complex theological concepts. Instead, He'll ask whether we fed the hungry, clothed the naked, visited the imprisoned, and cared for the sick. When we served "the least of these," we served Him.

This doesn't mean doctrine is unimportant—sound theology matters deeply. But doctrine divorced from deeds is dead. Faith without works is lifeless. We cannot use doctrinal disagreements as excuses to withhold compassion from those who need it.

Living as Good Samaritans

The call is clear: be a Good Samaritan. Look for opportunities to help, not reasons to walk past. When you have the capacity to bless someone, do it. Don't wait for them to ask—shame often prevents people from requesting help. Take initiative.

This might mean bringing groceries to a struggling neighbor, sitting with someone who's lonely, advocating for justice in your community, or simply offering a kind word to someone having a difficult day. It means seeing people the way Jesus sees them—not as inconveniences or statistics, but as beloved children of God deserving of dignity and care.

Remember: you reap what you sow, not where you sow. Even if your kindness isn't appreciated or reciprocated by the person you help, God keeps perfect records. Your labor of love will not be forgotten.

When we were down, Love lifted us. When we were empty, He filled us. Now, as recipients of divine mercy, we're called to extend that same mercy to others. The question isn't "Who is my neighbor?" but rather "To whom can I be a neighbor today?"