'And, behold, a certain lawyer stood up, and tempted
Him, saying, Master, what shall I do to inherit eternal
life? 26. He said unto him, What is written in the law?
how readest thou? 27. And he, answering, said, Thou
shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and
with all thy soul, and with all thy strength, and with
all thy mind; and thy neighbour as thyself. 28. And He
said unto him, Thou hast answered right: this do, and
thou shalt live. 29. But he, willing to justify
himself, said unto Jesus, And who is my neighbour?
30. And Jesus, answering, said, 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. 31. And by chance
there came down a certain priest that way; and when he
saw him, he passed by on the other side. 32. And
likewise a Levite, when he was at the place, came and
looked on him, and passed by on the other side. 33. But
a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he
was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him,
34. And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring
in oil and wine, and set him on his own beast, and
brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35. And on
the morrow, when he departed, he took out two pence,
and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care
of him: and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come
again, I will repay thee. 36. Which now of these three,
thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among
the thieves! 37. And he said. He that showed mercy on
him. Then said Jesus unto him, Go, and do thou likewise.'
--LUKE x. 25-37.
The lawyer's first question was intended to 'tempt' Jesus, which
here seems to mean, rather, 'to test'; that is, to ascertain His
orthodoxy or His ability. Christ walks calmly through the snare, as
if not seeing it. His answer is unimpeachably orthodox, and withal
just hints in the slightest way that the question was needless,
since one so learned in the law knew well enough what were the
conditions of inheriting life. The lawyer knows the letter too well
to be at a loss what to answer. But it is remarkable that he gives
the same combination of two passages which Jesus gives in His last
duel with the Pharisees (Matt. xxii; Mark xii.). Did Jesus adopt
this lawyer's summary? Or is Luke's narrative condensed, omitting
stages by which Jesus led the man to so wise an answer?
Our Lord's rejoinder has a marked tone of authority, which puts the
lawyer in his right place. His answer is commended, as by one whose
estimate has weight; and his practice is implicitly condemned, as by one
who knows, and has a right to judge. 'This do' is a sharp sword-thrust.
It also unites the two 'loves' as essentially one, by saying 'This'-not
'these'--'do.' The lawyer feels the prick, and it is his defective
practice, not his question, which he seeks to 'justify.' He did not
think that his love to God needed any justification. He had fully done
his duty there, but about the other half he was less sure. So he tried
to ride off, lawyer-like, on a question of the meaning of words. 'Who
is my neighbour?' is the question answered by the lovely story of the
kindly Samaritan.
I. The main purpose, then, is to show how far off men may be, and
yet be neighbours. The lawyer's question, 'Who is my neighbour?' is
turned round the other way in Christ's form of it at the close. It
is better to ask 'Whose neighbour am I?' than 'Who is my neighbour?'
The lawyer meant by the word 'a person whom I am bound to love.' He
wanted to know how far an obligation extended which he had no mind
to recognise an inch farther than he was obliged. Probably he had in
his thought the Rabbinical limitations which made it as much duty to
'hate thine enemy' as to 'love thy neighbour.' Probably, too, he
accepted the national limitations, which refused to see any
neighbours outside the Jewish people.
'Neighbourhood,' in his judgment, implied 'nearness,' and he wished to
know how far off the boundaries of the region included in the command
lay. There are a great many of us like him, who think that the
obligation is a matter of geography, and that love, like force, is
inversely as the square of the distance. A good deal of the so-called
virtue of 'patriotism' is of this spurious sort. But Christ's way of
putting the question sweeps all such limitations aside. 'Who became
neighbour to' the wounded man? 'He who showed mercy on him,' said the
lawyer, unwilling to name the Samaritan, and by his very reluctance
giving the point to his answer which Christ wished to bring out. We
are not to love because we are neighbours in any geographical sense,
but we become neighbours to the man farthest from us when we love and
help him. The relation has nothing to do with proximity. If we prove
ourselves neighbours to any man by exercising love to him, then the
relation intended by the word is as wide as humanity. We recognise
that A. is our neighbour when a throb of pity shoots through our
heart, and thereby we become neighbours to him.
The story is not, properly speaking, a parable, or imaginary
narrative of something in the physical world intended to be
translated into something in the spiritual region, but it is an
illustration (by an imaginary narrative) of the actual virtue in
question. Every detail is beautifully adapted to bring out the
lesson that the obligation of neighbourly affection has nothing to
do with nearness either of race or religion, but is as wide as
humanity. The wounded man was probably a Jew, but it is significant
that his nationality is not mentioned. He is 'a certain man,' that
is all. The Samaritan did not ask where he was born before he helped
him. So Christ teaches us that sorrow and need and sympathy and help
are of no nationality.
That lesson is still more strongly taught by making the helper a
Samaritan. Perhaps, if Jesus had been speaking in America, he would
have made him a negro; or, if in France, a German; or, if in
England, a 'foreigner.' It was a daring stroke to bring the despised
name of 'Samaritan' into the story, and one sees what a hard morsel
to swallow the lawyer found it, by his unwillingness to name him
after all.
The nations have not yet learned the deep, simple truth of this
parable. It absolutely forbids all limitations of mercy and help. It
makes every man the neighbour of every man. It carries in germ the
great truth of the brotherhood of the race. 'Humanity' is a purely
Christian word, and a conception that was never dreamed of before
Christ had showed us the unity of mankind. We slowly approximate to
the realisation of the teaching of this story, which is oftener
admired than imitated, and perhaps oftenest on the lips of people
who obey it least.
II. Another aspect of the parable is its lesson as to the true
manifestations of neighbourliness. The minutely detailed account of
the Samaritan's care for the half-dead man is not only graphic, but
carries large lessons. Compassionate sentiments are very well. They
must come first. The help that is given as a matter of duty, without
the outgoing of heart, will be worth little, and soon cease to flow;
but the emotion that does not drive the wheels of action, and set to
work to stanch the sorrows which cause it to run so easily, is worth
still less. It hardens the heart, as all feeling unexpressed in
action does. If the priest and Levite had gone up to the man, and
said, 'Ah, poor fellow, poor fellow! how sorry we are for you!
somebody ought to come and help you,' and so had trudged on their
way, they would have been worse than they are painted as being.
The various acts are enumerated as showing the genius of true love.
We notice the swift, cool-headed deftness of the man, his having at
hand the appliances needed, the business-like way in which he goes
about his kindness, his readiness to expend his wine and oil, his
willingness to do the surgeon's work, his cheerful giving up of his
'own beast,' while he plodded along on foot, steadying the wounded
man on his ass; his care for him at the inn; his generosity, and
withal his prudence, in not leaving a great sum in the host's hands,
but just enough to tide over a day or two, and his wise hint that he
would audit the accounts when he came back. This man's quick
compassion was blended with plenty of shrewdness, and was as
practical as the hardest, least compassionate man could have been.
There is need for organisation, 'faculty,' and the like, in the work
of loving our neighbour. A thousand pities that sometimes Christian
charity and Christian common-sense dissolve partnership. The
Samaritan was a man of business, and he did his compassion in a
business-like fashion, as we should try to do.
III. Another lesson inwrought into the parable is the divorce
between religion and neighbourliness, as shown in the conduct of the
priest and Levite. Jericho was one of the priestly cities, so that
there would be frequent travellers on ecclesiastical errands. The
priest was 'going down' (that is from Jerusalem), so he could not
plead a 'pressing public engagement' at the Temple. The verbal
repetition of the description of the conduct of both him and the
Levite serves to suggest its commonness. They two did exactly the
same thing, and so would twenty or two hundred ordinary passers by.
They saw the man lying in a pool of blood, and they made a wide
circuit, and, even in the face of such a sight, went on their way.
Probably they said to themselves, 'Robbers again; the sooner we get
past this dangerous bit, the better.' We see that they were
heartless, but they did not see it. We do the same thing ourselves,
and do not see that we do; for who of us has not known of many
miseries which we could have done something to stanch, and have left
untouched because our hearts were unaffected? The world would be a
changed place if every Christian attended to the sorrows that are
plain before him.
Let professing Christians especially lay to heart the solemn lesson
that there does lie in their very religion the possibility of their
being culpably unconcerned about some of the world's wounds, and
that, if their love to God does not find a field for its
manifestation in active love to man, worship in the Temple will be
mockery. Philanthropy is, in our days, often substituted for
religion. The service of man has been put forward as the only real
service of God. But philanthropic unbelievers and unphilanthropic
believers are equally monstrosities. What God hath joined let not
man put asunder. That simple 'and,' which couples the two great
commandments, expresses their indissoluble connection. Well for us
if in our practice they are blended in one!
It is not spiritualising this narrative when we say that Jesus is
Himself the great pattern of the swift compassion and effectual
helpfulness which it sets forth. Many unwise attempts have been made
to tack on spiritual meanings to the story. These are as irreverent
as destructive of its beauty and significance. But to say that
Christ is the perfect example of that love to every man which the
narrative portrays, has nothing in common with these fancies. It is
only when we have found in Him the pity and the healing which we
need, that we shall go forth into the world with love as wide as
His.