Jesus, the Good Samaritan: The Parable That Was About Him All Along
What if Jesus wasn’t just telling us to be good neighbors, but quietly revealing Himself as the Neighbor who saves?
Yesterday, our gospel reading focused on Jesus’ interaction with the Lawyer in Luke 10:25-37 and offered us an excellent opportunity to offer His love to others.
“Who is my neighbor?” the lawyer asked, trying to justify himself.
He wanted boundaries. Categories. He wanted Jesus to hand him a manageable definition, not a radical reorientation. But Jesus didn’t give him a checklist. He gave him a story. While loving, Jesus never offered guidance without an opportunity for growth. His stories were intentional.
And tucked inside that story, between a priest’s silence and a Levite’s retreat, stands a figure who no one expected to be the hero—a Samaritan.
For centuries, we’ve read the parable as a moral tale. A challenge to go the extra mile. A call to compassion.
And it is that.
But what if it’s something even more?
What if Jesus wasn’t just telling a story about being a good person?
What if He was telling a story about Himself?
The Setup: A Lawyer Looking for Loopholes
The story begins with a religious expert asking Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus, as He often does, answers the question with another question. “What is written in the Law?”
The man replies with the right words: Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself.
Jesus affirms his answer. “Do this and you will live.”
But the lawyer isn’t done. He wants clarity, limits, control.
“And who is my neighbor?”
In other words, “How far do I really have to go? Where can I draw the line?”
And instead of drawing lines, Jesus draws a scene.
The Road from Jerusalem to Jericho
A man is walking the treacherous 17-mile path from Jerusalem to Jericho. It’s rocky, winding, and known for bandits. And just as expected, he is attacked, stripped, beaten, and left half-dead.
A priest comes by. He sees the man and passes by on the other side.
Then a Levite comes. He does the same.
Two men deeply familiar with the Law. Two leaders of worship. Two men who should have helped.
They don’t, and that hurts. How often do we hurt people while walking the path of righteousness?
And then comes the Samaritan.
The crowd listening would have braced themselves. Samaritans were considered religious deviants and ethnic half-breeds. They were the wrong kind of people with the wrong kind of theology.
And yet, the Samaritan sees the man. He feels compassion. He draws near. He binds wounds, pours oil and wine, lifts him, carries him, pays for his care, and promises to return.
It’s extravagant. Over-the-top. Costly.
And it’s the most Christlike thing anyone in the story does.
The Twist: What If Jesus Is the Samaritan?
Here’s the deeper current in this parable:
Jesus is not just giving an example to imitate. He’s telling His story using the language of ours.
Let’s walk through the clues:
A man descends from Jerusalem (the city of God) to Jericho (a fallen city).
He is stripped, beaten, and left for dead—a picture of humanity under the curse of sin.
The Law, represented by the priest and Levite, sees the problem but cannot help.
An outsider, someone scorned and rejected, sees him and has compassion.
He binds wounds and pours oil and wine (symbols of the Holy Spirit and the blood of the covenant).
He lifts the man onto his own animal—he bears the burden himself.
He brings him to a place of healing and pays the price.
He promises, “I will return.”
Every single movement of the Samaritan mirrors the work of Christ.
Jesus is the unexpected Savior.
He comes from the margins.
He steps across boundaries.
He does what religion without relationship couldn’t.
And He does it not because we earned it, but because He loved us in our brokenness. God came to us and did something about our brokenness.
The Wounded Man Is You. The Church Is the Inn.
Before we ever “go and do likewise,” we have to realize something: we are the man in the ditch.
This parable doesn’t start by inviting us to be heroes. It begins by showing us our helplessness.
Sin has stripped us.
The world has beaten us.
Religion has passed us by.
And we are left half-dead on the side of the road.
But Jesus comes. Not in a robe of royalty, but in the dust of Nazareth. Not as a king seated on a throne, but as a traveler willing to kneel in our blood.
He came to save us while we were yet sinners (Rom 5:8).
He bore our wounds.
He poured out His Spirit.
He paid our debt.
And He left us in the care of His innkeepers—the Church—with a promise: “I will return.” We are tasked with caring for the hurting and lost and loving others as Christ first loved us.
In this view, the parable becomes more than a command. It becomes a proclamation. It is the gospel in disguise.
Go and Do Likewise—But in the Right Order
When Jesus says, “Go and do likewise,” it’s not a command given to the strong.
It’s a call issued to the healed.
We cannot imitate the love of the Samaritan until we’ve first experienced it ourselves.
This is not moralism. It’s grace-formed transformation. We don’t love to earn God’s favor. We love because we’ve received it.
We were the one rescued.
Now we live like the Rescuer.
We become what we behold.
Final Reflection: Seeing Jesus in the Parables
What makes this parable truly powerful is that it doesn’t just tell us what to do. It tells us who God is.
In the Samaritan, we see the character of Christ. He is moved by mercy. He touches what others avoid. He heals what others ignore. He does not wait for us to get better. He kneels in our weakness.
This is not just a story about ethics. It’s a story about incarnation.
God came near.
So, if you’re weary, ashamed, or wondering if you’re worth saving, remember who crossed the road for you.
And if you’ve been healed, picked up, and carried, then it’s time to go and do likewise.