Reverend Marco Ste-Marie

Luke 10:25–37

A man is travelling from jerusalem to jericho. He is attacked, stripped, beaten, and left half dead on the side of the road.

A priest comes by and passes on the other side. A levite comes by and does the same.

Then a samaritan, someone the original listeners would not have expected to admire, comes near. He sees the man. He is moved with compassion. He bandages his wounds, places him on his own animal, brings him to an inn, pays for his care, and promises to return.

We know the story so well that we often jump straight to the ending: “be like the good samaritan.”

And yes, that is part of it.

But today i want us to pause somewhere else. Not at the moment when the samaritan helps, but at the moment just before that.

The story begins with a question.

An expert in the law stands up to test jesus and asks, “teacher, what must i do to inherit eternal life?”

“expert in the law” or “lawyer” does not mean a modern courtroom lawyer. It refers to someone trained in torah, the law of moses.

This is a religious scholar. He knows the text. He knows the right answer.

Teacher, what must i do to inherit eternal life?”

It is a good question, but luke tells us there is something underneath it. The man is not simply seeking wisdom. He is testing jesus. He is measuring him. He is trying to see whether jesus will give the right answer.

Jesus turns the question back to him: “what is written in the law? What do you read there?”

And the expert knows. He gives the answer beautifully: “you shall love the lord your god with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength, and with all your mind; and your neighbour as yourself.”

• He knows the words.
• He knows the tradition.
• He knows the commandment.
• He knows the theology.

Jesus says, “you have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

But then the expert asks another question: “and who is my neighbour?”

that is where the story really begins.

Because this second question reveals something. The expert wants to define the limits of love.

He wants to know where his responsibility ends.

Who counts? Who does not count?

Who must i love? Who can i walk past?

Who is close enough to be my concern, and who is far enough away that i can leave them to someone else?

The lawyer asks, “who is my neighbour?” Jesus changes the question.

At the end, jesus asks, “which of these three was a neighbour?” In other words, neighbour is not primarily a category to define but a relationship to enact

The expert is asking from a distance.

He is standing safely outside the suffering, trying to define it. He is looking for a category.

Jesus gives him a person.

A man is going down from jerusalem to jericho. He is attacked by robbers. They strip him, beat him, and leave him half dead on the side of the road.

Then a priest comes by. He sees the man and passes by on the other side.

Then a levite comes by. He also sees him and passes by on the other side.

And we should be careful here. These two are not cartoon villains. They are not cruel monsters. They are religious people. They may have had responsibilities. They may have had schedules. They may have had fear. They may have wondered if the robbers were still nearby. They may have worried that touching the man would make them unclean. They may have thought, “someone else will help.” They may have thought, “i cannot take this on today.”

In other words, they may have had very understandable reasons.

But still, they passed by.

They saw him, but they did not really see him.

Then comes the samaritan.

The expert of the law looks at life through the lens of definition: who is my neighbour?

The samaritan looks at life through the lens of compassion: here is someone wounded.

The expert wants to clarify the rule.

The samaritan responds to the need.

The expert asks, “where does my responsibility end?”

The samaritan asks, by his actions, “what can love do now?”

That is the contrast at the centre of this passage.

The expert knows the commandment to love. The samaritan becomes the commandment in motion.

And that is important for us, because many of us already know what jesus says. We know we are called to love our neighbour. We know compassion matters. We know mercy matters. We know justice matters. We know we are called to care for the wounded, the vulnerable, the overlooked, and the pushed aside.

The challenge is not always that we do not know.

Sometimes the challenge is that we know, but we keep the knowing at a safe distance.

Who is being left half dead while respectable people pass by?

Here in canmore, in banff, across the bow valley, this story is not far away. The road from jerusalem to jericho may look different, but it is still here.

It may look like the person bagging our groceries who cannot afford to live in the town where they work. It may look like the server who brings food to our table but has to commute from far away because local rent is out of reach. It may look like the hotel worker, the cleaner, the barista, the ski instructor, the young family, the senior, the person working full-time and still unable to find a secure place to live.

The community depends on them.

But can they afford to live in the community?

That is not an abstract issue. That is not far away. That is a neighbour question.

The expert of the law might ask, “is this really my responsibility?”

The samaritan asks, “what does mercy require of me now?”

The expert might ask, “how much am i expected to do?”

The samaritan does what he can with what he has.

The expert might ask, “where is the line?”

And there is another neighbour question close to us. The stoney nakoda nation is not far from here. Indigenous neighbours are not a distant idea. Their history, presence, grief, wisdom, and resilience are part of this land.

And yet many of us know more about the mountains than we know about the peoples whose relationship with this land began long before our towns, churches, roads, and institutions were here.

What do we know about our neighbours?

Not as a quick fact. Not as a token gesture. Not as a sentence we say before moving on. But as a relationship. As listening. As humility. As a willingness to say, “there are wounds here, and i do not want to pass by.”

Again, this is not about guilt.

Guilt says, “you are bad, and there is nothing you can do.”

Jesus says, “you are loved, and you can begin.”

Shame says, “hide.”

Jesus says, “open your eyes.”

The samaritan did not fix every injustice. He did not solve violence on the road. He did not end poverty. He did not heal every wound in the world. But he did respond to the person in front of him.

That is not small.

It is often how change begins.

Not with a perfect plan. Not with the ability to fix everything. Not with the weight of the whole world on our shoulders.

But with one holy decision:

I see you.

The samaritan’s compassion is practical. He sees the man. He comes near. He bandages his wounds. He uses oil and wine. He places him on his own animal. He brings him to an inn. He pays for his care. He promises to return.

This is love with hands.

This is mercy with a schedule.

This is compassion with a cost.

This is what the expert of the law had not yet understood. The commandment to love the neighbour is not a theory to be mastered. It is a life to be practised.

At the end of the story, jesus turns to the expert and asks, “which of these three was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?”

Notice what jesus does.

He does not answer, “who is your neighbour?”

He asks, “who became a neighbour?”

The neighbour is not only the person in need. The neighbour is also the one who chooses mercy.

• Neighbour is not only a noun. It is a way of living.
• We become neighbours when we stop long enough to see.
• We become neighbours when we refuse to let people become invisible.
• We become neighbours when we listen to indigenous voices without defensiveness.
• We become neighbours when our faith moves from words into action.

And friends, this is also how god comes to us.

In jesus, god does not pass by the wounded world. God comes near. God sees us in the ditch. God meets us where we are bleeding. God refuses to treat us as a problem to avoid. God treats us as beloved.

And then jesus says, “go and do likewise.”

• Not “go and carry the whole world alone.”
• Not “go and be crushed by everything you cannot fix.”
• Not “go and feel ashamed.”

But go and see.

Go and come near.

Go and do what mercy makes possible.

The expert of the law began with a question: “who is my neighbour?”

Jesus leaves us with a better one:

How will i become a neighbour today?

In this valley, on this land, in this church, in this community, there are people waiting to be seen.

The invitation is not to fix everything.

The invitation is to begin where we are.

• To see one person.
• To ask one honest question.
• To make one faithful change.

The good samaritan did not solve the whole world’s pain that day.

But he made mercy visible.

May mercy become visible in us.

May mercy become visible in this church.

May mercy become visible in canmore, in banff, across the bow valley, and wherever someone is waiting for a neighbour.

Amen.