There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test him and said, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? How do you read it?” 27 He said in reply, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” 28 He replied to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.”
29 But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30 Jesus replied, “A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead. 31 A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. 32 Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. 33 But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. 34 He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him. 35 The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, ‘Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.’ 36 Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” 37He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”
A scholar of the Law stands up to test Jesus. This is not merely an academic question—it is a probing one, posed by someone well-versed in the Mosaic Law. In first-century Judaism, a scholar of the Law (Greek: nomikos) was not only an expert in Torah but often aligned with the Pharisaic tradition. He likely knew the Scriptures thoroughly and specialized in their interpretation, especially the commandments. His question—“Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (v. 25)—is a question every serious Jew would ponder. But Luke reveals his motive: the question was a test, not a humble inquiry.
Rather than answering directly, Jesus invites him to answer from the Law itself. The scholar responds with a synthesis from Deuteronomy 6:5 and Leviticus 19:18: to love God with all one’s heart, being, strength, and mind, and to love one’s neighbor as oneself. This is a faithful summary of the Law and the Prophets, something Jesus Himself affirms elsewhere (cf. Mt 22:37-40). Jesus replies, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live” (v. 28). This is not an endorsement of earning salvation by works apart from grace, but an affirmation that the Law, rightly lived—fulfilled in love—is life-giving.
Some readers may wonder: Is Jesus saying the scholar could inherit eternal life apart from His death and resurrection? Not quite. Jesus is not denying the necessity of His redemptive mission. Rather, He is showing that the Law, when understood through the lens of divine love, points to the fullness of life that Jesus came to bring. But as St. Paul teaches, “no human being will be justified in His sight by works of the law” (Rom 3:20). True love of God and neighbor requires grace—and grace is given through Christ.
Still seeking to justify himself, the scholar presses further: “And who is my neighbor?” (v. 29). In Jewish thought, the term neighbor generally applied to fellow Israelites. Some rabbis taught that Gentiles, sinners, or Samaritans were outside the scope of this obligation. Thus, the scholar may be hoping to restrict the commandment or at least clarify its boundaries.
Jesus responds not with a definition but with a story—the parable of the Good Samaritan.
A man is attacked on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho—a treacherous 17-mile descent through rocky, desert terrain. He is stripped, beaten, and left for dead. A priest sees him and passes by. So does a Levite. Their actions disturb us, but in context, they reflect ritual considerations. According to Num 19:11-13, contact with a corpse rendered a person unclean for temple duties. As ministers of the sanctuary, both priest and Levite may have feared contamination, especially if they sincerely thought the man was dead. The road was also known for ambushes; perhaps they feared for their own lives. But in prioritizing ritual purity or self-preservation over mercy, they fail to fulfill the deeper meaning of the Law.
Then comes the Samaritan—an outsider, despised by Jews for his ethnic and religious deviations (cf. Jn 4:9). He belonged to a group descended from Israelites who had intermarried with foreign peoples after the Assyrian conquest of the northern kingdom (cf. 2 Kgs 17:24-34). The Samaritans accepted only the first five books of Moses (the Torah) and worshiped God on Mount Gerizim rather than in Jerusalem—a divergence the Jews regarded as a serious theological error. Yet it is he, not the religious insiders, who is “moved with compassion” (v. 33). The Greek word used—splagchnizomai—evokes a visceral, gut-wrenching mercy, the same word used of Jesus when He sees the suffering crowds (cf. Mt 9:36). The Samaritan approaches the man, treats his wounds, lifts him onto his beast, and cares for him in a safe place—at personal expense and risk. He even promises to return.
This reversal is powerful: the supposed heretic lives out the command to love one's neighbor far more faithfully than the religious elite. Jesus ends with a question, turning the scholar’s query on its head: “Which of these was neighbor to the man?” The scholar replies, perhaps grudgingly, “The one who treated him with mercy.” He cannot even bring himself to name ‘the Samaritan.’ Yet he sees the truth—and Jesus tells him, “Go and do likewise.”
The continuity of salvation history is clear. From the Law and the Prophets (Deut. 6:5; Lev 19:18) to the teachings of Christ (Mt 5:17; Jn 13:34), God calls His people to a love that crosses boundaries. The parable anticipates the mission of the Church to all peoples, fulfilling what the prophets foresaw: that God would extend His covenant mercy beyond Israel (cf. Is 56:6-8). The Samaritan is a figure of Christ Himself, who draws near to fallen humanity, heals our wounds, and pays our debt with His own life. And in the early Church, as James would later teach, “mercy triumphs over judgment” (Jas 2:13).
The parable is not merely a moral exhortation. It is a glimpse into the heart of God’s covenant—a call to love without measure, and an invitation to become like Christ, who loved us while we were still wounded and estranged.
Lord Jesus, Good Shepherd and Divine Healer, teach us to love as You love—to see the broken, to cross the boundaries, and to bind up the wounds of others with mercy. May we never walk past the hurting soul, but draw near with courage and compassion. Amen.
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Sources and References:
- The Holy Bible, New American Bible, Revised Edition (2011).
- A Catholic Commentary on Holy Scripture, ed. Orchard et al. (1953), commentary on Luke 10.
- The Navarre Bible: Luke, Faculty of the University of Navarre (2008).
- The Paulist Biblical Commentary, ed. Chiu et al. (2018), on Luke 10:25-37.
- Catechism of the Catholic Church, §§1939–1942, 2447–2449.
- St. Augustine, Sermon 171: “He showed mercy upon the half-dead man, for he was neither fully alive nor entirely dead—just like sinners.”
- St. John Chrysostom, Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew, adapted to Lukan context: “The priest and Levite represent the Law, which could diagnose but not heal. Only grace can bind our wounds.”
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