“But a Samaritan while travelling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity” (NRSV, Luke 10:33)

The lawyer to whose question “And who is my neighbour?” we owe the Parable of the Good Samaritan, was not a lawyer in the modern sense, but an expert in the Jewish Law – what we would call an Old Testament scholar, commentator and exponent.

As regards the characters in the parable itself, the priest was not a resident of Jerusalem but officiated at the Temple sacrifices in a part-time capacity for a spell of one week twice a year. The Levite was one of the Temple servers or choirmen whose duties were also arranged according to a rota.

The Samaritan was a native of Samaria, an area in the centre of Palestine west of the Jordan and situated between Judea in the south and Galilee in the north. Its inhabitants, who were historically of mixed race, professed the Jewish religion in an unorthodox form and, until it was destroyed by the Jews in 128 BC, had their own temple in opposition to the one in Jerusalem. They were thus both heretics and schismatics, and a most bitter mutual hatred of 400 years’ standing existed between them and the Jews.

The lawyer asked Our Lord the question, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” (NRSV, Luke 10:25) in the hope that Our Lord would find himself unable to give an adequate answer and so bring ridicule on himself. When, however, the question was turned on him and he was obliged to answer it himself, he changed his tactics and asked Our Lord to define the meaning of the word ‘neighbour’ in that particular context.

The passage in Deuteronomy from which the command to love one’s neighbour was quoted, restricted the word to mean a fellow-Israelite. The lawyer, knowing Our Lord’s wide outlook and sympathies, hoped that he would broaden that meaning to include people of other races. He would then not only be caught contradicting what the Old Testament taught but would also rouse the deep-seated religious and racial prejudices of his Jewish audience and incur their hostility.

In reply Jesus told the Parable of the Good Samaritan.

Now this parable is not a contrast in black and white between a callous, almost brutal, priest and Levite, and a decent humane Samaritan. If we had been in the place of the priest and Levite we might well have acted as they did.

The victim of the bandits’ assault was on his way from Jerusalem to Jericho along the 20 mile road, which, because of the numerous attacks on travellers, was called the Ascent of Blood. It was on this notorious highway that the man was beaten up and robbed and left half dead – and those two words “half dead” are important for a full understanding of the parable.

The first person to find the man was a priest. He was returning from his spell of duty at the Temple and was anxious to get back to his family. When he saw the man lying by the roadside, he was unable to tell whether he was alive or dead. To find out he would have to examine him. It was quite possible that he was dead, and as a priest he was explicitly forbidden by the Jewish Law to touch a dead person unless it were a close relative, since such contact was regarded as causing a kind of religious contamination. Moreover, if he did become so contaminated he would have to undergo a ceremonial purification which lasted seven days, during which time he would be in quarantine.

As the priest hesitated to take the risk, he looked back up the road and saw in the distance the Levite coming his way. He seized the chance of shifting all responsibility on to the newcomer, and, giving the body a wide berth, continued his journey.

The Levite had also been assisting at the Temple and was no less anxious than the priest to get back home. As he approached the place where the man was lying, he too could not see whether he was alive or dead. The Levite, unlike the priest, was not forbidden by the Law to come in contact with a dead body, but if he did he would still have to undergo the same purification and be isolated for seven days.

As he was wondering what to do, he too looked back to see if there was anyone coming on to whom he could shuffle his responsibility and he was relieved to see a traveller with a donkey approaching in the distance. If the victim of the assault were still alive, the donkey would be indispensable for taking him to the inn farther along the road. So the Levite, his conscience eased, passed by on the other side.

The man with the donkey proved to be a Samaritan, and so he too found himself confronted with the same issue as the others had met and shirked. But, unlike the others, the Samaritan was willing to take the risk involved because he had compassion on the man. Regardless of what the consequences to himself might be, he went to the man and on finding he was alive after all, tended his wounds, took him to the inn and sat up with him all night. Then, early next morning, before continuing his journey he gave the innkeeper two silver pieces, equivalent to a vinedresser’s wages for two days, and asked him to take care of the man until he had recovered.

Our Lord then gave a turn to the lawyer’s question and asked him to answer it, “Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbour to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” (NRSV, Luke 10:36). The lawyer could not bring himself to utter the hated name of Samaritan, so indicated him by saying, “The one who showed him mercy”. And Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise” (NRSV, Luke 10:37).

In this parable Our Lord teaches two great truths: first, that our neighbour is anyone with whom we have to do, and secondly, an opportunity to help such a person is not one which we can shift on to someone else.

The Samaritan in the parable was not in his own area. He was in hostile Judea. He was in danger, not only from bandits but from any passing Jew; in danger, even, of being charged with himself having robbed the man and of being punished accordingly. And who was this man whom he was moved to help? It was someone who in all probability would have spat when he passed him. In a word the Good Samaritan was helping an enemy, and current Jewish teaching was that one should hate one’s enemy.

This parable, therefore, is an immortal illustration of Our Lord’s teaching in the Sermon on the Mount, “You have heard that it was said, ‘You shall love your neighbour and hate your enemy’. But I say to you, ‘Love your enemies…’ “ (NRSV, Matthew 43,44) and here love means to show the same practical goodwill to our enemies as we would to our friends.

That word ‘neighbour’, therefore, on which the parable is centred is uncomfortably comprehensive in its scope; and when the need arises, the duty to love one’s neighbour must override all personal inconvenience. It is a duty that is strictly non-transferable.

For Christ will have none of the excuse, “So and so can help” with the implication, “and that lets me out” – because that is the attitude of the priest and Levite who passed by on the other side, and so ever after became bywords for inhumanity.