Preaching Paths 13 July 2025 Proper 10C

Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary

We know Jesus’ parable in Luke 10:25-37 as “the story of the Good Samaritan,” although the word “good” never appears in the text. In Jesus’ time, both Jews and Samaritans would regard the other as anything but “good.” In the US and elsewhere, the phrase “Good Samaritan” is commonly applied to anyone inclined to rescue a traveler stranded, for whatever reason, on the roadside. In fact, this parable has become so familiar that even preachers risk being tone-deaf to both the pitfalls one needs to avoid in preaching from it, as well as the parable’s capacity to astonish us afresh.

A first pitfall in preaching this text is implicit anti-Semitism that has become almost routine, even when we introduce this story to children. We deprecate the Levite and priest, both representing highly respected religious leaders in ancient Judaism. Softening it by suggesting that the priest and Levite pass by lest touching the wounded man should render them “unclean” and unable to fulfill their Temple duties doesn’t work; these two are leaving Jerusalem, not going there. A better strategy is to speak of Christian counterparts our listeners would understand: a pastor and a theologian inexplicably hasten past. We might acknowledge reasons we ourselves might hesitate to help, not least of these our fear that the scene could be a set-up—a trap where we would come to harm!

As suggested above, another pitfall is to under-play the scandal for Jesus’ audience when he casts a  Samaritan in the role of merciful rescuer of a (presumably Jewish) traveler lying beaten by the road. Ironically, given the deep social and political divisions that exist in the US and other contexts, we may be in a better position today to grasp this. Imagine lying wounded on a roadside, opening our eyes, and discovering that the person caring for our wounds wears a t-shirt announcing that he or she is affiliated with what we regard as a dangerously misinformed, aggressive political faction. Further, no questions asked, he or she takes us to a clinic, pays for care in advance, and promises to return!

Third, we can miss the fact that Jesus’ answer subtly reframes the inquiring lawyer’s question, “Who is my neighbor?” The question, as the lawyer asks it, is a question about boundaries and limits and qualifications; to whom does one owe neighborly behavior? The implicit question Jesus answers in his story is, “What does it look like to be neighbor?” His answer is that one risks one’s life and even one’s reputation by embodying compassion to anyone in need, regardless of the risks—the  Samaritan had no way of knowing whether the robbers were still in the area—and regardless whether, in other circumstances, that person in need would do you harm, given the chance.  The Samaritan in this story is, in fact, a Christ-figure: rescuing, healing, and promising to return.

Jesus admonishes the lawyer: “Go, and do likewise.” The politics, religion, and ethnicity of those who fall victim to life-threatening calamity are immaterial. Bitter divides, and even long-standing histories of hate, have no bearing. Jesus draws no limits, cites no exceptions. His message is clear: we are neighbors when we act to save lives in danger. Sermons on this text need not and should not end in scolding, but with vivid stories told and scenarios imagined where compassion shatters boundaries.