We are used to hearing the Good Samaritan story as a moral exhortation to be good neighbors. That’s a fruitful way to read our Lord’s parable, but it’s not the only way.

          The man is nameless. He reminds us of Adam, whose name means “earthling.” The story of what happens to this man is the story of what happens to all mankind. He is going down from Jerusalem to Jericho. Jerusalem is the “city on a hill,” the place of holiness, where God Himself dwells in the Temple. Jericho, at 825 feet below sea level, is the lowest city on earth, as far down as you can get. Adam, by trusting in himself instead of God, descended from Paradise into a world of sin.

“He fell victim to robbers.” Mankind apart from God is beset by the band of demonic powers led by the ruler of this age. What is the serpent in the garden by a thief and a robber of our first dignity and perfect friendship with God?

“They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead.” Likewise, because of original sin, we were stripped of our robe of immortality. Sin leaves us in a perpetual state of half-death, only half alive because we are subject to the sin and death inherited by original sin. We do not have that perfect life that God wanted us to have.

A priest and a Levite came by, but passed by on the other side. They symbolize the people of Israel, who kept to themselves and did not aid the rest of humanity. They did not evangelize! They were concerned only with their own survival, even though the prophets were making clear that they should be a light for the whole world.

“But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them.” Now we have someone who is not from that world, who comes upon the scene. In John chapter eight, Christ was accused of being a Samaritan. He is that compassionate stranger! He doctors mankind by His teachings (the bandages), His anointing with the Holy Spirit (the oil), and the Eucharist (the wine) by which He begins our healing.

“Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn, and cared for him.” Christ joined mankind to His own human nature, brought him to the hospital of His Church and continued to minister to him as the divine physician.

“The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, ‘Take care of him.’” Christ entrusts us to the care of His Apostles. Through them, such as the epistles we read from St. Paul, He continues to care for us by teaching us right doctrine. Through their successors, the Holy Father and the Bishops, He teaches us and feeds us with His Body and Blood.

But this is not just an allegory about the state of humanity. It is about each of us. Have we not gone down at times, into the abyss of human vice? And have not so many been left half-dead on the side of the road by our world, because of sin and the world’s hostility? And do we not so often long for someone to come and pick us up, to take us to the inn where our own wounds will be healed? But there’s a problem. While so many long to be healed, we are often not willing.

It is not easy to be in the wounded man’s place. Our culture says you need to take care of yourself, to reject weakness. It is difficult and embarrassing to expose one’s wounds to the physician. So many medical conditions go undiagnosed because men and women (maybe especially men!) are embarrassed to talk about certain problems. Some sources cite 20-30% of medication prescriptions as never being filled. Others suggest that 50% of medication for chronic conditions goes untaken.

Likewise, we are often afraid of opening our hearts to the healing power of Christ. Instead of remaining exposed on the side of the road, crying for help like the man rescued by the Good Samaritan, we crawl into the ditch and hide ourselves. He offers the healing balm of His love in confession. It is not easy to expose our weaknesses and faults. They can be excruciatingly embarrassing at times. We know that God already knows them, but we don’t want to face them ourselves. The Church wisely insists that they must be brought into the light, they must be confessed aloud, in part so that we recognize them for what they are, so that they will have no more power over us.

The Good Samaritan pours wine on the wounds as an antiseptic. It hurts, but it is necessary to prevent a dangerous infection. He also pours on oil, which soothes the wound, and brings comfort to the sufferer. Not only in confession, but continually in our personal prayer with the Lord, if we want to recover from the wounds of sin, the Good Samaritan wants you to open yourself to Him – to trust Him, honestly sharing your faults and the ways you need to grow in a loving and trusting dialogue.

While our culture says that weakness is bad, the Lord tells St. Paul, “My power is made perfect in weakness.” God’s power is perfected in our weakness, when the stinging but soothing balm of His love, heals the wounds of sin in our hearts.

The man in the parable is left nameless, because you are the man who has been ravaged by the powers of sin and the weight of earthly living. Just as the Good Samaritan, unexpected and unhoped for, came into his life, and generously gave of himself to care for that poor man – not because he deserved it or had earned it, but because he loved him – so too does Christ desire to pour the oil of His Holy Spirit and the healing balm of the Eucharist into your heart today.

The Rev. Royce V. Gregerson

Parish Church of Our Lady of Good Hope, Fort Wayne

XV Sunday through the Year, A.D. MMXXV