Go and Do Likewise

SCRIPTURE

LUKE 10:25-37

25 Just then a lawyer stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he said, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?” 26 He said to him, “What is written in the law? What do you read there?” 27 He answered, “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 neighbor as yourself.” 28 And he said to him, “You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live.”

29 But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 30 Jesus replied, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and went away, leaving him half dead. 31 Now by chance a priest was going down that road; and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. 32 So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. 33 But a Samaritan while traveling came near him; and when he saw him, he was moved with pity. 34 He went to him and bandaged his wounds, having poured oil and wine on them. Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. 35 The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, ‘Take care of him; and when I come back, I will repay you whatever more you spend.’ 36 Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” 37 He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:25–37, NRSV)

The Word of God, For the People of God

Thanks be to God

PRAYER

Let Us Pray

Gracious and Merciful God,

You meet us not just in sanctuaries, but along dusty roads —

in the quiet cries of the wounded,

in the interruptions we’re tempted to ignore,

in the sacred moments hidden in our hurried lives.

Slow us down, Lord.

Still the noise within us that keeps us from seeing.

Clear the path between knowing your Word and doing your will.

As we gather this morning,

open our ears to hear your truth,

open our hearts to receive your mercy,

and open our lives to become the neighbors you’ve called us to be. In the name of the One who crossed every boundary to reach us —

Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen

OPENING

Back in the early 70s, two psychology professors at Princeton Theological Seminary conducted what would become one of a rather infamous social behavior experiment.

They invited seminary students to participate in a study that was framed around religious education and preaching. Each student was told they would need to walk from one building to another on campus to deliver a sermon. Half of the students were assigned to prepare a sermon on the parable of the Good Samaritan. The other half were given a random, morally neutral topic.

But here’s the twist:

Before each student left to deliver their sermon, they were told one of three things. Some were told, “You’re late – you need to hurry.” Others were told, “You’re right on time – please go now.” And a third group was told, “You’re early, but you can head over when you’re ready.”

What none of the students new was that along the walkway between buildings, the researchers had placed an actor slumped in a doorway – coughing, groaning, papers strewn across the ground, clearly in distress, portraying someone in need of help.

And what do you think happened?

The results weren’t primarily determined by what topic the students were preaching. It didn’t matter whether they were about to deliver a sermon on the Good Samaritan or on some unrelated topic. The determine factor – the thing that changed everything – was whether they were told they were late.

Among those who felt the had time, 63% stopped to help the distressed man. But among those who were told they were already running behind, only 10% stopped. Ninety percent stepped over or around a Mon who looked like he was suffering – all on their way to preach about mercy.

The irony is heartbreaking. But I don’t bring this up to shame seminary students. I bring it up because I see myself in them. Maybe you do too.

They weren’t rushing because they didn’t care. They were rushing because they were focused, busy, on a schedule. They were doing something they believed was important. But in their pursuit of preaching about compassion, they missed the actual chance to practice it. They were doing the Lord’s word – but they couldn’t stop for the Lord’s people.

And that’s exactly the setup for our Gospel reading today. It starts not with a man is distress, but with a man who knows the scriptures. A man with all the right answers. A religious expert. A student of the law. And yet, as we’ll see – even he, too, is in danger of walking past the deeper truth of God’s mercy.

The Lawer’s Question

Luke tells us that a lawyer stood up to test Jesus and asked, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” (V.25).

Now, Let’s be clear – this is not a lawyer in the modern sense. He’s a scholar of the Torah, a religious expert. This man likely believed that righteousness came through obedience to the law – and perhaps even saw himself as an exemplar of it.

Jesus responds with a question of his own: “What is written in the law? How do you read it, how do you interpret it?

The lawyer gives a solid and even beautiful answer. He quotes Deuteronomy and Leviticus – Love God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind and love your neighbor as yourself (v. 27).

Jesus says, “You have answered correctly. Do this, and you will live” (v. 28). But then comes the turn. “Wanting to justify himself,” the lawyer asks, “And who is my neighbor?” (V. 29).

He’s not seeking transformation. He’s seeking limits. Who counts? Who qualifies for my compassion?

As Barbara Brown Taylor observes, this moment reveals a legalism that seeks minimum responsibility. Jesus doesn’t argue – instead, as the good teacher he is, he tells a story.

The story of the Samaritan

“A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho…” The road was notoriously treacherous – rocky, winding, steep. He is attacked, beaten, stripped, and left half-dead.

A priest comes by. A Levite follows. Two religious insiders – trained in Scripture, committed to worship. And both, seeing the man, cross the road and pass by.

We are not told why. Maybe fear. Maybe ritual law. Maybe inconvience. But as one commentator notes, “they make the correct religious decision – and the morally wrong one.”

Then, Jesus shocks his audience: “But a Samaritan..” If you’re unfamiliar, this is a scandalous twist. Samaritans were etching and theological outsiders – considered heretics by Jews, and vice versa. Amy-Jill Levine writes that the term “Good Samaritan” would have sounded like an oxymoron to Jesus’ original audience.

But the Samaritan “was moved with pity.” The Greek here is splagchnizomai – a gut-level compassion. He binds the wounds, anoints them with oil and wine, lifts the man onto his own animal, takes him to an inn, and pays for ongoing care. He even promises to return to cover any further cost.

This is not charity – it’s costly, inconvenient, boundary-breaking love.

Then Jesus asks: “Which of these three was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?”

And the lawyer replies – not even able to say “Samaritan” – “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus, simply, says, “Go and Do likewise” (v. 37).

Becoming a Neighbor

Notice: Jesus doesn’t answer the lawyer’s question: “Who is my neighbor?” Instead, he flips it: “Who became a neighbor?”

Jesus transforms the conversation from identifying neighbors to embodying neighborliness. The parable is not just an ethic. It’s an invitation to a new way of being.

As the Church Fathers saw it, this is also a portrait of Christ. Origen of Alexandria allegorized the Samaritan as Jesus; the wounded man as humanity; the inn as the church; and the oil and wine as sacraments. Jesus doesn’t just teach mercy – he performs it, again and again, binding up broken lives.

Before we can become Good Samaritans, we must first admit: we are the one in the ditch. We are the half-dead traveler. And Christ – despised, rejected, and crucified – is the one who stops, binds our wounds, lifts us up, and pays our debt.

Discipleship and Disruption

But then – Christ turns to us and says, “Go and do likewise.”

This is where the parable moves from illustration to invitation – and from invitation to disruption.

Because neighbor-love is not tidy. It disrupts your schedule. It may cost you money, sleep, emotional bandwidth, and reputation.

And it’s not always obvious. Jesus’ use of a Samaritan wasn’t just shock value – it was a critique of exclusivism in religion. The Samaritan becomes the moral center of the story, not in spite of his “outsider” status but through his merciful action.

For Luke, this is gospel;. “This parable proclaims what God pours into the hearts of all those who journey in a dangerous world.”

So the question becomes: are we rushing past? Or are we learning to see?

Application: Becoming a Neighbor Today

Let me ask you this:

Where are you rushing past wounded people?

Where are you defining “neighbor” too narrowly?

Who are the Samaritan’s in your life – the people you’ve dismissed or distrusted – who might just be the ones God uses to teach your mercy?

Neighborliness today might look like this:

Pausing your schedule to truly listen to someone in distress

Refusing to write off the “other side” politically or theologically

Spending time, energy, or money to help someone whose pain makes you uncomfortable

Advocating for justice, not because it benefits you, but because someone else is lying in a ditch

Ambrose says of the Samaritan, “He shows many remedies for healing. The next day, when he arrives, is the Lord’s day, the day of resurrection. Every act of mercy anticipates resurrection.

Invitation and prayer

Maybe you feel like the one in the ditch this morning. You’re broken, bruised, abandoned. Hear this: Christ comes to you. He binds your wounds. He pays your debt. He lifts you into the care of the Church.

Or maybe you know someone in that place. Someone who needs mercy. Someone God is calling you to see.

So, I want to invite you – as we sing our closing hymn – to write down the name of a person in need, or the name of a person you’ve been avoiding. And bring it to the alter as a sacrificial prayer.

Let that be your prayer today:

Lord, make me a neighbor.

Make me merciful.

Make me like Christ.

CONCLUSION

Jesus doesn’t define neighbor – He shows us what love looks like.

And then he says: God and do likewise.

Not go and discuss it.

Not go and think about it.

Go and Do.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.