Commentary - Luke 10:25-37

Bird's-eye view

In this famous passage, a lawyer, a specialist in the Mosaic Law, attempts to test Jesus, but in reality, he ends up exposing himself. The interaction unfolds in two stages. First, the lawyer asks the ultimate question: "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus turns the question back on him, and the lawyer provides a perfect, orthodox summary of the law: love God completely and love your neighbor as yourself. Jesus affirms his answer, telling him, "Do this, and you will live." This initial exchange reveals the core problem of all legalistic religion. The lawyer knows the right answer, but he cannot perform it. The law provides a perfect standard, but it provides no power to keep it. It can only condemn.

Feeling the sting of this reality, the lawyer then attempts to "justify himself" by narrowing the scope of the command. He asks a follow-up question, "And who is my neighbor?" This is an attempt to find a loophole, to define "neighbor" in a way that makes the command manageable and, more importantly, makes him look righteous. In response, Jesus tells the parable of the Good Samaritan. The story systematically dismantles the lawyer's self-righteous categories of race, class, and religious purity. The expected heroes, the priest and the Levite, fail the test of love, while the despised half-breed, the Samaritan, demonstrates true neighborliness. Jesus concludes by flipping the lawyer's question on its head. It's not "Who is my neighbor?" but "Who proved to be a neighbor?" The answer is the one who showed mercy. The final command, "Go and do likewise," sends the lawyer away, not with a neat definition, but with the impossible demand of the law staring him in the face again, revealing his desperate need for a Savior who is the ultimate Good Samaritan.

Outline

Context In Luke

This episode follows the return of the seventy-two disciples, who are rejoicing in their authority over demons (Luke 10:17-20). Jesus redirects their joy to the fact that their names are written in heaven, a truth of sovereign grace. He then rejoices in the Holy Spirit that the Father has hidden these things from the wise and understanding and revealed them to little children (Luke 10:21-22). The encounter with the lawyer, who is one of the "wise and understanding," provides a stark contrast. The disciples have received the kingdom as a gift; the lawyer is trying to earn it through legal performance and definition-quibbling. This passage is a practical demonstration of the spiritual blindness that Jesus just spoke of. It sets up the following scene in the home of Mary and Martha, which further explores the theme of "the one thing necessary" being relationship with Jesus over anxious service.

Key Issues

The Law as a Mirror

It is crucial that we understand what Jesus is doing in this interaction. When He tells the lawyer, "Do this and you will live," He is not offering a second way of salvation apart from faith. He is not teaching salvation by works. Rather, He is using the law for its intended purpose, which is to serve as a perfect mirror. A mirror shows you the dirt on your face; it doesn't wash it off. The law shows us God's perfect standard of righteousness, and in so doing, it shows us our utter failure to meet that standard. It exposes our sin and shuts every mouth before God (Rom. 3:19-20).

The lawyer came to Jesus wanting to know what he must do. Jesus takes him at his word and holds up the perfect standard of doing. "You want to live by doing? Fine. Here is what perfect doing looks like: flawless, total, perpetual love for God and neighbor." No one, apart from Christ, has ever done this. The demand of the law is designed to crush our self-righteousness and drive us to despair of our own efforts. It is meant to make us cry out for a mercy we do not deserve and a righteousness that is not our own. The lawyer felt the sting of this, which is why he immediately tried to lower the bar with his second question. But Jesus will not let him off the hook.

Verse by Verse Commentary

25 And behold, a scholar of the Law stood up and was putting Him to the test, saying, “Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life?”

The scene is confrontational. A lawyer, an expert in the Torah, stands up to test Jesus. This is not an honest inquiry; it is a trap. He wants to see if this popular rabbi from Galilee will say something that contradicts the Law of Moses. His question is the fundamental question of all religion: How do I secure a right standing with God? But notice the verb he uses: "What shall I do?" His framework is one of works, of performance, of earning. He sees eternal life not as a gift to be received but as an inheritance to be claimed by fulfilling certain legal requirements.

26 And He said to him, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?”

Jesus, the master teacher, does not answer directly. He turns the question back on the expert. "You're the scholar of the Law. You tell me." This is both brilliant and disarming. He honors the man's position by appealing to his expertise, while simultaneously putting him on the spot. The question has two parts: "What is written?" which deals with the objective content of the law, and "How do you read it?" which deals with interpretation and summary. Jesus is asking for the essence of the law's demand.

27 And he answered and said, “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.”

The lawyer gives a masterful answer. He combines the Shema from Deuteronomy 6:5 with a command from Leviticus 19:18. This summary of the law as love for God and love for neighbor was a recognized stroke of theological genius, and Jesus Himself affirms it elsewhere (Matt. 22:37-40). The man knows his Bible. He understands that the law is not fundamentally about external rituals but about a total, all-encompassing love. Heart, soul, strength, mind, every faculty of his being is to be directed in adoration toward God. And his relationship with others is to be governed by the same standard of care and concern he naturally has for himself. He gets an A+ on the exam.

28 And He said to him, “You have answered correctly; DO THIS AND YOU WILL LIVE.”

Jesus affirms the man's answer completely. "You have answered correctly." And then He lowers the boom: "Do this and you will live." Jesus quotes from Leviticus 18:5, which promises life to those who keep the law's statutes. The statement is absolutely true. If a man could perfectly love God and his neighbor at all times, without fail, from the heart, he would indeed earn eternal life. The problem is that no fallen man can do this. This is the killing-kindness of the law. It presents a perfect standard that we know is right, and then condemns us for our inability to keep it. The lawyer knows, in his heart of hearts, that he does not love God this way, nor his neighbor.

29 But wishing to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

The man feels the weight of the law's demand. He knows he has failed. But instead of confessing his failure, he tries to justify himself. This is the move of every unrepentant sinner. When confronted with the standard, we don't say, "I have failed." We say, "The standard must not mean what it seems to mean." He tries to wiggle off the hook by seeking a definition. He wants to shrink the circle of his responsibility. The rabbis of his day had endless debates about this. Does "neighbor" mean only a fellow Jew? Does it exclude Gentiles? Does it exclude Samaritans? If he can get Jesus to agree to a limited, manageable definition of "neighbor," then he can pretend that he is keeping the command.

30 Jesus replied and said, “A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among robbers, and they stripped him and beat him, and went away leaving him half dead.

Jesus responds with a story. The road from Jerusalem to Jericho was a steep, winding, and notoriously dangerous path, known as the "Way of Blood." It was a perfect setting for an ambush. A man, presumably a Jew, is attacked, stripped, beaten, and left for dead. He is in a state of absolute helplessness and desperate need.

31 And a priest happened to be going down on that road, and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side.

The first person to come along is a priest. He is the ultimate religious insider, a man whose entire life is dedicated to serving God in the temple. He represents the pinnacle of the Jewish religious system. He sees the man. The need is undeniable. But he crosses to the other side of the road and passes by. Why? Perhaps he feared the robbers were still nearby. Perhaps he feared the man was dead, and touching a corpse would make him ceremonially unclean, thus disqualifying him from his temple duties (Lev. 21:1-3). Whatever his reason, his religious duty, as he understood it, took precedence over human mercy.

32 Likewise a Levite also, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side.

The second person is a Levite, another religious professional who assisted the priests in the temple. He is a step down from the priest, but still a respected member of the religious establishment. He does the exact same thing. He sees the need and walks on by. The two men who should have been the most exemplary models of loving God and neighbor utterly fail the test. Their religion was a barrier to mercy, not a conduit of it.

33 But a Samaritan, who was on a journey, came upon him, and when he saw him, he felt compassion.

Now comes the shocker. The third traveler is a Samaritan. For a Jewish audience, this was the villain of the story. Samaritans were despised half-breeds, both racially and religiously. The animosity between Jews and Samaritans was intense. But this Samaritan, the outcast, the heretic, sees the beaten man and his response is not calculation or fear, but compassion. This is a visceral word, referring to a deep feeling in the gut. His heart went out to the man.

34 And he came to him and bandaged up his wounds, pouring oil and wine on them, and he put him on his own animal, and brought him to an inn and took care of him.

This compassion immediately translates into action. He doesn't just feel sorry for the man; he gets his hands dirty. He administers first aid, using wine (an antiseptic) and oil (a soothing agent) from his own supplies. He puts the man on his own donkey, meaning he now has to walk. He takes him to an inn and continues to care for him personally. This is costly, inconvenient, and sacrificial love.

35 And on the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper and said, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, when I return I will repay you.’

His care doesn't end there. He pays for the man's lodging and future care, two denarii would cover about two months' stay. And then he makes an open-ended promise: "Put it on my tab. I'll cover any additional expenses when I come back." He takes full responsibility for the man's complete restoration. He doesn't just offer temporary relief; he ensures long-term recovery.

36 Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell into the robbers’ hands?”

Jesus now brings the story home. He flips the lawyer's original question. The lawyer asked, "Who is my neighbor?" (a question of definition). Jesus asks, "Who proved to be a neighbor?" (a question of action). The question is no longer about identifying who qualifies to receive our love, but about whether we are the kind of people who give love to anyone in need whom God places in our path.

37 And he said, “The one who showed mercy toward him.” Then Jesus said to him, “Go and do the same.”

The lawyer cannot even bring himself to say the word "Samaritan." He can only choke out a description: "The one who showed mercy toward him." He knows the answer. It's undeniable. And with the answer hanging in the air, Jesus delivers the final, crushing blow. "Go and do the same." He sends the lawyer away with the law's demand ringing in his ears, but now amplified a thousand times. The standard is not just to love your fellow Jew, but to show sacrificial, costly, compassionate mercy to your worst enemy, whenever and wherever you find him in need. The lawyer who came to test Jesus leaves having been utterly dismantled. His self-justification is in ruins, and the true height of the law's demand has been revealed. His only hope is to abandon his project of doing and to fall on the mercy of God.

Application

This parable is a profound challenge to every form of dead, formal, and hypocritical religion. It is easy for us to be like the priest and the Levite. We can be so busy with our "church work," our theological discussions, and our religious routines that we walk right past the bleeding man in the ditch. Our doctrine can become an excuse for a lack of mercy. We can have all the right answers, just like the lawyer, but have hearts that are cold and hands that are clean because we refuse to get involved in the messy lives of people in need.

The parable forces us to see that our neighbor is anyone God's providence places in our path, regardless of their race, class, religion, or background. Love is not about defining the object; it is about the character of the subject. Are we people of compassion? Does our orthodoxy lead to orthopraxy? Does our love for God result in tangible, costly, sacrificial love for others?

But the ultimate application is to see that we are the man in the ditch. We were going down from Jerusalem (the city of God) and fell among robbers, sin, death, and the devil. We were stripped, beaten, and left half dead, utterly unable to save ourselves. The law, represented by the priest and the Levite, saw our condition but could only pass by on the other side. It offered no help, no mercy, no salvation. And then Jesus, our Good Samaritan, came. He was the one we considered an outcast and a heretic. He saw us in our desperate need, and He had compassion. He came to us, bound up our wounds with the oil and wine of His own blood, lifted us up, and carried us to the safety of His inn, the church. He paid the price for our healing and promised to return for us. He is the one who showed us mercy. Therefore, when He says, "Go and do likewise," it is not a command to earn our salvation, but a call to live out the salvation we have already received. Because we have been shown such extravagant mercy, we are now free to be merchants of mercy to others.