The Neighbor in the Ditch Text: Luke 10:25-37
Introduction: The Art of the Loophole
We live in an age of lawyers, and I do not mean that as a compliment to the legal profession. I mean that we are a people obsessed with loopholes, technicalities, and fine print. We want to know the bare minimum required. We want to know exactly how close to the line we can get without stepping over it. This is true in our relationship with the IRS, it is true in our relationship with our diets, and it is most certainly true in our relationship with God. We approach the divine law not with the heart of a son wanting to please his father, but with the heart of a shyster looking for a clever way to get out of the contract.
This is the spirit of the age, but it is not a new spirit. It is the ancient spirit of self-justification. It is the spirit that asks, "Did God really say?" in the Garden, and it is the spirit that stands up to test Jesus in our text today. The question "what must I do to inherit eternal life?" can be an honest one, coming from a heart broken over sin. But it can also be a hostile one, a trap laid by a man who already thinks he has the answer and wants to see if this upstart rabbi from Nazareth agrees with him. The man in our story is of the second sort. He is not looking for salvation; he is looking for validation.
And when Jesus holds up the perfect, blindingly clear standard of God's law, the man does what all self-justifiers do. He immediately starts looking for the fine print. He tries to lawyer his way out of love. He asks, "And who is my neighbor?" This is not a request for information. It is an attempt to shrink the jurisdiction of the law. It is a question designed to build a fence around his obligations, leaving certain people on the outside. But Jesus does not play these games. Instead of giving the lawyer a definition, He tells him a story, and in doing so, He blows the doors off the man's entire religious system. This parable is not a sweet, sentimental story about being nice. It is a stick of dynamite thrown into the tidy courtroom of our self-righteousness.
The Text
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?” And He said to him, “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?” 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.” And He said to him, “You have answered correctly; DO THIS AND YOU WILL LIVE.” But wishing to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” 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. And a priest happened to be going down on that road, and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. Likewise a Levite also, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, who was on a journey, came upon him, and when he saw him, he felt compassion. 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. 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.’ Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell into the robbers’ hands?” And he said, “The one who showed mercy toward him.” Then Jesus said to him, “Go and do the same.”
(Luke 10:25-37 LSB)
The Law's Perfect Standard (vv. 25-28)
The confrontation begins with a test. A lawyer, an expert in the Mosaic code, stands up to trap the Lord.
"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?'" (Luke 10:25 LSB)
Jesus, the master of turning the tables, answers a question with a question. He directs the man right back to the authority he claims to represent. "What is written in the Law? How do you read it?" The lawyer has the answer ready. He gives a brilliant summary of the entire moral law, quoting from Deuteronomy and Leviticus. Love God completely, and love your neighbor as yourself. This is the whole duty of man.
Jesus affirms his answer. "You have answered correctly; DO THIS AND YOU WILL LIVE." Now, we must be very clear here. Jesus is not teaching salvation by works. He is not setting up a new ladder to Heaven that we can climb through our own efforts. He is affirming the covenant of works. He is saying, "Yes, that is indeed the standard. The standard is perfection. If you want to live by doing, then you must do it all, perfectly, without fail, from the heart, every second of your life." The law is a perfect mirror. It is not a tool for self-improvement; it is a tool for self-revelation. Its purpose is to show us our filth, to shut our mouths, and to drive us to despair of our own righteousness (Romans 3:19-20). Jesus holds up this perfect mirror to the lawyer, and the man sees a smudge. And he doesn't like it.
The Self-Justifier's Hedge (v. 29)
Feeling the conviction of that impossible command, "Do this," the lawyer immediately tries to lower the bar. He can't wiggle out of the God part, so he goes after the neighbor part.
"But wishing to justify himself, he said to Jesus, 'And who is my neighbor?'" (Luke 10:29 LSB)
This is the key to the whole passage. "Wishing to justify himself." This man's project is not to know God, but to vindicate himself. He wants to be declared righteous on his own terms. His question is an attempt to gerrymander the moral universe. He wants Jesus to give him a list. "Your neighbors are fellow Jews, in good standing, who live within a certain radius, and who are not tax collectors or sinners." If he can just narrow the definition, he can congratulate himself on fulfilling the commandment. He wants a checklist, not a new heart.
We do this all the time. We want our Christianity to be manageable. We want to love the people who are easy to love, the people who are like us, the people who vote like us and shop at the same stores. The question "Who is my neighbor?" is fundamentally a selfish question. It assumes that I am the center of the universe, and my love is a resource to be carefully distributed to the deserving. Jesus is about to demolish that entire way of thinking.
The Pious and the Pitiful (vv. 30-35)
Jesus answers with a story set on the treacherous road from Jerusalem to Jericho, a place notorious for bandits. A man is robbed, beaten, and left for dead.
"And a priest happened to be going down on that road, and when he saw him, he passed by on the other side. Likewise a Levite also... passed by on the other side." (Luke 10:31-32 LSB)
The first two people to come by are the religious professionals. The priest and the Levite. These are the men who worked in the Temple, the men who were supposed to be the moral exemplars for the nation. And they do nothing. They see the man, and they cross the road to avoid him. We can imagine their excuses. "He's probably dead, and touching a corpse would make me ceremonially unclean. I have important duties at the Temple." Or, "It might be a trap. The robbers could still be nearby." Their heads were full of theology, but their hearts were empty of love. Their religion was a barrier to mercy, not a catalyst for it. They loved the idea of God, but they did not love the image of God bleeding in a ditch.
Then comes the hero of the story, and this is where the shock lands. "But a Samaritan... came upon him, and when he saw him, he felt compassion." For a Jew, a Samaritan was a half-breed, a heretic, a political enemy. They were the last people on earth you would expect to be the good guy in a story. Jesus chooses him deliberately to shatter the lawyer's categories. This despised outsider is the one who shows what true neighbor-love looks like. It is not a calculated obligation; it is born of compassion. And it is not just a feeling; it is action. He bandages the wounds, using his own oil and wine. He puts the man on his own animal, forcing himself to walk. He takes him to an inn and pays for his care, promising to cover any additional costs. This is costly, sacrificial, inconvenient, and comprehensive love. This is what it means to love your neighbor as yourself.
The Question Inverted (vv. 36-37)
Jesus now turns the knife. He doesn't answer the lawyer's original question. He asks a new one.
"Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell into the robbers’ hands?" (Luke 10:36 LSB)
Do you see the brilliant reversal? The lawyer asked, "Who is my neighbor?" which is a question of definition, a question about the object of love. Jesus asks, "Who was a neighbor?" which is a question of character, a question about the subject of love. The lawyer wanted to know who he was required to love. Jesus tells him he is required to be a lover. The issue is not the man in the ditch; the issue is the man walking down the road. The question is not "Who is worthy of my help?" but rather "Have I become the kind of person who helps?"
The lawyer is trapped. He has to give the obvious answer, but he can't even bring himself to say the word "Samaritan." He chokes it out: "The one who showed mercy toward him." The prejudice is still there, even as he is forced to acknowledge the truth. And Jesus sends him away with the law's demand ringing in his ears: "Go and do the same." The lawyer came for a loophole and left with a death sentence. He came to justify himself and left utterly condemned by a command he could never hope to fulfill.
The True Samaritan
So, is the moral of the story simply "try harder to be a nice person"? God forbid. If that's all we get, we have missed the point entirely. To end there is to be crushed under the weight of the law, just like that lawyer. No, the parable is designed to show us our total inability to "do this and live." It is meant to show us that we are not the Samaritan. We are not even the priest or the Levite. We are the man in the ditch.
We were traveling down from Jerusalem, the city of God, headed for Jericho, the city of the curse. And we were set upon by robbers, by sin, the world, and the devil. We were stripped of our original righteousness, beaten, and left for dead. The law, represented by the priest and the Levite, comes by. It sees our condition, it diagnoses our problem perfectly, but it is utterly powerless to help us. It can only pass by on the other side, because all the law can do is condemn the sinner.
But then another man comes down the road. A man from a place we despise, a man we rejected. Jesus Christ is the true Good Samaritan. We saw him as an outsider, a blasphemer, a friend of sinners. Yet when He saw us in our hopeless state, He had compassion. He came down from Heaven to our ditch. He bound up our wounds, pouring on the oil of the Spirit and the wine of His own blood. He put us on His own beast, bearing our sins in His own body on the tree. He brought us to the inn, which is the Church, and He paid our debt in full. He gave the innkeeper, the pastors and elders, two denarii, the Word and Sacraments, and He commanded them to care for us until He returns. And He has promised to return and repay every cost, to settle all accounts.
We are not saved by being good neighbors. We are saved because the one true Good Neighbor had mercy on us when we were his enemies. Our justification does not come from our doing, but from His. And now, because we have been so extravagantly loved, because we have been rescued from the ditch, we are finally free to "go and do the same." We love our neighbor not to get saved, but because we have been saved. Our mercy to others is the grateful echo of the infinite mercy He has shown to us.