This essay first appeared in our weekly Scripture reflection newsletter on July 11, 2025.
Why did the Samaritans dislike the Jews in Jesus’ time? And why did Jews dislike Samaritans?
At least as reported in the Gospels, there was no little enmity between these two groups, which lends added poignancy to this Sunday’s Gospel, the Parable of the Good Samaritan (as well as the story of the Samaritan woman in John’s Gospel). Some of this enmity had to do with complex historical reasons relating to conquest, settlement, resettlement and intermarriage, but part of the enmity was more contemporary for Jesus’ followers. In other words, there were reasons dating from “Old Testament times,” but the effects continued until “New Testament times.” In Jesus’s time, the Jews worshiped God in the Temple in Jerusalem; the Samaritans at Mount Gerizim, where they had built their own place of worship. So the two groups were often at odds.
This is why one of Jesus most well-known parables emphasizes that the beaten man lying by the side of the road is helped not by just anyone, but a Samaritan.
We’re meant to understand that the “priest and Levite” are coming from their duties in the Temple. Nonetheless, they pass the man by.
In his book The Forty Parables of Jesus, Gerhard Lohfink reminds us that Jesus situates this story geographically, which is unusual for a parable. The parable takes place on the Jericho Road, which is still there today—a twisty route from Jerusalem to Jericho (running north to south through some pitilessly barren terrain) along which it would be easy for bandits to hide, leap out and accost tired and thirsty travelers. Lohfink suggests that we’re meant to understand that the “priest and Levite” are coming from their duties in the Temple. Nonetheless, they pass the man by.
Now, before we go further, we need to remind ourselves, as the New Testament scholar Amy-Jill Levine often notes, that this is not an excuse to stereotype “priests and Levites.” All religious authorities have, in one way or another, been hypocrites—myself included. What Jesus means to say is something broader here: it is often the unlikeliest of people who follow God’s desires.
But I would like to look at the parable not from the point of view of the person who helped, that is, the “Good Samaritan,” but from the perspective of the man lying by the side of the road, who was hurt, bruised, tired, thirsty and frightened. Imagine how his must have hopes soared when he saw the “priest and Levite” drawing near. Surely they would help! Then imagine how disappointed, confused, even angry he was when they passed by.
It is precisely the one whom he considers as “other” who will prove to be his salvation.
Now imagine him seeing the Samaritan come close. On the one hand, the beaten man might have thought, “I hope this guy helps me.” On the other—“Oh, one of them!” With what mixed feelings did he look upon the one he probably considered to be strange, different, “other”?
Yet it is precisely the one whom he considers as “other” who will prove to be his salvation.
This perspective has always made me wonder if our own salvation in some way depends upon those we consider to be “other.” Perhaps it is in our ability to see them as human beings, to see them as valuable, and finally to accept help from them, that will eventually enable us to be healed, restored and revived, just like the beaten man. Perhaps by allowing the “other” into our lives we will be brought to our own “inns,” where we will finally be able to rest.
Perhaps by allowing the “other” into our lives we will be brought to our own “inns,” where we will finally be able to rest.
Who, then, is “other” in your life? Someone from a different political party? Someone who has a different take on the Catholic church than you do? Someone who is LGBTQ?
So many of Jesus’ parables are eschatological, pointing to an end time when all will be made whole. For me, then, the Parable of the Good Samaritan is not only an invitation to be a Good Samaritan, and care for someone else, but also to be the beaten man and see in the “other” the locus of our eventual salvation.
