A Personal Reflection

Years ago, I stood before our congregation to preach from Luke 10:29. I was confident I understood the parable of the Good Samaritan. I had prepared to speak about compassion, about being the neighbor who stops to help. I was ready to challenge others to be like the Samaritan who showed mercy.

But God had different plans.

As I wrestled with this passage in prayer, God asked me a simple question: “Who are you in this story?” I expected Him to affirm my assumption. I believed I was the helper. I thought I was the good neighbor, the one who would stop and care for the wounded.

Instead, His answer cut through my pride like a sword: “You are the one trying to justify yourself.”

The lawyer in Luke 10:29 asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” But this wasn’t an innocent question seeking understanding. It was a calculated attempt at self-justification. The lawyer was looking for loopholes. He was searching for ways to narrow his responsibility. He sought reasons why his current level of compassion was already sufficient.

Standing there, I realized the uncomfortable truth: I wasn’t the Samaritan in this story. I was the Pharisee. I was the religious expert. I was the one attempting to justify my own righteousness. I was maintaining comfortable boundaries around who deserved my love.

But God has a different plan.

The Pharisee’s Secret Confession

This realization forced me to confront some hard truths about myself—and about many of us in the church:

We ask, “Who is my neighbor?” not to expand our circle of compassion, but to define its limits. We want to know exactly how much love is required. We also want to determine the extent of our responsibility. Lastly, we question who we can safely exclude from our concern.

We create religious categories that make us feel superior while keeping others at a distance. The wounded man on the Jericho Road becomes “not our type of person.” He belongs to a different denomination, has different political views, a different lifestyle, and a different social class.

We measure our goodness by comparing ourselves to those we consider “worse.” We should instead measure by the standard of Christ’s limitless love.

Losing Our Hypocrisy

That Sunday, I had to preach a different message than I’d planned. I chose not to point fingers at those who pass by the wounded. Instead, I had to examine the plank in my own eye. I had to confess that my religious knowledge was sometimes a barrier to genuine love. It had not always been a bridge to it.

The Pharisee neighbor isn’t as good as he thinks he is. And neither am I.

True Christianity isn’t about justifying ourselves or maintaining our religious reputation. It’s about laying down our pride, our prejudices, and our self-righteous attitudes—especially toward those outside our religious circles.

It’s about stopping for the wounded person. This applies even when they don’t look like us, think like us, or believe like us. It’s about showing mercy without first checking if they “deserve” it.

The Challenge

I pose the same question to you that God once asked me: Who are you in this story?

Are you the Samaritan, moved with compassion and ready to act sacrificially in love? Or are you the religious expert, seeking ways to limit your responsibility while preserving your spiritual reputation?

The wounded world around us doesn’t need more Pharisees asking, “Who is my neighbor?” with hearts already closed to the answer. It needs followers of Jesus who see every person as their neighbor. They respond with the radical, boundary-breaking love of Christ.

Let us find the courage to confess when we’ve acted like the Pharisee. Let us gain the humility to set aside our pride. Let us embrace God’s grace to become true neighbors to all.