The Stranger Was the Saint: How to Stop Waiting for Permission to Love

Jerusalem, first century. It’s midday. The sun is a hammer against the back of your neck, and the road down from Jerusalem to Jericho is less a highway and more a jagged scar cut into the Judean wilderness. It’s steep, dusty, and notorious for bandits. You’ve probably heard the phrase "the good Samaritan" used to mean someone helpful. But if you were a Jewish traveler standing on that road two thousand years ago, the word Samaritan didn’t mean "helpful." It meant "enemy."

It meant heretic. It meant someone who didn’t quite get the covenant right. They were the mixed-race neighbors who lived in the northern kingdom after the exile, the ones the Jews looked down on with a mixture of pity and disdain. To call someone a "good" Samaritan was almost an insult. It was like saying, "The enemy showed up, and surprisingly, he wasn’t terrible."

Jesus takes this cultural grenade—the tension between Jew and Gentile, pure and impure, holy and common—and pulls the pin. He tells a story about a man who gets beaten, robbed, and left for dead. And then He introduces three passersby. A priest. A Levite. And a Samaritan.

We usually think of this story as a checklist for being nice. See person in trouble. Help person in trouble. Be nice. But that’s too small. That’s the version we give to our kids on Sunday morning to keep them quiet in the pew. The real story is about who gets to define "neighbor," and more importantly, it’s about what happens when the Holy Spirit wakes us up from our spiritual nap.

The Problem: We Love from a Distance

Here’s the thing about the priest and the Levite: they weren’t necessarily bad people. In fact, they were the elite. The priest was busy with temple duties; the Levite was his assistant, the second-in-command. They were the religious establishment. They knew the Law better than anyone. If anyone had the right to look at a dead body and declare it "unclean" so they could stay ritually pure, it was them.

And they looked. The Greek text says they saw him. They looked right at him. But they crossed to the other side of the road and kept walking.

Why?

Most commentators say they were afraid of becoming ritually unclean by touching a corpse (Numbers 19:11). If they touched the body, they’d be unclean until evening and couldn’t do their temple duties. So they prioritized their ritual over the person. They loved the system more than the sinner.

I’ll be honest, I’ve struggled with this too. Not with corpses, obviously, but with my own comfort. There are times when I see a need—maybe it’s a friend going through a divorce, maybe it’s the homeless man on the corner, maybe it’s the email I need to send to fix a mess—and I hesitate. I calculate the cost. If I help him, I’ll be late. If I send the email, I’ll look incompetent. If I go to the mission trip, I’ll miss my kid’s game.

We love from a distance. We love when it’s convenient. We love when it fits into our schedule. We love when the person in need looks like us and believes what we believe. We draw a circle around our own comfort and say, "Anyone outside this circle is 'other'".

But Jesus flips the script. He doesn’t ask, "Who is my neighbor?" (Which implies a limited group of people we are responsible for.) He asks, "Who became a neighbor to the man?"

The neighbor isn’t the one who receives the love. The neighbor is the one who gives the love. And the surprise? It’s the outsider who gets it right. The religious insiders missed the man of God because they were too busy being religious. The outsider, the "fool" of the culture, saw the man of God because he was busy being human.

The Promise: The Spirit Breaks the Circle

We’re in Pentecost right now. We’re celebrating the birthday of the Church, the day God poured out His Spirit on flesh-and-blood believers, shaking the foundations of the temple and tearing the veil.

The power of Pentecost wasn’t just that people started speaking in tongues or prophecy rolled in. The power was that the barrier wall between Jew and Gentile was smashed. Acts 10 tells the story of Peter, the staunch Jew, who has to fight his own prejudices to visit Cornelius, a Roman centurion. Peter later says in Acts 10:34, "God does not show favoritism."

That’s the same energy at work in the Good Samaritan. The Holy Spirit doesn’t just give us power to preach; He gives us power to cross the street. He breaks the circle of "us versus them."

When the Spirit fills us, we stop looking at the world through the lens of "who is clean?" and start seeing it through the lens of "who is broken?"

This isn’t about tolerance. It’s not about saying, "Everyone’s right in their own way." It’s about recognizing that God is at work in the places we think are dirty. It’s about seeing the face of Jesus in the face of the enemy.

The promise here is bold: God uses the unlikely to shame the wise. He uses the outsider to teach the insider. He uses the broken to show us the way back to the Father. The Samaritan didn’t wait for permission. He didn’t wait to be ritually pure. He just went. And in that going, he became a reflection of God’s heart.

The Practice: Three Ways to Live It Out

So how do we live this? It’s easy to nod along and then go back to scrolling through our phones. But faith without works is dead. Here’s how to actually practice this, starting today.

1. Stop Calculating the Cost of Your Attention

The priest and Levite calculated. They weighed the risk of impurity against the reward of duty. We calculate too. We ask, "Is this worth my time? Is this person worth my energy?"

Try this: For one week, practice "inefficient" love. When you see someone in need, don’t ask, "Do I have time?" Ask, "Who is God calling me to be present for?" It might mean sitting with a grieving friend for an hour when you only have twenty minutes. It might mean writing the long email instead of the short one. It might mean paying attention to your spouse when you’re tired.

Inefficiency is the mark of the Kingdom. The world values efficiency. Jesus valued presence. When you stop calculating, you start seeing.

2. Cross the Cultural Street

The Samaritan crossed from the north to the south. He crossed the religious divide. He crossed the social hierarchy. He didn’t just help a Jew; he helped a rival.

Where is your "Jericho Road"? It’s not necessarily a different country. It might be the other side of the pew. It might be the person in your office who votes differently than you. It might be the generation gap between you and your kids.

Pick one person this week who is "other" to you. Not someone you dislike, just someone you don’t naturally connect with. Reach out. Not to debate. Not to convert. Just to connect. Buy them coffee. Listen to their story. Ask a genuine question. Let the Holy Spirit break your circle.

3. Stay Until the Job Is Done

The Samaritan didn’t just throw a bandage on the wound and drive off. He didn’t say, "Well, I did my part." He got in the taxi. He took the man to an inn. He stayed overnight. And then, when he left, he paid the innkeeper two denarii (about two days' wages) and promised to cover any additional costs.

He went the extra mile. He invested. He stayed.

We love to "help" and then leave. We drop off a casserole and never call back. We give a donation and forget the name. But true love is sticky. It stays. It invests. It risks.

This week, stay. When you help someone, stay a bit longer than you want to. When you listen, listen until they’re done, not until you’re bored. When you give, give until it costs you something.

The Result: You Become the Neighbor

The story ends with Jesus asking, "Which of these three do you think proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among robbers?"

The expert in the law couldn’t even say "The Samaritan." He was too proud. He said, "The one who showed him mercy."

Why? Because saying "Samaritan" was a cultural slur. Saying "neighbor" was safer. But Jesus’ point is clear: You don’t have to be perfect to be a neighbor. You just have to show mercy.

And here’s the kicker: When you show mercy, you become like the one who showed mercy. You become like Jesus.

Jesus is the ultimate Samaritan. He was the "outsider" who crossed the street to us. He got in the taxi of our humanity. He took us to the inn of His church. He paid the price with His blood. And He stayed until we were healed.

So when you help the stranger, when you cross the street, when you stop calculating—you’re not just being nice. You’re reflecting the Gospel. You’re showing the world what God looks like.

And that’s the Pentecost power we need. Not just power to speak, but power to love. Power to cross the street. Power to stay.

Let’s go be neighbors.

Luke 10:37 — "And you go, and do likewise."