How the Good Samaritan parable challenges us to stop avoiding life’s ditches and start serving where it’s uncomfortable

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The Unexpected Detour

Last week, I spent time as “Navigator Travis” at our Vacation Bible School. Picture this: me alongside Scout the Dog (played by Pastor Stephanie Norton) and Scamper, our energetic squirrel friend (brought to life by Luke Sprout). My job was simple—help kids follow the map to Abraham’s tents, Moses’ wilderness, and Mary and Elizabeth’s home. We sang road trip songs, packed faith backpacks, and stayed perfectly on schedule.

But today’s Gospel reading? Jesus completely hijacks our spiritual GPS.

The Lawyer’s Test Questions

A Bible expert approaches Jesus with what seems like a straightforward question: “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” You’d expect Jesus to hand him a clear roadmap or a step-by-step plan. Instead, Jesus points to something nobody wants to see—a ditch. A man bleeding, stripped, left for dead. And the hero of the story? A Samaritan, the exact person this lawyer’s spiritual GPS would warn him to avoid.

Jesus delivers a truth bomb: Your road to eternity starts in the ditch you’re trying to avoid.

When We Ask the Wrong Questions

The lawyer actually knows his theology. He quotes Deuteronomy and Leviticus perfectly: “Love God with all your heart, soul, and mind… and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus applauds him—just like we cheered after each VBS song. “Do this, and you will live,” Jesus says.

But then the lawyer does what we all do. He asks the wrong question.

“And who is my neighbor?”

Luke tells us why he asked—he wanted to “justify himself.” To set boundaries. To say, “My neighbors are people like me. People on my route. People who don’t mess up my plans.” He’s essentially asking for a spiritual GPS setting: “Avoid tolls. Avoid Samaritans. Avoid interruptions.”

Sound familiar? How often do we say, “I’ll love my neighbor, but… not THEM. Not that immigrant. Not that political enemy. Not that person who made bad choices. They’re off my map.”

The Ditch That Changes Everything

Pastor Chelsey Harmon writes that the lawyer “wants to vindicate whatever lines he’s drawn.” But Jesus refuses to play that game. Instead of approving the lawyer’s spiritual boundaries, Jesus drops him straight into a story about a ditch.

Two religious professionals see the beaten man and hit the accelerator. We’ve all been there—cruising along when suddenly we see brake lights. Construction. An accident. Rubbernecking. We hate roadblocks, don’t we?

The priest and Levite had their own spiritual GPS telling them: “Stay clean. Stay safe. Stay on schedule.” So they switched lanes and sped past the suffering.

The Unlikely Hero

Then comes the Samaritan. In first-century Palestine, Jews and Samaritans had serious tension. This man’s identity was literally a “road closed” sign for Jewish people. But he was the one who saw the beaten man and felt moved with compassion.

Here’s what Dietrich Bonhoeffer understood: The neighbor isn’t a category we define—it’s a calling we embody. You are the neighbor. I am the neighbor. We are the neighbors.

As Navigator Travis, I steered kids around potholes and dead ends. But this Samaritan walks directly into the mess. He gets down in the dirt, pulls out oil and wine to clean wounds, bandages injuries, lifts the man onto his own animal, and pays for his recovery at an inn. He even promises to cover future expenses.

Religious tradition took a backseat. The Samaritan asked himself: “Will this man survive without me?”

Finding Your Ditch in Southwest Michigan

Jesus ends the parable by asking the lawyer who acted as a neighbor. The answer? “The one who showed him mercy.” Then Jesus delivers the kicker: “Go and do likewise.”

Notice what he didn’t say. He didn’t say “agree.” He said “do.” Sometimes action matters more than theology. What we do carries more weight than what we say.

That “DO” lands us in Southwest Michigan’s ditches.

Maybe it’s on a street in Benton Harbor or Niles, where someone overdoses outside a shop. We see them and think, “I’m not trained… It’s not safe… They chose this.” We become the priest and Levite, white-knuckling our steering wheel of self-justification.

But the Samaritan didn’t ask why the man was in the ditch. He asked: “Will he survive without me?”

Your Oil and Wine for Today

Our “oil and wine” might look different than the Samaritan’s. Maybe it’s:

• Carrying Narcan (free kits from Berrien County Health Department)
• Supporting families in recovery groups
• Making a phone call to an isolated senior
• Bringing extra water to farmworkers on M-40
• Sitting beside someone society calls “undeserving”

Jesus’ command—”Go and DO likewise”—isn’t about grand solutions. It’s about holy interruptions that bleed eternal life into right now.

Three Ways to Live Like the Samaritan

Here’s what I’m taking with me this week:

1. PULL OVER when pain reroutes you. Don’t speed past the ditches. Stop when you encounter suffering, even when it’s inconvenient.

2. POUR YOUR OIL (time, money, pride) into one ditch. You can’t fix everything, but you can bandage one wound in a broken system.

3. PASS IT ON like the Samaritan did with the innkeeper. Create systems that continue caring even when you’re not there.

Your GPS for Resurrection

The lawyer couldn’t even say “Samaritan”—he choked out “the one who showed mercy.” But Jesus didn’t scold him. He simply said: “Go and DO.”

So I’ll ask you what Jesus is asking me: Where is Christ hijacking your map this week? What ditch—what inconvenient, uncomfortable, costly interruption—is your road to resurrection?

Eternal life isn’t a destination you reach someday. It’s a detour you take today. The Samaritan, with his mercy, compassion, and love, becomes your GPS.

Go and do likewise.

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