Become a neighbour

Cyril explains that some opponents accused Christ of dismissing the commands of Moses and introducing unfamiliar teaching. The lawyer approaches with that accusation in mind, hoping to catch Jesus in a statement against the Law. He calls him Master, yet does not truly consent to become his disciple. Even his question about eternal life borrows the language Jesus commonly used with those who approached him. The respectful title and serious subject therefore conceal a testing purpose rather than an open desire to learn.

Cyril connects Jesus' reply directly to the lawyer's concealed intention. The man hopes that Christ will say something that can be used against him as an enemy of Moses. Instead, Christ directs him to the very Law he claims to defend. The answer does not supply the contradiction the questioner seeks. By asking what is written and how he reads it, Jesus makes the lawyer state the command himself. The attempted accusation is met with the witness of Moses rather than with a rival doctrine.

Basil says that God has implanted in us the beginning of love for him, which the divine commands cultivate and bring toward the perfection of grace. We naturally love what is good, what is related to us, and those who benefit us; God is supremely good, our source, and our greatest benefactor. Love of neighbour completes the first command and is completed by it. Our social nature already inclines us toward mutual need and care. God asks for the fruits of the seeds he has first given.

Origen draws attention to Jesus' own testimony about the Law. The command to love God comes from Deuteronomy, and the command to love one's neighbour from Leviticus. Christ joins his promise of life to these passages, affirming that the Scriptures given by the Creator speak of everlasting life. Origen uses this against teachings that separate the God of the Gospel from the God who gave the Law. Seeking eternal life does not require rejecting the Law and the Prophets, but receiving the love they command.

Cyril describes the lawyer as moving from one fault into another. Having tried to entrap Christ, he now takes pride in the praise of his correct answer. He imagines that no one can be compared with him in righteousness, and asks who his neighbour could be. The question exposes a failure of love rather than a lack of information. If he recognizes no neighbour, he has no love for his brother. Cyril connects this with the apostolic warning that one cannot love the unseen God while refusing love to the brother one sees.

In Augustine's spiritual reading, the traveller represents Adam and the human race. Jerusalem signifies the heavenly city of peace, while Jericho signifies mortal life, pictured through the moon's changing course. The robbers stand for the devil and his angels, who strip humanity of immortality and wound it by persuading it to sin. The man is half dead because human beings retain the capacity to understand and know God, yet are corrupted and weighed down by sin. The story thus portrays both humanity's remaining life and its urgent need for healing.

Augustine considers the traveller an Israelite and observes that the priest is therefore his neighbour by birth. Yet that existing relationship does not move the priest to help the man lying on the ground. He sees him and passes by. Augustine's comparison prepares us for the Samaritan, who is far removed by ancestry but comes very near through compassion. Shared origin alone has not produced the act of mercy the wounded man needs. The story distinguishes an inherited relationship from the compassionate nearness that actually brings assistance.

Theophylact reads the passing of the priest and Levite as more than a failure to notice the sufferer. He says that they did feel pity when they thought about him, but afterwards were overcome by selfishness and went away. Their initial response did not become the care he needed. In this interpretation, the words about passing by reveal the defeat of compassion within them. The wounded man remains unaided because concern gives way to self-interest rather than becoming an act of assistance.

Ambrose reads the Samaritan's approach in the light of Christ's coming to us. The Son of Man comes down from heaven, and his arrival makes him near to humanity. That nearness is not merely a change of place: he takes our infirmities upon himself and bestows compassion. In this way he becomes our neighbour. The wounded man's suffering is met by the mercy of the one who draws close to him. For Ambrose, the Samaritan's compassion therefore reveals the movement of Christ toward those he comes to save.

Gregory interprets the wine as the sharpness of correction and the oil as the gentleness of mercy. Wine washes what is corrupted, while oil soothes what is being healed. He applies this image to the care of those entrusted to us: severity and kindness must be joined rather than allowed to work in isolation. Excessive harshness can embitter those under our care, while excessive indulgence can leave them slack. The remedy requires both, combined in a way that serves the wounded person's healing.

Ambrose sees the Samaritan's departure as an image of Christ returning to the place from which he descended. He suggests that the following day may signify the resurrection. The two coins represent the two covenants, bearing the image of the eternal King, through whose value our wounds are healed. Ambrose also blesses the innkeeper entrusted with another's healing. Christ's promise to repay points toward the day of judgment, when the Lord, now present but unseen, will be openly beheld and reward the care given at his charge.

Cyril says that Jesus' question follows fittingly from the story. The lawyer must now identify which traveller became a neighbour to the sufferer. Neither the priest nor the Levite did so; the one who had compassion did. Cyril draws a demanding conclusion about religious standing and learning: the dignity of priesthood and the knowledge of the Law are empty unless confirmed by good works. The question therefore brings the discussion back to lived mercy, making action rather than status the decisive evidence of neighbourly love.

Chrysostom unfolds the command by considering what happens when we meet someone in distress. We are not to begin by saying that the sufferer must be wicked. Whether the person is Gentile or Jew, the need for help makes a claim upon our assistance. Nor should the evil into which the person has fallen become an excuse for disputing that claim. Christ's instruction directs the hearer toward mercy rather than toward a judgment used to avoid helping. The Samaritan's action becomes the pattern for responding to the oppressed.