Though the distance from Jerusalem to Jericho is merely 15 miles, the hazardous road takes a traveler from a height of approximately 2500 feet above sea level to a depth of 800 feet below. The traveler endures dusty desert terrains before meeting the plush green fields of the “City of Palms.” No traveler along this road ever forgets the long stretches and winding hills and valleys that it takes to navigate through it. Fulton Sheen told a story about this dangerous and lonely road with lots of sharp turns. During one of his pilgrimage trips, he saw a restaurant by the side of the Jericho road and stopped for a visit. It surprised him that the owner of the restaurant had some other name on the sign. His American entrepreneurial sense was steered as he told the owner, “Man, you’re losing a lot of business. Take away that sign and just write ‘Good Samaritan Inn.’” To his amazement, the Arab owner of the shop had never heard about the Good Samaritan.
The parable of the Good Samaritan won’t shock us today, having heard it many times and for many years; but it clearly sent shock waves on the spine of the people who first heard it. If I were to retell the story today, I would have to change the characters to make it relevant. For example, the first person who passed the poor victim would be a cardinal, then a bishop, or a priest; and the third person, who helped the victim, would be an al-Qaeda member. Got it? You would agree that this description puts a different light on the story. Many of us have our own Samaritan; people we exclude and can’t tolerate.
The traveler would be one like many of us, often carefree about our holy undertakings, especially our spiritual journey and discipleship. We often do not remember that the road to heaven is filled with sharp turns, long stretches, winding hills and dangerous valleys for which we require distinct accoutrements to navigate the terrains, as well as unceasing solicitation of the help of the Almighty. Lacking the wisdom to travel with our holy compatriots and the companionship of prayer and spiritual discipline, we often fall into the hands of the evil one who beat us up, rob us of our spiritual goods, and leave us soaking in guilt.
The priest who passes by the wounded man would be like any clergyman of today drawn to religious duties but so lacking in charity that the needs, hunger, and cries of the wayfarer are oblivious to him. Such spiritual torpor puts laws and formulae above the needs of God’s wounded people lying helpless in the many battlefields of the enemy. Pope Francis pleaded for the Church to become a field hospital for modern man wounded by sin. Priests, like Levites sometimes excuse themselves from the practice of charity under the pretext that they are busy with the Lord’s work and have little time for charity. The parable of the Good Samaritan says: it belongs to all to practice charity. Charity is blind: it sees no stranger, no enemy, or any of the distinctions created by hate. Charity has no measurement: no length, no width, no density, no unit, no volume, no mass, and no degree: because its true measure is to love without measure.
The Samaritan on a journey, according to Severus of Antioch, is Christ Himself, who, upon seeing humanity ravaged by the attack of the enemy didn’t pass by but stopped to pour the wine of His Word over our wounds, mixing it with the oil of His sweetness and love for us (Tit 3:4). The inn to which He took the wounded man is the Church—His Field Hospital, which He made the dwelling place and refuge of the afflicted. Inside the inn, He shows greater solicitude by bestowing grace (salvation). He leaves two coins to the innkeeper—pastors and apostles—to take good care of His patient. Those two coins represent the two Testaments, the Old and the New, coming from the same God and bearing His image. Rich gifts (the sacraments) spring from them to gladden the heart of believers and heal the infirmities of those rescued from the chaos of evil.
Fr. Chukwudi Jo Okonkwo