A man was walking from Jerusalem to Jehrico when he was set upon by robbers, who stripped him naked, beat him within an inch of his life, and left him to die on the dusty road to Jehrico, where the walls fell. He might’ve been a good man who beat his wife, or a bad man who was kind to his slaves. All we know is he was naked and dying and alone, on the road to Jehrico.

Then a priest came walking down that same lonesome highway, and saw the man who’d been walking, who was now robbed and naked and beaten and dying. And the priest did the right thing, and passed by, on the far side of the road, for the priest was too holy to risk becoming unclean, on the road to Jehrico.

A Levite soon came upon the beaten, naked, penniless man. The Levite did the right thing, for he wasn’t holy enough to risk becoming unclean. He crossed to the other side of the road, kept his eyes front, and ignored the wounded soul beginning to rot before it had finished dying, on the road to Jehrico.

Then came a Samaritan down the road, and this was bad news for the dying man (who may have been good or bad, and probably had a name). People from Samaria and people from Jerusalem did not get along, they were enemies, plain and simple, and the Samaritan ought to have thanked God for the opportunity to witness an enemy in pain.

What the Samaritan did next was horrible, unbelievable, perhaps damnable. He felt compassion, Jesus said (and who was He to lie?). The Samaritan stopped (can you imagine?) and dressed the dying man’s wounds. The Samaritan wasted good money on oil and wine and hotel rooms, all for an unclean stranger, on the road to Jehrico. And now the Samaritan was unclean as well and a rule-breaker to boot and out all that money he’d wasted.

Time passes. And if you find yourself on that dusty road to Jehrico, and you choose to listen, you will still hear whispers of the dying man and the Bad Samaritan who saved his life.