By Fr. Roy Cimagala
Chaplain
Center for Industrial Technology and Enterprise (CITE)
Talamban, Cebu City
Email: roycimagala@gmail.com
THE lawyer in Luke 10:25–37 thought he had Jesus cornered. "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" It sounded like an honest question, but there was a catch. He wanted the minimum requirement. He was searching for the finish line without running the race.
Jesus turned the tables. "What is written in the Law?" The lawyer answered perfectly: love God completely and love your neighbor as yourself. He knew the right words. His problem was not ignorance but reluctance. Wanting to justify himself, he asked, "And who is my neighbor?"
That is still the question many people ask today. Who deserves my kindness? Who has earned my forgiveness? Who qualifies for my concern? We like clear boundaries because they make love manageable. We prefer selective charity to unlimited compassion.
Jesus refused to play that game. Instead of defining "neighbor," He told the story of a man beaten, robbed, and left half dead. A priest walked by. Then a Levite. Both saw the victim. Both kept walking. Their eyes worked perfectly. Their hearts did not.
Religion without mercy becomes a performance. It is possible to know every prayer, observe every ritual, defend every doctrine, and still fail the simplest examination: seeing Christ in the person who needs help.
Then came the Samaritan. The listeners would have expected him to be the villain. Instead, he became the hero. He stopped. He drew near. He treated wounds. He carried the injured man. He paid the bill. He promised to return.
Compassion was not an emotion. It became action. Love is never measured by beautiful intentions. It is measured by what our hands, feet, wallets, and schedules are willing to do.
The parable also tells the story of every human soul. Sin leaves people wounded, stripped of dignity, and unable to save themselves. Divine mercy does not pass by at a safe distance. It comes close. It heals. It restores. It pays the price.
What the Samaritan did for the wounded traveler points beyond itself to the saving mission of Christ, who found humanity helpless and refused to leave it that way.
That changes everything. If Christ has treated us with such mercy, excuses for withholding mercy from others disappear. Christians are not merely admirers of compassion. They are meant to become channels of it.
Notice the question Jesus asks at the end. Not, "Who was the wounded man's neighbor?" But, "Who became a neighbor?"
That single change shifts the entire discussion. The issue is no longer identifying the right people to love. The issue is becoming the right kind of person.
Every encounter becomes an opportunity to practice mercy. The difficult colleague. The demanding family member. The lonely elderly neighbor. The stranger no one notices. The person everyone avoids. Love refuses to ask whether they deserve it before offering help.
The final command is wonderfully brief: "Go and do likewise." Not, "Go and discuss likewise." Not, "Go and admire likewise."
Go and do.
The world does not need more experts in compassion. It needs more practitioners. Eternal life belongs to those whose love for God overflows naturally into love for others. The shortest road to heaven often begins by crossing the street to help someone lying on the side of the road.
The real neighbor is not the one we manage to define. The real neighbor is the one we choose to become.
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