But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was: and when he saw him, he had compassion on him. Now, for the sake of strong contrast, Jesus paints on his canvas the figure of one who, as a Samaritan, was as far removed as possible from being a neighbour to the sufferer (who, most probably, was a Jew) in the sense in which the austere Jewish lawyer would of himself understand the term "neighbour", The Samaritan, hated of the Jews, and most probably, in common with the rest of his nation, hating them—he, in his turn, was journeying along the ill-omened "Way of Blood;" he too sees, like the priest, the form of the man, wounded perhaps to death, lying by the way, and, like the Levite, draws near to look on the helpless sufferer; but, unlike priest and Levite, stays by the wounded man, and, regardless of peril, trouble, or expense, does his best to help the helpless.
And went to him, and bound up his wounds, pouring in off and wine, and set him on his own beast, and brought him to an inn, and took care of him. And on the morrow when he departed, he took out two pence, and gave them to the host, and said unto him, Take care of him; and whatsoever thou spendest more, when I come again, I will repay thee. All these little tender details of the Samaritan's pitiful love are sketched in by a master-hand. There is first a noble, generous impulse, at once crystallized into a kindly brotherly act. Not satisfied with merely carrying out the first impulse, the Samaritan puts himself to inconvenience, perhaps to peril, and, after dressing the wounds, takes the wounded one along with him, provides lodging for him, and even takes care of the sick and friendless man's future. The wounded man was no rich and powerful merchant or noble—that is clear from the necessity of the little provision which the Samaritan made for him at the inn when he went on his journey; probably just an itinerant Jew pedlar. There were many of these always travelling about the East, we know. The piled-up acts of kindness were all clearly done to a poor stranger, without hope of recompense or reward. The life of that kindly man was evidently one which finds its high but secret guerdon in the blessedness of its own deeds. The Master trod been called by his bitter foes, in their blind rage, a "Samaritan." liras he in any way picturing himself? To an inn. The Greek word is not the same as the "inn" of Luke 2:7. It reminds us that, besides the open khan or caravanserai spoken of at Bethlehem, and which was crowded with travellers, in Palestine at this period was to be found the Greek type of inn, where a host or landlord entertained the guests. The khan was simply a group of empty buildings kept up for the use of travellers, who provided furniture and food for themselves. Throughout the Levant, Greek customs were gradually being introduced.
Which now of these three, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto him that fell among the thieves? And he said, He that showed mercy on him. The deep pathos of the little story, the meaning of which the trained-scholar mind of the lawyer at once grasped, went right home to the ]mart. The Jewish scribe, in spite of prejudice anti jealousy, was too noble not to confess that the Galilaean Master's estimate of a neighbour was the true one, and the estimate of the Jerusalem schools the wrong one; so at once he replies, "He that showed mercy on him." Even then, in that hour of the noblest confession his lips had ever made, the lawyer trained in those strange and mistaken schools, the outcome of which is the Talmud, could not force himself to name the hated Samaritan name, but paraphrases it in this titan. The scene closes with the Lord's charge, "Then imitate that act." Go, and do thou likewise. The parable thus answers the question—Who is my neighbour? Any one, it replies, who needs help, and whom I have power and opportunity to help, no matter what his rank, race, or religion may be. Neighbourhood is made coextensive with humanity; any human being is my neighbour who needs aid, or to whom I can render aid. But it answers the other and the still larger and deeper question with which the scene which called the parable out began. "Master," asked the lawyer (Luke 10:25), "what shall I do to inherit eternal life?" Or in other words, "What is the virtue which saves?" The Scriptures teach that without holiness no one shall see the Lord, that is, shall inherit eternal life; and in this parable two kinds of holiness are set before us—the one spurious, the other genuine. The spurious holiness is that of the priest and Levite, two officially holy persons;—spurious holiness is sanctity divorced from charity. In the person of the Samaritan the nature of true sanctity is exhibited;—we are taught that the way to please God, the way to genuine holiness, is the practice of charity. Another and a very different exposition of this great and loving parable treats it as a Divine allegory. It commends itself to the present generation less than the plain matter-of-fact exegesis adopted in the foregoing notes. In the allegory, the wounded traveller represents mankind at large, stripped by the devil and his angels; he is left by them grievously wounded, yet not dead outright. Priest and Levite were alike powerless to help. "Many passed us by," once wrote a devout mediaeval writer, "and there was none to save." Moses and his Law, Aaron and his sacrifices, patriarch, prophet, and priest,—these were powerless. Only the true Samaritan (Christ), beholding, was moved with compassion and poured oil into the wounds. Among the ancients, Chrysostom and Clement of Alexandria and Augustine might be cited as good examples of these allegorical expositors. Among mediaeval Churchmen, Bernard and his devout school. Although this method of exposition has not been adopted here, still an exegesis which has commended itself so heartily to learned and devout Churchmen in all the Christian ages deserves at least a more respectful mention than the scornful allusion or the contemptuous silence with which it is nowadays too often dismissed. Godet, for instance, describes this allegorical interpretation adopted by the Fathers as rivalling that of the Gnostics.