The Good Samaritan
The Samaritan loved, not by any command of the law, but because he knew his Father’s heart.
“…for the letter kills, but the spirit gives life.” 2 Corinthians 3:6
A man traveled on his own down a road saturated in dust. The fading light numbed the already monotonous colours of the desert and urged him forward. The last thing he wanted was to be out there after dark. If it hadn’t been for his daughter’s illness he would have waited until morning to make the journey.
He moved through the pass and his heart began to race. His calloused hand pressed on the red rock as he lowered himself through a steep part of the terrain. He knew well the stories told of that place, as they sat by the fire, and he wondered if the colour of the rock was a natural occurrence or, as legend had it, was caused by bloodshed.
The wind let loose for a second. A swoosh past the man’s ear startled him and quickened his pace. But the puff carried with it more than air. A practiced hand brought down on the mans head pitched him swiftly to the ground. The man dazed from the first knock was not able to cover his head against the group of men that had set upon him.
Bleeding terribly and close to death, the robbers loosened his clothes, arguing about who would carry the bloodied bits. The last to go kicked a plume of dust in the injured man’s motionless face.
In and out of consciousness the man spent the night in fear, shivering uncontrollably and waiting for the end to come. His mind would erratically drift to his daughter and suck the breath from his lungs. But as morning dawned and the first stream of light began to trickle over the mountain, a stride could be heard reverberating across the path. Someone was approaching. He had no energy left to even open his eyes. If it wasn’t someone to help him than perhaps it would be another thief coming to put an end to his misery.
The footsteps drew near and he waited barely able to take a breath. He heard a mumble that reminded him of his mother’s prayers and faith burst forth from his core but while the footsteps paused for a moment, it was only a moment more before they moved on and left him alone once again. Lost hope filled him with exceeding agony but the man soon heard another approach and a voice that echoed against the steep walls uttered something about the law and touching a dead man. His raw throat seared as he tried to call out but only a muted gargle emerged. And he was once again abandoned.
The man surrendered to his fate and even when he heard another coming he let himself slip back into the unknown recesses of his mind, willing himself to leave the earth once and for all.
The Samaritan was taking no chances on this journey, he never did. He always carried a weapon – never looking forward to any encounter on the road as very few were ever pleasant. He reached the pass he knew well, scouting it out as best he could before moving through.
He had heard about robbers pretending to be injured as a ploy to distract travellers, so when he first caught sight of the bloody mess he put his hand to his weapon. But he willed himself forward and was soon overcome with compassion for what lay before him. Risk or not, he could not leave the man. Quickly going to his side and with barely a glance around – the Samaritan left his fate up to the God he loved so much, a God who he knew would never dismiss a man in need.
He carefully cleaned the mans wounds with the wine he had been carrying, and tearing off swathes of his clothes – bandaged them well. With a skilled and measured movement he hoisted the injured man onto his donkey covering the man with his cloak.
Arriving at an inn, the Samaritan embraced the innkeeper, a friend who always owed him a favour. He handed the injured man over and pressing two coins into the innkeepers palm, the Samaritan promised to pay any further costs when he returned. The innkeeper shook his head as the Samaritan departed, he did not know another like this man. He was a better man than any that despise him for his birthright.