“But wanting to justify himself, he asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbor?’ ” — Luke 10:29

One thing that has never been in question when it comes to Gospel teaching is the commandment — part of the “greatest commandment” — to not only love and care for our neighbors, but to love them as we love ourselves. It’s not easy to live out day to day. It requires a sacrifice that sometimes pushes up against our human tendency toward self-preservation and comfort. I speak from the personal and not just the universal here. Caring for and loving strangers, those in the shadows of our society, is part of what makes the Gospel so radical. It was radical when Jesus preached it; it is radical today.

Jesus answers the above question in the Gospel of Luke with the Parable of the Good Samaritan, an impossible-to-ignore story about the righteous who choose to do the wrong thing and the one who is despised by society but does the right thing. We like to imagine ourselves in the role of the Good Samaritan, remembering times we may have donated to a food drive or helped out at a soup kitchen or maybe even literally helped someone up off the ground. But we don’t have to dig too far to uncover the fears and built-in biases that often prevent us from committing ourselves fully and without condition to what Jesus demands.

In our society today, we can look around our own towns, cities and larger country and see the many men, women and children who are figuratively — and in many cases quite literally — on the side of the road in need of mercy. We take cover in the broad brushstrokes that attempt to cast all of the marginalized as criminals and cheats. We convince ourselves that our willingness to look away is grounded in preservation of orderliness. Like the priest and the Levite in the parable, we rush by, clutching our convictions and hoping someone else will fulfill the Gospel mandate for us. But what if we are the people we are waiting for?

Pope Francis, in a recent letter to the U.S. bishops, said: “Christians know very well that it is only by affirming the infinite dignity of all that our own identity as persons and as communities reaches its maturity. Christian love is not a concentric expansion of interests that little by little extend to other persons and groups. …The human person is a subject with dignity who, through the constitutive relationship with all, especially with the poorest, can gradually mature in his identity and vocation. The true ‘ordo amoris’ (order of love) that must be promoted is that which we discover by meditating constantly on the parable of the ‘Good Samaritan’ (cf. Lk 10:25-37), that is, by meditating on the love that builds a fraternity open to all, without exception.”

The pope’s powerful message calls us back to who we are not just as individual Catholics but as a universal Church, as the Body of Christ at work in our broken world today.

We take comfort in Jesus’ shared humanity with us, in his understanding of our suffering. For many of us who live with the privilege of security and relative safety, it’s often easy to overlook Jesus’ experience, along with Mary and Joseph, as a refugee fleeing violence, as displaced people dependent on the kindness of strangers in a foreign land. If we see that as just a story and not a fundamental truth in our history, it allows us to look away from those who are similarly persecuted.

What would Jesus do? Well, we don’t have to imagine; we know. And not only do we know what Jesus would do, we know what Jesus expects us to do:

“Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.” (Luke 10:36-37)

This column first appeared in the Feb. 20, 2025, issue of The Evangelist.
Photo copyright Mary DeTurris Poust, Rome 2010

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At some point or another, most of us have been blamed for something we didn’t do. It doesn’t feel good, and sometimes it can be downright scary. Whenever I read a story of someone released from prison after having served decades for a crime they did not commit, I am astounded by their joy, their gratitude, and I often imagine how I might respond in a similarly horrific situation. I’m not sure I’d be quite so gracious.

To be able to withstand the unthinkable and maintain an unshakable trust in God, as we witness Susanna doing in today’s first reading, requires not blind faith but an abiding faith in the One who rights all wrongs, even when from an earthly standpoint, justice is not done. In our Gospel, we see a variation on the same theme. This time the woman in question appears to be guilty, and the laws of that time required justice of the harshest kind. Instead, Jesus offers mercy, compassion, tenderness.

Both women are spared—the innocent and the guilty. How does that make us feel? Is there a place in our lives where we expect mercy for a wrong we’ve committed, even when we will not offer the same to others? Is there a place where we have been wronged and hope for punishment to be meted out to satisfy our desire for justice? As it turns out, “justice” looks different through the lens of the Gospel. Are we willing to put on the dual lenses of trust and mercy?

From the March 2024 issue of Give Us This Day, www.giveusthisday.org (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2024). Used with permission.

Photo by Alex Shute on Unsplash

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My brief reflection from Give Us This Day earlier this week:

Whenever we take our children to Manhattan, we are confronted by the reality of “these least brothers” Jesus talks about in today’s Gospel. On subways and street corners they hold out battered cups in battered hands. Our kids look to us to gauge whether we should be doing something, and if not, why not? We tell them we can’t give to every street person. And even as we explain, we fight our own guilt over ignoring those with the least who live among those with the most.

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As you all know, I love social media and I love all things Catholic, so this is the perfect fit for me. I spent all day yesterday out at the National Shrine of the Divine Mercy in Stockbridge covering Divine Mercy Sunday with Bishop Edward Scharfenberger of Albany, who concelebrated Mass with Cardinal Timothy Dolan of New York. Here are a couple of photos from the event:

Cardinal Dolan and Bishop Scharfenberger

Bishop Scharfenberger is interviewed by Father Chris Alar, MIC, during EWTN’s live broadcast.

If you’re from New York’s Capital Region and would like to keep up with Catholic news and events, be sure to follow the Diocese of Albany on Facebook at www.facebook.com/DioceseOfAlbany and on Twitter at @AlbanyDiocese. You can also follow Bishop Scharfenberger’s Facebook page at www.facebook.com/AlbanyBishopEd and his Twitter feed at @AlbBishopEd.

I’ll be back with some regular NSS posting soon. Thanks for your patience!

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I’ve always had a tiny bit of a soft spot for Judas Iscariot. I know. It sounds crazy at best, traitorous at worst, but it’s true. When I hear today’s Gospel and fast-forward in my mind to what I know is coming, I ache a little for what I have to assume was terribly misguided good intention on Judas’s part.

Surely he didn’t want Jesus killed. He thought Jesus would prove himself once and for all. When he finally realizes what he’s done, Judas does something even worse than his betrayal: he doubts God’s mercy. We all know that had he gone to Jesus, even as Jesus hung on the cross, Judas would have been forgiven. But Judas just didn’t really grasp who Jesus was, despite living with him and witnessing miracle upon miracle. Judas was too focused on worldly things and his own agenda.

How many of us fall into the same trap, molding Jesus into someone who fits our own worldview or agenda, and at the same time underestimating the love and mercy that is ours even when we disappoint, betray, injure, and fail?

We all harbor at least a sliver of Judas somewhere deep inside. Jesus lets us make our choices, even bad ones, but opens his arms to offer us forgiveness again and again. Do we, unlike Judas, understand the enormity of God’s mercy?

Give Us This Day is a monthly personal prayer subscription periodical with Scripture readings for each day; Morning, Evening, and Night Prayer; daily reflections; and more. Click HERE to learn more.

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“I feel so badly for those people who would come to this party that is Christianity and refuse to dance with grace,” says Glennon Doyle Melton, author of Carry On Warrior (a great book, by the way).

Five minutes is all it takes. Watch it, and then decide to dance. (And you can read the full Hafiz poem under the YouTube link below.)

http://youtu.be/dbIVi_hFJsg

The small man
Builds cages for everyone
He knows.
While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,
Keeps dropping keys all night long
For the
Beautiful
Rowdy
Prisoners.
~hafiz

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