sent | crossing the street
Author: Isaac Ricker
Crossing the Street
In Luke 10, a lawyer stands up to test Jesus and asks Him, “What shall I do to inherit eternal life?”
Jesus responds with a question: “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?”
The man knows the answer.
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”
Jesus essentially says, “Yep. Do it.”
But the man wants to justify himself, so he asks the question that leads Jesus into the parable of the Good Samaritan: “And who is my neighbor?”
The lawyer wasn't really looking for an answer. He was looking for a boundary. He wanted to know who counted as his neighbor so he could know who didn't.
Jesus turns that entire idea upside down.
A man is beaten and left on the side of the road. A priest sees him and crosses to the other side. A Levite does the same. Both see him. Both intentionally create distance between themselves and the man.
Then comes the Samaritan.
Someone who would have been the least likely person to help a Jewish man in that culture stops. He has compassion. He moves toward the suffering. He bandages the man's wounds, carries him to an inn, pays for his care, and promises to return.
Jesus then asks, “Which of these three proved to be a neighbor?”
The lawyer has to answer, “The one who showed him mercy.”
“Go, and do likewise.”
That command is still for us.
We may not see someone beaten on the side of the road every morning, but we are constantly surrounded by opportunities to notice people, move toward them, and love our neighbors.
And I think there is a unique challenge for us today: compassion can become a social currency.
Loving your neighbor goes beyond our resources or circumstances.
We can share the right post, support the right cause, acknowledge someone's suffering, or give the appearance that we care. None of those things are inherently bad. But biblical compassion doesn't stop at the feeling.
Gospel compassion moves toward suffering.
It doesn't simply signal that we care. It lovingly displays the kind of love that Christ has shown us.
Because Christ first moved toward us when we were in desperate need.
When we read this parable, we can easily think we are one loving action away from becoming the Good Samaritan. But the Gospel reminds us that we were actually the person lying in the ditch.
We were the ones who needed rescue.
Jesus came to us, picked us up, bound our wounds, paid our way, and brought us back onto the road.
And now He sends us back onto that same road—not to pass people by, but to become people who move toward those who are hurting.
That kind of love will cost us something.
The Samaritan had to give up time, convenience, money, and probably his plans for the day. Loving our neighbors will sometimes require the same from us.
It also means living with open hands.
We can be incredibly generous with our own comfort, pleasure, and plans, yet suddenly become very careful when someone else's need asks something of us.
Jesus doesn't promise that we'll always have more time, more money, or more resources because we choose to love our neighbor. He simply calls us to live open-handedly.
Loving our neighbor goes beyond our cultural differences.
Jesus didn't give the lawyer a list of acceptable people. He gave him a person—a Samaritan.
The Gospel reminds us that the greatest boundary has already been crossed. No one is further removed from us than we were from God when He reached out to us.
If Jesus was willing to cross every boundary to reach us, who are we to decide that a particular person or group is too far away for us to love?
The truth is, this standard is impossible to live out in our own strength.
Loving our neighbor goes beyond our ability
Loving God with everything we have and loving everyone as ourselves is far greater than we can accomplish through effort or knowledge.
And that's actually the good news.
We don't need more willpower. We need the grace of God and the power of the Holy Spirit.
The same Gospel that saves us is the Gospel that equips us to live differently.
So this week, here are a few rhythms to help us cross the street:
Receive grace before you attempt to give grace.
Go first to the One who picked you up, healed your wounds, and paid your way. Let Him equip you to love others.
Reach outside of your circle.
Make a connection with someone who isn't normally part of your world. You cannot effectively love your neighbor if you don't know your neighbor.
Bless someone who doesn't deserve it.
Buy that difficult coworker a coffee. Help the neighbor who annoys you. Tip your barista well even when the coffee isn't great.
These may seem like small things, but they are small steps across the divides that keep us from loving people well.
We aren't going to cross the barriers that really matter if we can't learn to cross the small ones in front of us every day.
The invitation of Jesus isn't to try harder and become better people on our own.
It's to run to Him, receive His grace, and allow Him to teach us how to love Him and love our neighbor.
Go, and do likewise.
Crossing the Street
In Luke 10, a lawyer stands up to test Jesus and asks Him, “What shall I do to inherit eternal life?”
Jesus responds with a question: “What is written in the Law? How do you read it?”
The man knows the answer.
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”
Jesus essentially says, “Yep. Do it.”
But the man wants to justify himself, so he asks the question that leads Jesus into the parable of the Good Samaritan: “And who is my neighbor?”
The lawyer wasn't really looking for an answer. He was looking for a boundary. He wanted to know who counted as his neighbor so he could know who didn't.
Jesus turns that entire idea upside down.
A man is beaten and left on the side of the road. A priest sees him and crosses to the other side. A Levite does the same. Both see him. Both intentionally create distance between themselves and the man.
Then comes the Samaritan.
Someone who would have been the least likely person to help a Jewish man in that culture stops. He has compassion. He moves toward the suffering. He bandages the man's wounds, carries him to an inn, pays for his care, and promises to return.
Jesus then asks, “Which of these three proved to be a neighbor?”
The lawyer has to answer, “The one who showed him mercy.”
“Go, and do likewise.”
That command is still for us.
We may not see someone beaten on the side of the road every morning, but we are constantly surrounded by opportunities to notice people, move toward them, and love our neighbors.
And I think there is a unique challenge for us today: compassion can become a social currency.
Loving your neighbor goes beyond our resources or circumstances.
We can share the right post, support the right cause, acknowledge someone's suffering, or give the appearance that we care. None of those things are inherently bad. But biblical compassion doesn't stop at the feeling.
Gospel compassion moves toward suffering.
It doesn't simply signal that we care. It lovingly displays the kind of love that Christ has shown us.
Because Christ first moved toward us when we were in desperate need.
When we read this parable, we can easily think we are one loving action away from becoming the Good Samaritan. But the Gospel reminds us that we were actually the person lying in the ditch.
We were the ones who needed rescue.
Jesus came to us, picked us up, bound our wounds, paid our way, and brought us back onto the road.
And now He sends us back onto that same road—not to pass people by, but to become people who move toward those who are hurting.
That kind of love will cost us something.
The Samaritan had to give up time, convenience, money, and probably his plans for the day. Loving our neighbors will sometimes require the same from us.
It also means living with open hands.
We can be incredibly generous with our own comfort, pleasure, and plans, yet suddenly become very careful when someone else's need asks something of us.
Jesus doesn't promise that we'll always have more time, more money, or more resources because we choose to love our neighbor. He simply calls us to live open-handedly.
Loving our neighbor goes beyond our cultural differences.
Jesus didn't give the lawyer a list of acceptable people. He gave him a person—a Samaritan.
The Gospel reminds us that the greatest boundary has already been crossed. No one is further removed from us than we were from God when He reached out to us.
If Jesus was willing to cross every boundary to reach us, who are we to decide that a particular person or group is too far away for us to love?
The truth is, this standard is impossible to live out in our own strength.
Loving our neighbor goes beyond our ability
Loving God with everything we have and loving everyone as ourselves is far greater than we can accomplish through effort or knowledge.
And that's actually the good news.
We don't need more willpower. We need the grace of God and the power of the Holy Spirit.
The same Gospel that saves us is the Gospel that equips us to live differently.
So this week, here are a few rhythms to help us cross the street:
Receive grace before you attempt to give grace.
Go first to the One who picked you up, healed your wounds, and paid your way. Let Him equip you to love others.
Reach outside of your circle.
Make a connection with someone who isn't normally part of your world. You cannot effectively love your neighbor if you don't know your neighbor.
Bless someone who doesn't deserve it.
Buy that difficult coworker a coffee. Help the neighbor who annoys you. Tip your barista well even when the coffee isn't great.
These may seem like small things, but they are small steps across the divides that keep us from loving people well.
We aren't going to cross the barriers that really matter if we can't learn to cross the small ones in front of us every day.
The invitation of Jesus isn't to try harder and become better people on our own.
It's to run to Him, receive His grace, and allow Him to teach us how to love Him and love our neighbor.
Go, and do likewise.
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