The Parable of the Good Samaritan: A Fresh Look

 All of you are familiar with the Parable of the Good Samaritan. It's found in the Bible, in Luke chapter 10, verses 25-37. The lesson in the parable is a powerful lesson, one that can apply to anyone, of any religious (or irreligious) stripe.

The Good Samaritan. Source: iStockPhoto

I'm not going to rehash the parable. You all know it — and if you don't know it, then grab a Bible and read it. If you don't have a Bible, go read it in Wikipedia. But I am going to tell you a modern story about the Parable of the Good Samaritan. It's ... well, you'll see.

I was once a Seminary teacher, and it was one of the greatest experiences of my life. In the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (the "Mormon" church), high school students start their day by attending a religious-studies class before school. It's called Seminary. It lasts from 6:00 to 6:50 a.m. Over four years, they study all the books that the Church considers holy scripture. It is hoped that, sometime during those four years, they are able to discover for themselves the reality of a resurrected and living Jesus Christ, the power that he has in their lives, and the future that he and his Father have in store for them.

(We can talk more about that some other time.)

Being a Seminary teacher is therefore a heavy responsibility. We're expected to teach the Gospel of Jesus Christ, through the power of the Holy Spirit, and in such a way that each student will hear or feel that Spirit inside themselves and gain their own witness of the truth, through a prayerful exercise of their own free will.

(We can talk more about that some other time, too.)

So one day, I was prepared to teach the Parable of the Good Samaritan. I had spent several days preparing this lesson, praying and pondering so that I could get it exactly right. In all of my teaching, I wanted the students to reach inside themselves and discover what these stories and these lessons meant for them in their lives. I didn't lecture, and I didn't rely solely on videos, either. I asked pointed questions and encouraged thoughtful discussion. For this lesson, I had planned to review the story in some detail, and afterwards to ask the students: "Therefore, what? What difference does this make in your life?"

(Wow. Most of the preceding paragraphs were background. Exposition. Setup. My story isn't as long as the setup.)

We lived about 1.5 miles from the church. I liked to get there around 5:30 to set up the classroom, do my final preparations, and greet the kids as they arrived. This morning I was behind schedule, and in a hurry to get there before 6:00.

Halfway there, I saw a minivan parked on the side of the road, with its four-way hazard lights flashing.

Yeah.

God wasn't even being subtle.

I looked up through the roof of the car, and cried out: "YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME! THIS ISN'T FAIR!" I didn't have time to stop. I had to get to the church building to get things ready. And according to Colorado state law, when you encounter a vehicle with its four-ways blinking, you're supposed to move one lane over, just like the priest and the Levite did in the parable, to give the disabled vehicle a safety margin.

But of course, I couldn't do that. I had to get to the church building, yes, but even more than that, I had to stop.

So I pulled over and parked in front of the minivan, walked over to the driver's door, and knocked on the window. The driver rolled down the window. It was a young mother and two young children. I asked, "Hi, are you in trouble? Is there a problem with your car? Is there something I can do to help you?"

She smiled, and said, "No, that's okay. I just called my husband and he'll be here in about five minutes."

I wished her good luck and, as I turned to go back to my car, I heard a sound like a pencil making a checkmark on paper, and a still, small voice saying, "You passed." I went to the church and taught my seminary lesson. At the end of the lesson I told my kids what had happened on the way to seminary that morning.

I have pondered repeatedly on this incident. It has become increasingly clear to me over the years that I could not have taught that parable with power and the Spirit, and delivered its lessons into my students' hearts, if I had not proven to my God and myself, and my students, that those lessons were deeply engraved in my own heart.