“Won’t you be my neighbor?”

For many of us, that phrase immediately brings to mind cardigans, puppets, and a gentle voice reminding us that kindness matters. It sounds warm. Safe. Non-threatening.

But when Jesus talks about neighbors, the question is much more disruptive.

In Luke 10:25–37, Jesus is asked a question that we still ask today: What does it mean to live faithfully? The lawyer knows the right words. Love God. Love your neighbor. That part is easy. It’s committed to memory. The next question, well it’s much more difficult: Who is my neighbor?

That question still sits at the center of our cultural and religious tension today. We ask it every time we draw a line around who deserves compassion and who does not. Every time we decide whose suffering matters. Every time we excuse our indifference because someone is “not like us.”

Drawing Lines Comes Naturally

In Jesus’ world, neighbors were defined by clear boundaries. Religious identity, ethnicity, and social standing shaped who belonged. Jewish life under Roman occupation relied on those lines for survival and unity.

In our modern world, the boundaries look a lot different, but the instinct is the same.

Politics divides us. Culture sorts us. Algorithms feed us people who already agree with us. Even churches often define “neighbor” by membership, theology, or moral comfort.

We say we love our neighbors. We just quietly narrow the definition.

Jesus refuses to let us do that.

The Road Nobody Wanted to Walk

When Jesus tells the story we now call the Parable of the Good Samaritan, He places it on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho—a steep, dangerous stretch known for violence. His listeners knew the risk. They knew what kind of people traveled that road. They knew what it meant to keep moving.

The priest and the Levite don’t stop. These are religious leaders. People who know Scripture. People entrusted with spiritual responsibility. Their decision to pass by isn’t presented as cruelty. It’s efficiency. Safety. Self-preservation.

That should make us uncomfortable because their reasons look a lot like ours.

Mercy That Crosses Identity

Then Jesus introduces the Samaritan, someone the audience would instinctively distrust.

Centuries of religious conflict separated Jews and Samaritans. They disagreed about worship, Scripture, and identity. They questioned each other’s legitimacy. Calling a Samaritan “good” would have sounded absurd.

And yet, the Samaritan is the only one who stops.

He sees the wounded man. He draws near. He risks time, money, safety, and inconvenience. His compassion, well it’s costly.

Jesus ends the story by asking who acted like a neighbor. The lawyer can’t even bring himself to say “the Samaritan.” He says, “The one who showed mercy.”

That answer still exposes us.

The Church’s Blind Spot

The uncomfortable truth is that the church often resembles the priest and the Levite more than the Samaritan.

We value correct belief. We prioritize order. We protect our institutions. We worry about optics and safety and sustainability. And in doing so, we sometimes step around suffering instead of stepping into it.

We serve selectively. We love conditionally. We reduce neighbor-love to charity projects rather than lived proximity.

Jesus’ parable doesn’t ask whether we agree with someone. It asks whether we see them.

Love That Isn’t Neutral

American culture tells us that love should be polite and non-confrontational. Keep it private. Keep it safe. Don’t cross lines. Don’t get involved.

Jesus tells a story where love crosses every line available.

The Samaritan doesn’t ask who caused the man’s wounds. He doesn’t check whether the man shares his beliefs. He doesn’t wait for permission. Mercy moves first.

That kind of love disrupts systems built on exclusion. It challenges power. It exposes the limits of a faith that never costs us anything.

Mr. Rogers and the Radical Act of Attention

This is where the legacy of Fred Rogers connects so deeply to the gospel.

Mr. Rogers didn’t preach sermons. He practiced attention. He listened. He named feelings. He insisted—quietly but firmly—that every person carries worth.

That posture reflects the heart of the Good Samaritan. Attention itself becomes an act of mercy. To truly see someone is to resist the forces that dehumanize them.

In a culture obsessed with outrage and speed, attention is radical.

Epiphany and a Wider World

The season of Epiphany reminds us that God’s grace has always moved outward. The Magi arrive from far away. Outsiders recognize what insiders missed. Light appears beyond expected boundaries.

The Good Samaritan carries the same truth. God’s mercy is not contained. Love refuses to stay put.

If Epiphany reveals anything, it’s that God keeps showing up among people we didn’t expect, in places we weren’t looking.

Going and Doing Likewise

Jesus ends the parable with a command: Go and do likewise.

It’s putting belief into practice.

Neighbor-love shows up in everyday decisions. In how we talk about people we disagree with. In who we make time for. In whether our faith leads us toward others or away from them.

It’s easier to debate who our neighbor is than to become one.

But Jesus leaves us no loopholes.

If faith doesn’t reshape how we see the people around us, it hasn’t gone deep enough.

And if our love never crosses a boundary, it may not be the kind of love Jesus was talking about at all.

Prayer

Gracious God,
You meet us on the road, often when we least expect it.
You place people in our path and invite us to see them—not as problems to avoid, but as neighbors to love.

Forgive us for the times we have crossed to the other side.
For the moments we chose comfort over compassion,
silence over courage,
and safety over mercy.

Open our eyes to those who are hurting around us.
Soften our hearts toward people who are different from us.
Teach us to love beyond agreement,
to show mercy without conditions,
and to respond with care even when it costs us something.

Shape our faith so that it is lived, not just spoken.
May our love reflect the love we have received in Christ—
a love that crosses boundaries, restores dignity, and brings healing.

Send us from this place ready to walk the road with others.
Help us go and do likewise.

We pray this in the name of Jesus,
the One who stopped,
the One who saw,
and the One who still teaches us how to love.
Amen.