I’ve Been the Prodigal But Have I Been the Samaritan?
A combination of parables makes me wonder.
What if the Prodigal met the Samaritan on his journey home?
The kick to his abdomen created crippling pain. A fist to his face — a club to his head — everything went black. His eyes remained closed as breath escaped his lungs with a groan and gurgle of blood.
Although in and out of consciousness, he recognized he was outnumbered. It was no use trying to protect himself. The beating was inevitable, though he had nothing the men wanted.
He didn’t know how long the assault lasted. After beating him, the men left him on the road to die. Silently he lay there, naked and alone.
Time moved slowly. The burning sun seared his skin, adding to the pain of broken bones, his crushed skull, and lacerations. The Prodigal knew he would die soon. He accepted it. He deserved it. How did he ever think he could get home?
The Priest
As he heard footsteps, he gathered enough strength to lift his head. A man walked toward him. The extreme length of his tzitzit and the tassels attached to the hem indicated he was a Priest!
The Prodigal moved his hand to get the priest’s attention. His voice was hoarse, and all he could muster was a cough.
“Help,” he said through the blood in his throat. “Please.”
The Priest glanced down at the Prodigal and paused. He was obligated to help. He looked around and saw no one; he rushed across the road, his tassels swaying, waving goodbye.
As the Prodigal watched the priest disappear, he heaved as if to cry, but his body could not muster tears. He put his head down and closed his eyes. “What I would do to be back with the pigs,” he thought.
The Levite
More footsteps drew near. Another Levite, though not a Priest, stumbled upon his beaten body. The Prodigal again lifted his head and gurgled for help. The Levite walked faster and crossed the road.
The Samaritan
Another man approached. The Prodigal struggled to focus on him. The stranger mumbled something. Startled, the Prodigal tried to drag himself away from him.
“He is not Jewish,” he thought frantically. He tried to yell for help, but no sound came from his lips. His head fell to the ground, and he sank into the bloody sand beneath his body.
He had nothing left, and he was in the hands of an enemy. “Just kill me,” he thought. “Put me out of my misery.”
The pain faded. Darkness overtook him.
The Prodigal sat up quickly. He touched his head and felt a bandage. He lifted the bandage to uncover his eye as well as the large gaps in his scalp. He looked around at what appeared to be someone’s home.
“Where am I,” he thought. Slowly, he got up. His head throbbed, and his body ached as he limped to the next room.
He stopped when he realized where he was. “I am in Jericho,” he thought. “At an inn. Oh, no!”
A man hurried about in another room. “Sir, I have no money,” he exclaimed. “It will take months to work off this debt, and I am trying to get home. It would’ve been better for me to die on the road!” He collapsed in the doorway, weeping.
“Ah, brother, it was not me who saved you,” the innkeeper whispered as he helped him up.
“It was a Samaritan passing through. He said he found you along the road. It appeared you had been robbed and left to die. He put you on his animal and brought you here. He gave me money to care for your wounds and provide food and shelter for you.”
A Samaritan would never help me.
“A Samaritan?!” The Prodigal vaguely remembered a Samaritan kneeling beside him before he passed out.
He spat violently.
“I am a descendant of the tribe of Judah! A Samaritan would never help a Jew!” (see below for a short history)
The innkeeper’s eyes grew large. “It would seem on this day, no Judean would help a Jew.” He leaned close.
“Both a priest and a Levite left you out there to die. It was the Samaritan who had mercy and offered you help. You owe me nothing because he provided for you. Accept his mercy and get well. Then be gone!”
The innkeeper, visibly frustrated, returned to his work.
That night, the Prodigal couldn’t sleep.
“The Priest and the Levite disregarded me. My own people — those held in the highest esteem — ignored me as I lay, dying,” he whispered to himself in disbelief.
“But now I lie here, comfortable in a bed, my wounds bandaged, and my stomach full.” He sat up, crying.
“Alive because a Samaritan had mercy on me! A Samaritan I would’ve left there to die if the roles were reversed. I don’t deserve such mercy.”
The Prodigal lay back on his bed and took a deep breath. He wiped the tears from his eyes, careful to avoid the bandages and swelling from his shattered nose.
The innkeeper’s words rang in his ears: “Accept his mercy and get well…”
“That man’s mercy is the only reason I will make it home,” he said aloud. “I pray my father is as merciful as the man I considered my enemy.”
And he was.
Mercy was a gift.
My shorter version of Jesus’ parable of the Prodigal Son: he left home, squandered his inheritance, and ended up in filth. Yet he found enough hope to start the journey home. (Been there, done that!)
My shorter version of the Good Samaritan: others noticed him there, desperate for help, but kept walking. (Unfortunately, I’ve done that, too.)
Weak, weary, and naked, he lay out in the open, hoping for death. Dying seemed a better alternative than finishing the difficult journey home. (I have these days, too.)
But then, a gift — mercy.
He received it from one who owed him nothing. One who was supposed to hate him.
My short version of Jesus: Because of mercy, the prodigal (we) finished his trip home, where he (we) found his father (God) waiting with open arms. 🥰
It’s difficult to comprehend God’s grace and mercy. I’m glad we don’t have to understand it. We just need to accept it.
I’ve definitely been the prodigal, the one who left home, squandered what was gifted to me, and then begged for forgiveness.
But I’m ashamed to say that I don’t think I’ve been the Samaritan as much as God calls me to. What about you? Do you see yourself in these parables?
A brief and partial history of the Samaritans and Israelites: Samaritans, like Jews, worshiped the one true God, Yahweh. They used to be united. However, ten tribes split from the household of David and formed their own kingdom. After the Assyrians conquered Northern Israel and took most of the Israelites captive, other ethnicities settled the land. The Israelites who were left, or went back, accepted the other cultures and introduced them to Judaism. But the newcomers (and King Jeroboam) introduced pagan gods to the monotheistic Jews. As they intermarried, a new religion was born, thus betraying their covenant with Yahweh and their cousins over in Judah.
Samaritans resented the Judeans (the tribes of Judah and Benjamin who formed the Southern Kingdom) for not allowing them to assist in rebuilding the Temple in Jerusalem (because Judeans considered Samaritans half-breeds who betrayed their covenants). Samaritans built their own temple worshiping Yahweh (and golden cows, thanks to Jeroboam), and then ten tribes who lived there were forbidden to take the obligatory trip to Jerusalem to offer sacrifices to Yahweh. Lots of fighting, lots of hatred.
