A lawyer stood to test Him with a question dressed as need:

What must a man inherit if eternal life's the plea?

Jesus turned him to the law he studied every day,

And love of God and neighbor formed the answer he could say.

The answer stood correct, but self-defense still wanted cover,

So one more question crossed the room: "And who is my neighbor?"

A traveler left Jerusalem and took the Jericho road,

Where thieves stripped him, struck him, left him half-dead in the dust alone.

A priest came down that roadway, saw the body, crossed aside,

A Levite reached the place as well and chose the other side.

Then a Samaritan approached the wounded stranger's pain,

And compassion did what status, office, bloodline would not claim.

Who is my neighbor?

The question changed along the road.

Not, "Who deserves my mercy?"

But, "Whose burden can I hold?"

Who is my neighbor?

The wounded man could not repay.

Mercy crossed the boundary,

Bound the wounds, and stayed.

He poured in oil and wine and wrapped the injuries with care,

Set the wounded man upon his beast and walked beside him there.

At an inn he stayed and tended him until another day,

Then left two pence and promised any further debt he'd pay.

Jesus asked which traveler proved neighbor to the man,

The lawyer named the one who showed him mercy where he lay.

The priest knew law,

The Levite knew the place,

The Samaritan knew mercy

When he saw a stranger's face.

The answer was not theory,

Not a border to define.

The answer walked beside the wounded,

Spending money, oil, and time.

Who is my neighbor?

The question changed along the road.

Not, "Who deserves my mercy?"

But, "Whose burden can I hold?"

The one who showed compassion

Was the answer brought to life.

And Jesus sent the lawyer onward:

Go and do likewise.