When Jesus tells the parable of the Good Samaritan, He is responding to a legal scholar who asks a theological question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” He already knows the answer — “Love the Lord your God… and your neighbour as yourself.” But like many of us, he wants clarity on the limits: “Who is my neighbour?”

And in reply, Jesus gives us this parable. But it is more than a moral lesson. It is, as the Church Fathers teach, a revelation of the mystery of salvation — a parable about Christ, the human condition, and the healing work of the Church.

The man “going down from Jerusalem to Jericho” is not merely a character in a story. For the Fathers — especially Ambrose, and Augustine — this traveller represents Adam, and in him, each human soul.

Jerusalem is the city of God — the place of peace, order, worship. Jericho, in contrast, was long associated with rebellion, sin, and exile. This downward movement is not just geographical. It is theological. The human soul, turning away from God, falls into a world where it is exposed — vulnerable to spiritual robbery.

As one Father writes:

“This descent signifies the fall of man from the heights of paradise into the misery of this life.”

The man is assaulted, his clothes taken, and he is left half-dead. The symbolism is precise:

Robbed of grace

Stripped of innocence

Wounded by sin

Half-dead — alive in the body, but dead in the soul

This image corresponds exactly to what the Church teaches about original sin and the wounded state of fallen humanity. Sin leaves us not fully dead, but incapable of saving ourselves.

Saint Augustine said: “The man left half-dead is the human race — spiritually lifeless without divine intervention.”

The priest and the Levite, both tied to Temple service, represent the Old Covenant — holy and God-given, but incomplete. The Law and the Prophets can point out sin and call us to holiness, but they cannot heal. They walk past. Not because they are evil, but because they do not carry the power to restore.

The sacred liturgies of Israel were glorious, but the sacrificial system was a shadow of what was to come. Only Christ, the true High Priest and the one perfect Sacrifice, could bind the wounds of the soul.

And so the stranger comes. A Samaritan — despised, distrusted, unclean in the eyes of the religious elite.

The twist is unmistakable. The enemy becomes the saviour. The one thought unholy becomes the embodiment of holiness.

Why a Samaritan? Because Christ Himself is the rejected one, “despised and rejected by men” (Isaiah 53:3), not recognised by His own people.

Saint Ambrose writes:

“The Samaritan is Christ, who came to us, though we were His enemies, and had compassion.”

The Samaritan binds the man’s wounds, pouring in oil and wine. These are not random items. They are deeply sacramental signs:

Oil signifies the Holy Spirit — the anointing we receive in Baptism and Confirmation, the balm of healing in the Anointing of the Sick.

Wine recalls the Precious Blood of Christ, poured out for us in the Eucharist — the drink of divine life.

The sacraments heal the soul. They are not mere symbols, but real channels of divine power.

The Samaritan places the man upon his own animal. The Fathers saw in this act the Incarnation itself. Christ takes on our human nature — carries us in His own flesh, even to the Cross.

“He carried our sorrows,” Isaiah says. And in carrying us, He elevates us.

The wounded man is brought to an inn and left in the care of an innkeeper, with payment made and a promise to return.

Here again, the Fathers are unanimous: the inn is the Church.

The Church is not a hotel for the righteous — it is an inn for the wounded, a field hospital for sinners, where the means of healing are available through the ministry of the sacraments and the stewardship of priests.

The two coins, often interpreted as the Old and New Testaments, are the spiritual riches entrusted to the Church — the Word of God and the grace that flows from Christ’s victory.

And the promise to return is not just kindness. It is a prophecy — a reference to the Second Coming, when Christ the healer will return to settle all accounts and judge the living and the dead.

Having revealed all this — the fall of man, the mercy of God, the role of the Church — Jesus turns to the lawyer and says:
“Go, and do likewise.”

This is no longer a call to love in the abstract. It is a summons to participate in the very work of Christ:

To notice the wounded

To draw near rather than pass by

To offer what healing we can

To serve through the means Christ has entrusted to us

The disciple of Christ does not merely receive mercy — they become an agent of mercy.

This parable, seen through the eyes of the Church Fathers, is not only about ethics, about being nice but rather it is about salvation. It is about the sacraments. It is about the church. And it is a mirror.

Because each of us is the wounded one.
Each of us needs the healing only Christ can give.
And each of us is now asked to become like the Samaritan —
Because we have been healed, we must help heal.  The parable of the Good Samaritan is a summons to rediscover who we are in the great story of salvation.

We are the wounded soul, left half-dead by sin.
We are the ones Christ Himself has sought out —
He who, though rejected like the Samaritan, came to bind our wounds with sacramental grace,
to carry us in His own flesh through the Incarnation,
to entrust us to the care of the Church, the inn where healing is found.

He paid the price with His Precious Blood.
And He has promised to return.Until that day, He commands us:
“Go, and do likewise.”

This is not a vague invitation — it is the essence of Christian life.
The Catechism teaches (CCC 2447) that the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy are not optional; they are expressions of charity, and “charity is the soul of the holiness to which all are called.” (CCC 826)

So to live as a disciple is not simply to learn the teachings of Christ —
It is to live the life of Christ,
To take up His compassion,
To see the wounded soul in others,
And to be willing — even when it costs — to draw near.

To be a Catholic, then, is to be part of a great mystery:

Healed by mercy,

United to Christ in the sacraments,

Formed in the household of the Church,

And sent into the world with a mission: to make the mercy of God visible.

That is the Christian life. That is the shape of holiness. That is discipleship.

So may we never pass by.
May we live the Eucharist we receive.
May we serve the broken with the compassion we ourselves have known.
And may the Lord, when He returns, find us faithful to the work He entrusted to our care.