Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Readings: Deuteronomy 30:10–14 | Colossians 1:15–20 | Luke 10:25–37
My dear brothers and sisters in Christ,
Let me begin by sharing something that has been weighing on my heart lately. As your priest, I have the privilege of walking with you—not only through your joys and milestones, but also through your struggles and wounds. And like many of you, I’ve noticed how the world around us seems to be drifting further from God. There’s a growing sense that individual gain matters more than community, more than sacrifice, more than love. Many live as though they’ve forgotten the reason they exist: to love, to serve, and to journey home to the father.
And yet, in the midst of this confusion, the Word of God speaks with clarity and conviction.
In today’s Gospel, we meet a man asking Jesus a seemingly simple question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” It’s a question that should live in the heart of every believer. Jesus doesn’t lecture or theologize. Instead, He turns the man—and us—back to the Scriptures: “You shall love the Lord your God… and your neighbour as yourself.” But the man, perhaps uncomfortable with the implications, tries to draw boundaries around his responsibility: “Who is my neighbour?”
So Jesus tells a story. A story that still stirs us, challenges us, and even unsettles us. The hero is not a priest. Not a Levite. Not a religious insider. It’s a Samaritan—a man who, by all cultural expectations, should have been considered the enemy. But he alone stops, cares, and shows mercy.
As I reflect on this parable, I can’t help but think about the “roads to Jericho” we walk every day right here in our own parish community. Some of you walk that road at home—with a spouse who feels neglected, or a child weighed down by unspoken pain. Some of you see it in your classrooms, or among your coworkers, or even within our own church—where someone feels invisible or unwanted.
We don’t have to travel far to find the wounded. Often, they are right next to us. And sometimes, we are the wounded ones—silently hoping someone will notice, someone will stop.
The Lord today is not simply asking us to admire the Good Samaritan. He is calling us to become one.
The first reading from Deuteronomy reminds us that God’s commandments are not distant or abstract. They are written on our hearts. This means we already know what love requires—we just need the courage to act on it. And St. Paul, in that breathtaking passage from Colossians, reminds us that Jesus is the visible image of the invisible God. If we are truly His followers, then we are called to be His image in the world—to make His mercy visible in our words and deeds.
My friends, this Gospel is not just an ideal. It’s a blueprint for daily Christian living. And it’s meant for all of us—not just for the “religious professionals” or the spiritually elite. Jesus is not calling us to be heroes in the headlines. He’s asking us to be faithful in the ordinary, compassionate in the unseen, present in the interruptions.
So I ask you—who was lying by the roadside this week in your life? Who did you pass by—maybe unintentionally? Who reached out, perhaps not with words, but with silence or withdrawal or a sigh? And were you the one left wounded, waiting for mercy?
Let’s not forget that Jesus Himself is the true and perfect Good Samaritan. He found us lying helpless, bruised by sin, rejected by the world. And He didn’t walk past us. He came to us. He bent down, touched our wounds, and carried us to safety—at the cost of His own life. His love knows no boundaries. No prejudices. No conditions.
And so, He tells us, “Go and do likewise.”
Here in our parish, I see so many signs of this Samaritan love—in quiet acts of generosity, in volunteers who give without being seen, in those who visit the sick, comfort the grieving, or lend a listening ear. But Jesus always calls us deeper. He wants our hearts—completely.
Let us not be like the lawyer in the Gospel, seeking to limit love. Let us instead ask: How can I be a better neighbour today? Not just to those I like or understand, but especially to those I find difficult or different.
A warm smile. A sincere “How are you?” A note of encouragement. A word of forgiveness. These may seem small, but they echo loudly in Heaven. Because as the Church teaches, every human being—friend or stranger—is a living image of God, redeemed by the blood of Christ, and cherished by the Spirit.
So, dear friends, as we come to the altar today, let us ask the Lord to open our eyes—to see the wounded with His compassion, and to see ourselves with His mercy. May we become true neighbours—generous, merciful, and brave in love. And may we help one another on the road to eternal life.
Amen.