“Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among robbers?” — Saint Luke 10:36

When a lawyer asked Jesus Christ, “Who is my neighbor?” he expected a simple definition—perhaps someone from the same faith, the same people, or the same community. Instead, Jesus answered with a story. A wounded traveler lies half dead on the road. A priest passes by. A Levite walks past. Both see the suffering, yet continue on their way. Then a Samaritan—a stranger, even an enemy in the eyes of many—stops. He binds the wounds, pours oil and wine, lifts the man onto his animal, and pays for his care.

The question Jesus asks at the end changes everything. He does not ask, “Who was the wounded man’s neighbor?” He asks, “Who became the neighbor?” Neighbor is not a category. It is a choice. We often look for reasons to limit compassion: this person is too different, too inconvenient, too difficult, too far outside our circle. But the Samaritan shows that mercy crosses boundaries. Compassion does not ask first about identity; it responds to suffering.

As Saint John Chrysostom writes, “Do not ask who your neighbor is; become a neighbor to the one who needs you.” Every day, wounded travelers lie along the roads of our lives—someone burdened by loneliness, pain, or quiet despair. To follow Christ is to slow down, see them, and respond with mercy. The world asks, “Who deserves my help?” The Gospel asks, “Will you become a neighbor today?”