An Unexpected Help

As the sun rolled a burning path across the sky, a man lay in a ditch by the roadside, groaning in agony. A few flies had begun to buzz about. Once all was quiet and he knew his attackers had left, he tried to slowly roll over. Something wet was under his hand, and as he looked down at the patch of desert underneath he saw a slowly widening pool of blood. He had seen firsthand why this shortcut from Jerusalem to Jericho was aptly called The Way of Blood because of the highwaymen that traveled it.

He groaned again, and as a cool breeze swept by he realized with horror and shame that his clothes had been taken. They had taken everything from him: his money, his dignity, and now his life was seeping out into the dust.

But surely help would come. He coughed out a gasping prayer to Jehovah to have mercy, and almost immediately heard footsteps.

Footsteps! He lifted his head from the dirt just only enough to see the familiar trappings of a priest walking swiftly down the road from Jerusalem. His voice creaked in his throat as he tried to voice his thanks, but the noise soon became one of despair and disbelief as the priest moved to the other side of the road, disgusted by the poor man’s condition. Too much blood. Too much inconvenience. He had somewhere important he needed to be, and he most certainly couldn’t arrive at his destination with his priestly garments soiled.

As the sound of the priest’s footsteps were carried away by the wind, the man lay there choking and gasping, the sun baking his open wounds and bare skin.

After much time, at last there came to his ears the sound of more footsteps. He looked and, through his blurred vision, made out the form of a Levite he had recently seen in Jerusalem. In exhaustion and silent jubilation, his head fell back against the ground as he heard the Levite approaching where he lay. Thank you God. The feet halted for a moment, and he heard the Levite gag. The footsteps moved away and the Levite gagged again, and spat on the ground. And then, as if in a nightmare, the feet began to move further away down the road.

I am lost, lost. God has deserted me. True men of God that serve Him in the Temple have hide their face from me.

The deafening silence of the desert around him ate at him. Nose crushed against the grainy sand, he began to wish death would come quickly. A cloud covered the sun for a moment and in his grief and desperation he called out to God again. His head fell into the sand, and everything went black.

When his eyes next opened he was astounded to discover he was no longer lying naked by the roadside, but in a comfortable bed. A cool breeze through an open window replaced the burning sun. His blood no longer soaked into thirsty sands; his wounds were gently wrapped in fine bandages. And a man was mixing oil and wine into a poultice.

“You should thank God you were found and brought here when you were.”

At the sight of the man a jolt of surprise went through him, and his mind began to trace over the stories he had heard. He remembered how it was written that, since the time when the King of Assyria brought men from Babylon, Cuthah, Ava, Hamath, and Sepharvaim to live in Samaria to replace the Israelites that had been removed, that they had never feared the Lord as true Israelites (II Kings 17:34). And that, only 200 years prior, the Samaritans renounced any connection and kinship with the Jews to save themselves from Antiochus IV Epiphanes’ declaration that he was the god Zeus; that all who refused to worship him must die. This had caused a great rift between the Jews and the faithless Samaritans. Half-breeds with pagan ancestry from the land of Assyria.

He would never associate with a Samaritan (John 4:9). Why, “you’re a Samaritan” had become the worst form of insult. A multi-barbed attack which implied the target was both a half-breed and an infidel.

And now a Samaritan was tending to his wounds.