By Fr. Glenn Jones:
As I scroll through the pictures of devastation wrought by the flood in Texas, many things go through my mind. First of all, there is the obvious: the tremendous power of nature unleashed—houses wrecked, vehicles tumbled, bridges collapsing. And so many lives—many of them just begun—gone. It is only the hardest of hearts that could not sympathize with an anguished heart, the sufferers’ plight, especially that of parents whose little ones are no longer here … and have not even been found.
Sadly, in a flood such as that with the many tons of debris and silt it carries with it, many of the fallen will likely never be found, possibly lying under many feet of rock, sand and clay. When we look through striations in cliffs and road cuts, layers we see were often created by great floods such as this one, and yet even larger and more powerful—mute testimony to the millions of years of change of our earthly home. This indicates how climate change is, and always has been, in effect. Modern concerns about climate change are simply about this brief stretch in climate time in which we now live, many persons hoping to keep it in a steady state as long as possible. But regardless of whether Man speeds it up or slows it down, change is inevitable and inexorable.
Yet another thing one notes in this tragedy is the resilience and restorative power of nature. Some speculate that this was a 100-year, or even less frequent, flood. Therefore it has happened before, innumerable times in the past without human habitation nearby or with media around to record it. Something that impresses is the strength and power of those magnificent cypress trees, which withstood such great power against them … mighty witnesses and sentinels against the ravages of time. As Los Alamosians who endured the not-so-long-ago fires and now see mountains springing with new growth, we know that time heals, changes, heals again. Even while mourning tragedy, we know that life will spring up again. As Ian Malcolm notes in “Jurassic Park”: “Life finds a way.”
The sorrow accompanying such flood events as in Texas and New Mexico strikes us deeply, yes … but also does selfless efforts of those who have gone in to aid the victims, search for the lost, rebuild vital infrastructure, support the grieving. How timely, then, that this Sunday we celebrate “Good Samaritan Sunday” in our Catholic Mass, celebrated perhaps in other denominations as well.
The story of the Good Samaritan, of course, comes from one of the best-known parables of Jesus as recorded in the Gospel of Luke (10:29-37)—highlighting the virtue of love of neighbor and selfless charity.
In that Gospel, a scholar’s question was: “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus responds with the parable of a Jewish man attacked, robbed, and left half-dead on the road. A priest and a Levite, both of them honored Jewish religious figures, pass by without aiding him. But then comes a Samaritan, an outsider despised by the Jews of Jesus’ time, who stops, tends to the man’s wounds and ensures his continued care at an inn. Jesus then asks, “Which of these three was a neighbor?” The scholar replies, “The one who showed mercy.” Jesus’ command is clear: “Go and do likewise.” So, Jesus is challenging His audience—then, and now—to reflect on what it means to love our neighbor.
Now the Samaritans were historic adversaries of the Jews, even though Samaria was smack dab in the center of Israel. They were partly descended from poor Jews who in the 500s BC were left by conquering Babylonians as manual laborers, and inevitably intermixed with Persian overseers, with the consequent dilution/alteration of their Jewish religion. Yet it is through a compassionate Samaritan’s actions in the Gospel that Jesus redefines neighborly love as selfless response to human suffering, regardless of social or cultural divide.
Thus love of neighbor far transcends boundaries of ethnicity, religion, or status. The Samaritan’s compassion contrasts with the indifference of the priest and Levite, who prioritize ritual purity, reputation or convenience over human need.
St. Augustine says the Samaritan represents Christ Himself, who comes to heal humanity’s wounds, binding them with consolation and hope … and the inn where the man is taken symbolizes the Christian Church, a place of healing for the broken. Similarly, St. John Chrysostom emphasizes that the Samaritan’s actions teach us to act with mercy even when it costs us time, resources, or comfort. Chrysostom remarks: “The merciful man is not he who gives alms once, but he who is ready to help in every necessity.”
We are thus challenged to move beyond occasional charity to making a habit and lifestyle of kindness and compassion. The Samaritan didn’t just offer a quick fix; he invested himself fully—bandaging wounds, carrying the man, even paying for his care and recovery. He donated some of our most precious resources: time.
Likewise, we are called to give selflessly … to love as God loves—without partiality or prejudice.
So the parable challenges us to think: “Who is the “half-dead” in our lives?” A friend burdened, a coworker struggling, a stranger in need, a family member we’ve overlooked or has been forgotten. Our Good Samaritan teaches us to notice, to act, and to sacrifice. In this world where we find so much division. In a world so often riven by politics, race, or ideology, we are called to be the new Samaritans to heal divides with kindness and charity and graciousness.
Amid the sorrow and pain, we often see the “mighty cypresses” of human compassion and care … in Texas the volunteers and responders swarming through debris and devastation … seeking some sign of life, or to bring some last solace and closure to grieving families. Those selfless men and women are there to help comfort, clean, cure and construct … sacrificing time, comfort and cost. Like our Samaritan, they offer kindness and compassion where one might expect to find none. They heard, as should we all in our daily lives, Jesus’ urging: “Go, and do likewise.”
Editor’s note: Rev. Glenn Jones is the Vicar General of the Archdiocese of Santa Fe and former pastor of Immaculate Heart of Mary Catholic Church in Los Alamos.
