Who Is My Neighbor? Mercy, Truth, and the Courage to Love Like Christ

Reflection on Luke 10:25–37

+JMJ+ Today’s Gospel presents one of Jesus’ most well-known parables, that of the Good Samaritan. It’s a story that cuts to the heart of what it means to be a Christian: to love God above all, and to love our neighbor as ourselves. But what does that really mean in today’s world?

When the scholar of the law asked, “Who is my neighbor?” Jesus didn’t respond with a lecture or a list of moral conditions. He told a story. This story shattered assumptions and expectations. The hero wasn’t the respected priest or the temple official (as people might have expected), but the outsider. The Samaritan was moved with compassion and stopped for the wounded man. He didn’t ignore him, excuse the violence done to him, or wonder whether he deserved help. He acted. He poured oil and wine on his wounds, lifted him up, cared for him, and paid the cost of his healing.

But notice something important: he didn’t ignore the man’s suffering, and he didn’t leave him to die in the name of “tolerance.” He got close to the wound and did something about it. That is real compassion—mercy that acknowledges brokenness and works toward healing.

This Gospel is often used today to promote a kind of false compassion, one that demands we affirm allchoices, overlook moral truth, or remain silent for the sake of “love.” Jesus never said love was easy, and He never said it meant compromise. He never once suggested that speaking truth and showing mercy were at odds.

Yes, we are called to love our neighbor—every neighbor. That includes:

• the undocumented immigrant and the law enforcement officer,

• the survivor of clerical abuse and the priest who caused the harm,

• the person who identifies as LGBTQ and the one who upholds Church teaching on sexuality,

• the unwed pregnant mother and the innocent unborn child,

• the couple using contraception and the priest preaching truth about it,

• the divorced Catholic struggling with loneliness and the faithful spouse striving to live out their vows alone,

• the refugee fleeing violence and the citizen trying to protect their homeland,

• the woman who regrets her abortion and the activist still fighting to defend it,

• the Catholic who left the Church in pain and the Catholic who stays and fights for her renewal,

• the young man struggling with pornography and the priest courageously preaching purity,

• the teen questioning their gender and the parent upholding biological reality with love and grief,

• the disillusioned seminarian and the bishop working faithfully for reform,

• the inmate in prison and the victim of the crime committed,

• the person who’s fallen again into sin and the confessor waiting patiently in the confessional,

• the celebrity living a sinful lifestyle and the hidden person in a nursing home quietly praying for their conversion.

  
  

Catholic love is not selective or political. It is rooted in the dignity of every human soul and a call to holiness. We must love them all, but truly loving people doesn’t mean we always have to affirm everything they do.

It is not love to enable sin. It is not mercy to overlook evil, and it is not compassion to remain silent while people walk toward spiritual ruin.

Sadly, in our Church today, we often see a kind of selective compassion, even from some clergy. For example, many priests and bishops are speaking loudly and boldly on the current topic of illegal immigration. Yet, they are quiet or vague when it comes to the Church’s moral teachings on sexuality, life, and family. Every June, many Catholics unfortunately expect to see our clergy and fellow Catholics tip-toeing around some really big issues. Pulpits go relatively silent on the sacredness of marriage and the beauty of God’s plan for human sexuality. In some churches, rainbow flags and inclusive slogans are even proudly displayed in the name of “pastoral outreach.”

This is not love. This is partiality. It’s enabling and it harms souls.

Affirming someone in a lifestyle that separates them from God is not merciful. It’s not just to elevate one group (such as undocumented immigrants) while demonizing another (like law enforcement officers). It’s not loving to shame faithful Catholics for defending life, marriage, or truth, while giving others a pass for defying Church teaching in the name of “compassion.”

Let’s talk plainly about the current hot topic of immigration: when we act as though people here illegally (not referring to individuals legitimately seeking asylum) have done “nothing wrong,” while continuing to punish others for breaking far lesser laws, we create a dangerous double standard. For example, if I (an American citizen) worked under the table and didn’t pay taxes, I’d be punished. If I violated labor or traffic laws, I’d be fined. I might even be told that my actions were sinful. Why is it merciful to excuse someone else’s lawbreaking, simply because of their background, but not mine? How is that compassionate? It’s sewing confusion, and confusion is not a fruit of the Holy Spirit.

That’s just one example of this.

Jesus said, “Render unto Caesar what is Caesar’s, and to God what is God’s” (Matt 22:21). That wasn’t a call to relativism. It was a call to obey legitimate authority while remaining rooted in truth. Not every issue in every situation is a gray area.

We are not called to pick and choose which truths we defend. We’re called to speak the whole Gospel, and we are called to do so with charity and clarity. We’re called to see the dignity in every person without compromising the truth that sets them free.

When the Church fails to speak clearly, when priests fail to preach the fullness of the Gospel, when bishops prioritize politics over salvation, and when Catholics are shamed for defending moral clarity, it’s the spiritually wounded who suffer. Survivors of clerical abuse know this too well. How often are their wounds ignored or downplayed because speaking about them is uncomfortable? The Samaritan did not pass by the wounded. Neither should we.

We must love like Jesus. That means loving in truth.

We can look to the saints for what this looks like:

🕊 St. Teresa of Calcutta

She gave of herself to care for the dying and unwanted, showing radical mercy to the broken. Yet, Mother Teresa never stopped preaching that abortion is the greatest destroyer of peace, that contraception harms the soul, and that true love calls people to chastity and holiness.

“It is not enough to say we love God—we must love our neighbor. But we cannot love unless we know God, and we cannot know Him unless we pray.”

🕊 St. Maximilian Kolbe

He gave his life for a stranger in Auschwitz. Before this, he spent his life courageously forming souls in truth, standing against moral relativism, and honoring Mary as the surest path to Christ. His compassion never watered down his convictions.

“The most deadly poison of our time is indifference. And this happens, although the praise of God should know no limits.”

The saints didn’t tiptoe around hard topics. They weren’t afraid of the truth. They didn’t soften the Gospel to win approval. They loved with fire, because they strived to love with God’s love. They wanted every soul to reach heaven.

So the next time we hear this Gospel and ask, “Who is my neighbor?”—let’s be ready to let that question stretch us.

Let’s love the immigrant and the law officer. Let’s weep with the survivor and pray for the abuser’s conversion. Let’s speak to the woman considering abortion with tenderness, and to the faithful Catholic who’s afraid to speak up with bold encouragement. Let’s show mercy to the wounded, but let’s stop choosing silence over salvation.

Mercy is not silent. Truth is not cruel. Love is both.

We are all called to holiness.

We are all called to be saints.

Saints don’t compromise with the world.

Rather, they transform it.

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Lord,

Give us the courage to love as you love. Help us to love with mercy that heals and truth that frees.

Help us to seek holiness in a world that fears it,

to speak boldly when silence tempts us, and to never settle for comfort when you call us to sainthood.

May we strive to be faithful, not popular, compassionate, not compromising. Transform us, so that through us, you may transform the world. Amen.