Spiritual Insight: Reconciliation and Forgiveness

Dear God of wounded hands and boundless mercy,

The road from Jerusalem to Jericho drops three thousand feet through barren wilderness — seventeen miles of switchbacks where bandits hid behind limestone outcroppings, waiting. The man in your parable didn't just fall among thieves; he was stripped, beaten, and left half-dead in the dust, his blood darkening the pale rock beneath him. And the priest crossed to the other side. The Levite crossed to the other side. Two men who knew your Law by heart chose the far edge of the road.

Then came the Samaritan — the one no respectable Jew would share a cup with — and he knelt in the dirt. He poured oil and wine into wounds that were not his to heal. He lifted a stranger onto his own donkey and walked the remaining miles on foot.

Lord, I confess that I have been the priest. I have seen the wounded — the colleague I haven't spoken to in months, the family member whose calls I let ring through to voicemail, the neighbor whose grief I acknowledged with a wave instead of a visit — and I have found holy-sounding reasons to keep walking.