There was a study from Columbia University that tracked over 1,000 people regarding New Year’s Resolutions. In their findings, they reported that about 80% of resolutions fail by February. That’s less than a month.
Usually, those resolutions are good for us, right? We know we need to pray better, eat healthier, and exercise more.
They’re not rocket science.
And yet, by February 1st and probably sooner, there’s a new layer of dust on the Bible, spinach is wilting in the fridge, and the treadmill has once again become the perfect place to hang up clothes.
The hardest things in life are simple — they’re just not easy.
We all know what to do. The problem isn’t knowledge.
It’s execution.
That’s precisely what makes Jesus’s command at the end of today’s Gospel so challenging. After telling the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus doesn’t deliver a complex theological sermon. He doesn’t explain fancy points of doctrine.
He simply says: “Go and do likewise.”
It sounds simple. And it is. But it’s also incredibly hard.
The parable of the Good Samaritan is much more than just a tale about kindness. For the early Church Fathers, like Origen and St. Augustine, this story wasn’t just to be nice to strangers—it was a story of salvation history, a symbolic telling of the Gospel.
A man‘s traveling down the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. This road, in the eyes of the Early Fathers, isn't just a geographical route—it’s man turning away from God. Jerusalem, the holy city, represents communion with God, and Jericho represents the sinful world.
The road’s dangerous, and this traveler falls into the hands of robbers. The robbers—symbolic of the devil — strip him, beat him, and leave him half-dead. That’s sin. That’s the human condition after the fall of Adam.
Who’s this traveler? He’s us. He’s humanity. Beaten and wounded by sin, unable to help himself.
Along come a priest and a Levite — representatives of the Old Covenant: the Law and Prophets. But they “passed by on the other side.” They saw the man, but couldn’t save him. The Old Testament Law tells us what’s good and holy, but it can’t heal us.
Then the Samaritan appears – the one the Jews didn’t expect. Someone from outside the religious system. For St. Augustine, the Samaritan is Jesus—the unexpected Savior. Moved with compassion, He approaches and tends the victim’s wounds.
He pours oil and wine on them, symbols the Church has long associated with the sacraments—especially baptism, Confirmation, the Eucharist, and Anointing of the Sick. He carries the victim bearing his burden, a reference to the Cross and brings him to an inn.
The inn according to the Fathers is the Church—a place of refuge and healing, where the broken are brought to recover. The Samaritan entrusts the wounded man to the innkeeper, who St. Augustine said could be seen as the priests and bishops, or all of us called to care for our wounded brothers and sisters.
The two coins left behind? They represent the Old and New Testaments, the full deposit of God's Word, given to us to use to care for those in need until the Samaritan—Christ—returns, in His Second Coming.
So it’s not just a parable about doing good, but a model of the entire Gospel – salvation history laid out on the side of the road.
That’s what makes Jesus’ command at the end so pointed. After the parable, He doesn’t say: “Go ponder this story or meditate on its theology.”
No. He just says, “Go and do likewise.”
That’s the hard part.
Just like those New Year’s resolutions, loving God and loving neighbor isn’t complicated. Moses says it in the first reading: “This command...is not too mysterious and remote for you...It is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out.”
This isn’t about chasing something out of reach—the call to love in your heart, waiting to be lived.
It’s as close as our next choice. Our next action. Our next encounter with someone in need.
So why don’t we do it? Why don’t we “go and do likewise”?
Maybe it’s because we overthink it - am I really qualified to help?
Or we feel overwhelmed - do I have time to help?
Or maybe it's because we prefer to help on our terms—the people we like, the things we care about, the ones who we think are “deserving” of help.
But love’s not safe; it’s not convenient. It doesn't ask if the person is worthy.
It just acts.
And let’s be honest: sometimes we don't create the space in our lives to even notice anyone lying wounded on the road beside us. We’re so busy rushing from one thing to another that we don’t see broken people.
Or we see them and walk around them—like the priest and Levite.
So how do we change that?
First, we have to make the choice to encounter God in others. The Samaritan wasn’t rushing. He stopped. If we want to follow Jesus’s command to love, we must begin by slowing down enough to recognize the people God places in our path.
Second, we must pray for eyes to see. To ask God to show us the Jericho roads in our own life—the places we’re tempted to avoid, the people we’d rather not help, the situations that make us uncomfortable.
Third, we need the Church—the inn. The sacraments, the Word of God, the community of believers. We’re healed through the care and presence of the Church. And we’re called to be that Church for others.
It happened to me a few years ago one December. It was bitterly cold and I had to get gas in my car. So I jumped out, quickly pumped the fuel into my car, and got back in to leave.
And that’s when I saw her. An elderly lady pulled her car up to the pump beside mine. It would’ve been so easy to just drive off and stay warm…
But I didn’t. I got out and froze to death… But I put gas in her car.
That gas station was a road to Jericho and the lady was a person laying on the road who needed me.
In full disclosure, there’ve been times I passed on the other side too.
But here’s the thing: The Samaritan didn’t ask, “What happens to me if I stop to help?”— he asked, “What happens to him if I don’t?”
And Jesus asks us to do the same.
So yes, it’s simple: Love God. Love your neighbor.
But it’s not easy.
It’s not easy to “go and do likewise.” But it’s what we’re made for – what we were baptized for. And it’s how we become truly human — and how we let Jesus remake the world, one wounded soul at a time.
So ask yourself: Lord, Where’s my Jericho road? Who’s lying beside it needing help? What oil and wine do I carry that could help? And am I willing to stop, even when it’s inconvenient?
Because the world doesn’t just need more people who believe in the Good Samaritan. The world needs more people willing to be him.