The Samaritan and the Good Innkeeper!

Shalom to you!
I am the owner and manager of this establishment, which some would call an inn. It seems to be the only inhabited place on this rugged stretch of road between Jerusalem and Jericho.  I see many strange happenings along these heavily traveled paths, for it is a major trade route. Travelers along this road must be vigilant against many dangers, especially bands of robbers who surprise unsuspecting victims.

Among these travelers, I have often encountered merchants, pilgrims, temple elders, and foreigners from nearby provinces looking for work.  I know that some are not of my faith, but my wife says I need to offer hospitality to anyone who seeks refuge from the desert sun or needs rest from walking the dirt roads or who may be on a pilgrimage of atonement for sins of long ago. Besides, I have a young, new family, and the extra money is essential for me, so that I can feed and clothe them and, of course, pay taxes to the governor!  

I learned many things from my father, who was also an innkeeper in Bethlehem.  When I was a child, he often told me stories of the people who came to his inn.  He always enjoyed telling one story in particular about a young pregnant woman who traveled with a man with strong hands and an anxious heart. It was during the time of the census, and they sought lodgings with relatives, but no one would make room for this unwed mother-to-be.  It was my father who gave them a place to stay.

I remember this story when a Samaritan, with his clear accent and traditional garb, approaches my inn, leading a donkey upon which is seated a young man, slumped forward, bleeding, and badly beaten. I am hesitant as he stands before my desk – we are a simple, respectable establishment. No magnetic swipe cards, no room service (unless there is money to accompany the request) and no extra sets of clean towels. 

The tall, burly Samaritan tells me that he found this Jew along the roadside, beaten, abandoned, and half dead – another victim of greedy robbers. He requests a room in which he might care for this injured man. I accommodate these new guests and even give them extra towels at no charge – my wife reminds me that it is the compassionate thing to do. 

Early the next morning, the Samaritan gives me money – two days wages – and requests that I give the injured man further care with a bed, food, and healing oils.  I agree to do so immediately – perhaps it was his eyes, his gentle voice, or his deep concern for this traveler, whose name he didn't even know.  He tells me that he will return in a few days and pay me more money to cover any additional expenses. Something causes me to trust him.  

Before leaving, the Samaritan pauses, turns, and speaks a blessing for me and for my family. I am grateful and wonder if he might be a follower of the man from Galilee, the one whom they call Jesus.  This Samaritan, scorned and regarded as outsiders by many, was so compassionate toward this unlucky traveler, a stranger, a Jew.  

I think when he returns, I will ask him where I can find this Jesus.  

(Written by sjh)