The Other Guys

Most discussions about the parable of the Good Samaritan focus on the priest, the Levite, and the good guy. But I have been compelled to take a look at the other guys:  the “almost dead in the ditch” guy and the thieves.

A certain man went down from Jerusalem to Jericho, and fell among thieves, who stripped him of his clothing, wounded him, and departed, leaving him half dead. (Luke 10:30)

Who were the thieves? Who were the guys who attacked this stranger, stripped off his clothing, wounded him, and left him almost dead in a ditch? Why would they do that? Jesus doesn’t name the thieves, but their actions tell us plenty. They were evil – they were doing the work of Satan and his cohorts. What they did to this “certain man” they also want to do to you.

Who was the “certain man?” Who is the one who has been robbed? Who is the one who had his clothing torn off him? Who is the one who has been wounded? Who is the one who has been left almost dead in a ditch? Why didn’t he have some protection around him? Why did he travel alone? 

And then it dawned on me: that certain someone is ME. Without Christ, that “almost dead in a ditch” person would be me -- because:

  • Without Christ, I am robbed of my identity and my purpose.
  • Without Christ, all that I wear is filthy rags.
  • Without Christ, my wounds are too deep to heal.
  • Without Christ, I am alone.
  • Without Christ, I have no protection.
  • Without Christ, I am as good as dead.

And then…  Christ came into my heart and my life and made His dwelling place in me. And now:
  • With Christ, I have an identity and a purpose
  • With Christ, I am clothed in His righteousness alone.
  • With Christ, my wounds are healed, my sins are forgiven, and I am made whole.
  • With Christ, I am never alone.
  • With Christ, I am protected by His mighty power.
  • With Christ, I have abundant and eternal life.

And, like the Good Samaritan, who promised he would come back later, Christ has promised me that He is coming back too! 

That’s my story – what’s yours?

By Judy Shrout






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