Mile Wide Mercy

by Nicole Vickey

Luke 10:25-37

"An expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. "Teacher," he said, "what must I do to inherit eternal life?"He said to him, "What is written in the law? What do you read there?"He answered, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind and your neighbor as yourself." And he said to him, "You have given the right answer; do this, and you will live." But wanting to vindicate himself, he asked Jesus, "And who is my neighbor?"

Jesus replied, "A man was going down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of robbers, who stripped him, beat him, and took off, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan while traveling came upon him, and when he saw him he was moved with compassion. He went to him and bandaged his wounds, treating them with oil and wine.

Then he put him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. The next day he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said, 'Take care of him, and when I come back I will repay you whatever more you spend.

Which of these three, do you think, was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of the robbers?" He said, "The one who showed him mercy." Jesus said to him, "Go and do likewise."—Luke 10:25-37

An excerpt from “Gift” by Jeanne Murray Walker.

"For a hundred miles the fields have worn beards of ugly stubble and night is falling and you can't find a lover, not on AM or RM, and the hand at the toll booth wears a glove so as not to touch you. You pay for yourself, then for the car behind you, so someone pushing headlights through the heavy dark will feel luck go off like a Roman candle, so she'll give a car length to the maniac who cuts her off, and you, there in your lonely bubble, can think of each tail light, each anonymous fender as a friend."

In today’s passage, a legal expert asks Jesus what he must do to inherit eternal life. Jesus turns the question back to him: “What is written in the law?” The man responds, “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind and your neighbor as yourself.”

Jesus affirms him. “Do this, and you will live.”

But the man, seeking a limit to all this loving, asks, “And who is my neighbor?”

Jesus replies with a story. A man is robbed and left for dead. A priest sees him and passes by. A Levite does the same. They had their reasons: touching the wrong person could make them ritually impure and unable to do their respective jobs back at the temple for many days. Still, these are people who should have helped. Instead, it is a Samaritan, someone mistrusted and despised, who stops, tends the man’s wounds, and sees to his continued care.

Jesus ends not with a command but a question: Which of these three was a neighbor? The man answers, “The one who showed him mercy.” The story doesn’t answer the question posed, “Who must I love?” Rather, it asks, “Are you one who loves?”

And what does it mean to love with all your heart, soul, strength and mind? To love with our heart is to be moved by compassion. To love with our mind is to notice, not justify avoidance. To love with our soul is to remain present. To love with our strength is to offer what resources we have.

The Samaritan embodies all four. He meets not only the man’s physical needs but also the deeper wound of being left alone and vulnerable.

This kind of mercy is not limited to modern highways or biblical roadsides. It can also be offered along forest trails and mountain switchbacks.

Our family was out on our dog’s favorite hike, walking beside the glacial creek that marks the boundary of Rocky Mountain National Park, when our youngest (also our fastest) came across a man who had fallen. He had scraped his leg badly and sprained his ankle. Far from cell service, he guessed he had been lying there for at least an hour, hoping someone would hike by.

We had our own experience of tending to his wounds, carrying him to our car, and making sure he got home safely. It all gave me a new connection to today’s parable. Although our hikes have only called us into that need for physical help that one time, the experience changed what I now keep in our car. I keep the first aid kit stocked, and make sure I have extra layers, snacks, and water. Mercy often begins with the simple act of being prepared to respond.

That interaction also gave me a deeper appreciation for the people who leave coolers of snacks and jugs of water on hiking trails for through-hikers, a practice known as “trail magic.” One such trail angel spent years stationed along the Colorado Trail near the end of Segment 17, offering snacks, drinks, shelter, and companionship to those passing by. From simple and consistent acts of mercy he formed a community.

These acts reveal a deep awareness that even on the most beautiful, sought-after paths, people still hunger, still thirst, and still long to be seen and loved. These trail angels offer what they have without always being there to know who will receive it. Because of their presence, someone who is weary, aching, or alone will have what they need for the next stretch of the journey.

I believe this is part of what it means to love with strength and soul. It begins with paying attention and recognizing that the world invites us into a rhythm of giving and receiving, of abundance and provision, of seeing and being seen. The trail angel and the Samaritan share this posture. Both interrupt the expected route with mercy. Both widen the road so others may pass through it with less burden.

There is a poem by Jeanne Murray Walker called “Gift.” In it, the speaker drives alone through a bleak stretch of highway in the darkness. Even the toll booth operator wears gloves to avoid human touch. The speaker feels the loneliness and disconnection, saying:

and night is falling and you can't find a lover, not on AM or FM,a nd the hand at the toll booth wears a glove so as not to touch you—“Gift” by Jeanne Murray Walker

Then something shifts. At the toll booth, the speaker pays not only their own toll but the toll of the car behind them. It is a small act, but it changes something.

The speaker imagines the driver behind them feeling a bit of luck, hope even. That person, in turn, might give space to someone who cuts them off. And the speaker, who started out in a “lonely bubble,” begins to see tail lights as markers of companions stretching out along the road ahead.

This is a poem about loving your neighbor as yourself. This contemporary roadside gesture becomes a vehicle of mercy. I hope your own experience of doing so will not often involve bandaging serious wounds or hoisting an unconscious someone onto a donkey. I hope it will involve seeing the people who are moving through the same darkness as you and choosing, in some small way, to be a source of light.

You can make one of those gestures today. Offer a kind word to a stranger. Tell a friend what they mean to you. Bake something for a neighbor who lives alone. If you have the resources, pay the next coffee or toll, not as a random act, but as a deliberate measure of mercy. These actions say, "I see you. You are not alone."

Imagine if each of us took this parable seriously for a whole day, or even a week. Imagine what might happen in our homes, our workplaces, and our neighborhoods if we stretch our muscles of mercy beyond our usual suspects to those who often go unnoticed. Imagine ending each day asking ourselves: Where did I love today? Where will I begin again tomorrow?

I believe the kingdom of God is being built here on ordinary mercies practiced consistently. It is built with the help of people who stop and see, act, and love.

Let us love with the sort of mile-wide mercy that can fill the lonely spaces between us.

Reflection questions:

Do you have a story about someone showing up with help just when you needed it? Or, do you have a favorite practice of intentional kindness you enjoy doing in the world?

Benediction:

May the road rise to meet you with unexpected kindness.May your eyes be quick to notice the ache of another.May your hands remember the shape of offering, and may your heart stay soft enough to be moved.

When you come upon loneliness, your own or someone else’s, may you have the courage to stop, to listen, to tend, and to bless.

And as you go, may God, who tends the bruised and walks the long road beside each of us, grant you the grace to love with strength, to serve with soul, and to offer mercy wide enough to blanket to all who pass your way.

Amen.