Loving Your Enemy And Sacrifice

Someone hurt you. Maybe it's still fresh. Maybe it was years ago and you've just gotten good at carrying it. The anger feels justified — and it might be. But Jesus doesn't ask us to pretend it didn't happen. He asks us to do something harder: love anyway. Not because they deserve it. Because that's who we become when we follow Him.

The Good Samaritan — Compassion and Love

A lawyer — someone who knew the law inside and out — stood up to test Jesus. His question was practical: "Who is my neighbor?" (Luke 10:25). It was a legal question about where the obligation ends. Jesus answered with a story that shattered the categories.

A man is beaten, robbed, and left for dead on the road between Jerusalem and Jericho. Two religious men — a priest and a Levite — see him and keep walking. Not because they're cruel. Because they're careful. Getting involved was inconvenient, maybe dangerous, maybe "not their responsibility."

A Samaritan — someone the Jews considered an enemy, a half-breed, a person worth ignoring — stopped. Not because it was safe. Not because it was convenient. Because he felt compassion. The Greek word is splagchnizomai — it means to be moved in your gut, to feel so deeply for someone that you can't walk away. That's the kind of love Jesus calls us to. Not polite. Not distant. Visceral.

In the Camden reentry context, this is revolutionary. The man on the road could be someone who never gave you a fair chance — someone who profiled you, denied you housing, turned away your application. And Jesus says: that's the person you cross the road for. Not because they've changed. Because you have.

Forgiveness — The Second Move

The Samaritan didn't just feel sorry for the man — he acted. Luke 10:34 tells us what happened next:

This wasn't a one-time act. He bandaged wounds — that takes time. He poured on oil and wine — that was first-century medicine, an act of healing. He brought him to an inn — he didn't just drop him off; he made sure he was safe. He took care of him — he committed. This wasn't a glance and a wave. This was full surrender of his time, his resources, and his plan for the day.

Forgiveness in the reentry journey is not a feeling. It's a decision you make before you feel ready. You decide: "I will not let what they did determine what I do." The emotion catches up later — sometimes much later. But the act of forgiveness comes first.

When I think about forgiveness, I think about the men in our recovery houses who were denied employment a dozen times before someone finally said yes. They had every right to bitterness. But the ones who made it — the ones who truly rebuilt — were the ones who said, "I'm not going to carry this anymore." Not because the employer deserved it. Because they deserved peace.

Sacrifice — The Cost of Love

Luke 10:35 is where the story gets expensive:

Two denarii was approximately two months' wages. He didn't just stop to help — he opened his wallet, committed to more, and promised to cover whatever it cost. He didn't know this man. He had no obligation. He chose the expense.

Real love costs something. Not in a martyrdom way — but in a "I was going to spend this on myself, and I'm choosing you instead" way. In recovery, sacrifice looks like:

• Staying awake when your mentee calls at 2am and you have work in the morning
• Spending your last $20 on bus fare for someone who can't get to their job without it
• Giving up your Saturday to sit with someone in court who has no one else
• Praying for the person who hurt your family

These are not extraordinary. They're ordinary people doing what love asks of them. And they add up to something extraordinary.

Go and Do Likewise — The Command

After the story, Jesus turns the question back on the lawyer. He asks: "Which of these three do you think was a neighbor?" (Luke 10:36). The lawyer couldn't bring himself to say "the Samaritan" — the enemy — so he answered carefully: "The one who had mercy on him."

That's the whole sermon. Go and do likewise. Not "go and feel likewise." Not "go and think likewise." Do. Action is the evidence of love. Compassion is the feeling; mercy is the doing. And Jesus calls us to both.

For those of us in reentry, in recovery, in the work of rebuilding — this is not abstract. The person sitting next to you in group might be the person who testified against you. The person at the food pantry might be the landlord who rejected your application. Jesus says: you cross the road for them. Not because they earned it. Because you learned it.

Every act of mercy you extend is a deposit in the kingdom. Every person you help — even when it's hard, even when they're difficult, even when you don't feel like it — you are living out the Good Samaritan story. You are the one with oil and wine in your bag. You are the one with two denarii in your pocket. You are the one who stops.

Benny's Story: Forgiveness After the Fall

I want to be honest with you. I know what it costs to love people who have been cruel to you. I know what it means to sit across from someone who voted against your character in a courtroom — and to bless them anyway. I've lived it. And it almost killed me the first few times I tried it on my own strength.

Luke 17:3-4 says:

Seven times. Jesus didn't say "if they deserve it." He didn't say "if they apologize properly." He said seven times in one day, and you forgive. That's not natural. That's supernatural. You can't do that in your own power — I've tried. What you need is a heart transplant. And that's exactly what God offers.

Romans 12:1-2 is where it changed for me:

View of God's mercy. That's the key. I had to look at what God forgave me for — the years I wasted, the promises I broke, the people I hurt — and realize: if He forgave me at that level, how can I not extend it? Not because the other person deserves it. Because I didn't deserve what He gave me. And the minute I grasped that, forgiveness stopped being a burden and became a door.

If you're reading this and someone has your name on their lips with poison in it — if someone testified against you, denied you, dismissed you — I'm not going to tell you it's easy. It's not. But I will tell you this: the way you release them is the way you release yourself. And that door, once opened, leads somewhere beautiful.