U.N.I.T.Y Connector

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 stood up to test Jesus. His question was practical: "Who is my neighbor?" (Luke 10:25). Jesus answered with a story that shattered every category.

A man is beaten, robbed, and left for dead on the road. Two religious men see him and keep walking. Not because they're cruel. Because they're careful. Getting involved was inconvenient, maybe dangerous.

A Samaritan — someone Jews considered an enemy — stopped. Not because it was safe. Not because it was convenient. Because he felt compassion. The Greek word is splagchnizomai — to be moved in your gut, to feel so deeply for someone that you cannot 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 — he acted. Luke 10:34:

This wasn't a one-time act. He bandaged wounds — that takes time. He poured on oil and wine — first-century medicine. He brought him to an inn — he didn't 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. But the act of forgiveness comes first.

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. In recovery, sacrifice looks like:

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" — 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.

Every act of mercy you extend is a deposit in the kingdom. 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 know what it costs to love people who have been cruel to you. I've sat across from someone who voted against my character in a courtroom — and blessed them anyway. 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 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.