Within the Good Samaritan

Integrating Bandits, Priests & Donkeys in a Polarized Age

(A version of this essay was delivered at St. Thomas Episcopal Church in Greenville, Rhode Island)

A colleague told me a brief story from a few winters ago in Boston, during one of those freezing February nights. The event occurred during the height of controversy around President Trump’s so-called “Muslim ban.” In this story, a Muslim cab or Uber driver noticed a man in a business suit collapsed on the icy sidewalk. Pedestrians passed by—some glanced, most didn't. The cabbie pulled over, wrapped the man in a coat, called 911, and waited for help to arrive. Asked later why he stopped, he shrugged: "He looked cold. He looked hurt. What else should I do?"

This simple act of compassion echoes Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37). Still, it also speaks to something deep within the human psyche that the Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung would have immediately recognized: we are all capable of both cruelty and compassion, of avoidance and engagement, of wounding and healing.

The question arises: Is this a parable about our inner life or our outer lives? Is it a lesson in spiritual growth within or ethical behavior in the everyday world?

The answer is Yes.

The Archetypal Drama Within

Jung taught that the human psyche contains universal patterns—archetypes—that appear in myths, dreams, religious stories, and daily life. These archetypes, such as the Hero, the Shadow, the Wise Old Woman, or the Healer, manifest across cultures and time. They are not just roles in stories; they live within us.

In this light, Jesus' parable isn't simply a moral tale about helping strangers. It is also a psychological map, a narrative populated by figures who represent parts of ourselves.

We are, at times, every character in this story: the wounded traveler, the violent robbers, the aloof priest, the compassionate Samaritan.

Sometimes, we are our own Inner Wounded Traveler, setting out alone on risky emotional or spiritual journeys. We overestimate our strength, underestimate the dangers, and when we're harmed—through burnout, betrayal, or failure—we blame ourselves. "You should have known better," we think. "You deserved this."

Sometimes, we are the Inner Bandit, robbing ourselves through self-sabotage, self-criticism, or destructive habits. As the Apostle Paul confesses in Romans 7:15, "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate I do." This internal violence, as the Christian mystic James Finley says, becomes "the seedbed of all external violence."

Sometimes, we are the Inner Aloof Priest, so caught up in religious or professional responsibilities that we ignore our suffering or that of others. We keep moving, eyes averted, prioritizing reputation or productivity over compassion. We may lead worship, quote Scripture, and keep ourselves busy—yet pass by the wounded "on the other side."

A study at Princeton University, confirmed this tendency to ignore others. Researchers found seminary students unlikely to stop and help a person in need because they were in a rush to class. However, if there was no urgency to attend the class, students were more likely to stop and help. The irony is that the assignment for the students was to preach a sermon on the parable of the Good Samaritan.

The Parable's Prophetic Edge

But the story doesn't end in introspection. Jesus wasn't offering a generic tale about kindness. He was actively challenging the tribal and religious boundaries of his time. His Jewish audience would have expected the hero to be a fellow Jew, perhaps even the priest or Levite. Instead, Jesus casts a Samaritan—an ethnic and religious outsider—as the one who sees, stops, and heals.

Jews despised Samaritans in Jesus' day. Their religious practices were considered impure, their ancestry suspect. That's what makes the Samaritan's compassion so provocative. It's not just about doing good—it's about who is capable of goodness.

Theologian Walter Brueggemann puts it powerfully:
"The parable is not about being nice to people different from us. It's about recognizing that our survival depends on the kindness of those we have dismissed as enemies."

Brueggemann calls this the prophetic imagination—the courage to envision a world that transcends fear, division, and zero-sum thinking. Jesus reframes the original legal question, "Who is my neighbor?" into a more transformative one: "To whom can I be a neighbor?"

In 2025, as tribalism hardens political identities and social media rewards outrage, this question is more relevant than ever.

Above: The Good Samaritans by Italian artist Federico Solmi. His installations incorporate a range of media, including video, drawings, mechanical sculptures, and paintings. Solmi employs a satirical aesthetic to portray a dystopian vision of our present-day society. Read more about this exhibition here.

Integrating the Inner Samaritan

Jung's concept of integration becomes essential at this point. Integration doesn't mean eliminating the Inner Bandit or Inner Priest. It means becoming aware of these parts and choosing not to let them dictate your actions. Integration is the process of becoming whole and wholeness leads to healing in both the inner landscape as well as the world around us.

In the original Greek, the word used in the parable is splagchnizomai—a gut-level compassion that leads to action. The Samaritan doesn't merely feel sorry; he binds wounds, spends money, and sacrifices time.

Getting Off Your Donkey

Several years ago, when I was serving as Bishop of the New England Synod, I proposed an unusual theme for our annual assembly: "Get Off Your Donkey." The room chuckled. Surely, I wasn't serious. But I was. And we did it—T-shirts and all.

The line came from Luke 10:34, where the Samaritan "went to [the wounded man], and bandaged his wounds… then he put him on his animal." Before he could help, he had to get off his donkey.

It was both literal and metaphorical: if you want to help, you have to dismount—leave your comfort, your routine, your distance. You have to get close enough to be inconvenienced.

I believe we are living in a 'get off your donkey' moment. Whether the wounded lies on the road or within our hearts, healing begins with descent—with showing up.

The parable of the Good Samaritan is more than a story—it's a map for inner and outer healing. It names the figures within us and invites us to move toward wholeness. It pushes us to expand our circle of care beyond what feels safe or familiar.

In every city, every soul, the road to Jericho stretches out. The traveler lies waiting.

Will you get off your donkey?

James Hazelwood is an author and documentary photographer, fumbling through the inner and outer world.