What if He's a Person?

Fear has become the tool of choice in our culture. It doesn’t matter which camp you claim, fear is the branding iron used to mark “the others.” And when fear becomes the reflexive thing we reach for, we start using it like the proverbial “hammer”—even when the problem is a screw.

And we’re all getting screwed because of it.

We’ve been told—loudly, repeatedly—about the “MONSTERS” on the other side. Politicians, agents, protestors, victims, aliens… take your pick. The message is the same: they’re not people, they’re threats. Grab the pitchforks and torches.

I’ve heard the whole catalog. Protestors supposedly paid by the Chinese. Government leaders plotting total control before they die of old age. Civil war as the only solution—depending on who’s talking. Everyone is scared, and everyone is being told to be more scared.

For Christ followers, this isn’t a new problem. It’s the same trap the expert in the law walked into when he tried to corner Jesus. You know the story—everyone knows the story. The man asks a question meant to show off his expertise, and Jesus turns it back on him so neatly that the crowd can’t help elbowing each other and smirking. The expert tries to “justify himself,” which is Bible-speak for “he realized he’d stepped in it.”

So Jesus tells a story. Not to shame him, but to make him face the real question:

What if he’s a person?

This one you fear, the one you’ve labeled a monster, the one you’ve been told is a threat to everything good—what if he’s a person? What if he’s a neighbor?

When Jesus asks the expert which character acted like a neighbor, the man can barely choke out the answer. He can’t bring himself to say “the Samaritan”—the monster-name—so he mutters, “The one who showed mercy.”

That’s the bramble patch we’re avoiding. We’re like the tar‑covered rabbit in the hands of the fox and the bear—caught, stuck, panicking. But wisdom in this moment means allowing ourselves to be thrown into the thorns, into the place where our fear gets scraped off. We want to be tossed in, because that’s exactly where the escape is. Not in doubling down on fear, not in sharpening the pitchforks, but in letting the sticky, clinging tar of our bigotries to be painfully peeled away by the work of the Spirit, who is the thorns.

And once the tar is gone, we might finally see the truth we’ve been avoiding:

The “monster” might be a person.

And mercy—not fear—is the only way out.

Mercy for the alien we treat with compassion… even when compassion includes telling them they must leave.

Mercy for the leader who is scrambling to secure their own advantage.

Mercy even for the one who is trying to lead us into a trap.