Years after my grandfather died and the farmhouse stood empty, we cleared out more than a century of treasured belongings and memories. Mom and I washed dozens of blankets and homemade quilts before donating them to the homeless shelter at the VA. She believed those quilts would most benefit people who had so little else.
Helping those in need—whether a neighbor or a stranger—was a constant theme in our family. The parable of the Good Samaritan wasn’t just a story I heard in Bible school. It was a lesson I learned early: there is a big difference between following religious rules and doing what is right for others.
The parable tells of a man beaten and left by the side of the road. A priest and a Levite, both religious leaders, saw him but walked on by.
It was a Samaritan – a member of an outcast culture – who stopped to help. The Samaritan tended to the victim’s wounds, took him to shelter, and paid for his care.
Jesus told this story not just to talk about kindness. He told it to challenge the assumption that religious status is equivalent to righteousness. Compassion requires action, the story shows.
Recently, Rep. John Bear, R-Gillette, said about the Freedom Caucus, “We plan together, work together, and pray together in pursuit of policies that promote truth by protecting life, private property rights, and Judeo-Christian family values.”
He has also argued that the Wyoming Legislature needs more religion and morality.
That sounds appealing at first. But like in the parable, the key question isn’t who talks the most about faith. It is about who actually helps people in need.
In Wyoming, the people “by the roadside” aren’t hard to spot.
We have the third-highest suicide rate in the nation, yet the Freedom Caucus’ members voted against creating a trust fund to ensure long-term support for the suicide prevention hotline. Wyoming ranks last in access to mental health care, but they blocked bills to fund behavioral health programs in schools. They also voted against fully funding hospice care – denying dignity and comfort to people at the end of life.
They defeated summer nutrition assistance for 35,000 kids who rely on free or reduced lunches during the school year.
These aren’t just abstract numbers. They reflect real lives, struggles and suffering.
The parable doesn’t criticize the priest and Levite for their beliefs. It condemns them for failing to take action.
The Freedom Caucus often wraps its message in religion and morality, yet its actions tell a different story.
Its political action committee is being sued for defamation by fellow legislators after it fabricated a legislative vote that never happened. A judge concluded the allegations are strong enough to go to a jury.
The group deceptively claimed that $350,000 of taxpayer money funds “liberal policy junkets,” targeting nonpartisan organizations that help all branches of state government.
And when challenged, the group doesn’t reflect or correct—it deflects, saying things like: “The Freedom Caucus has been and will be attacked by the lying fake news, the Good Old Boys Club, and the deep state insiders.”
In the parable, even the priest and Levite didn’t claim to be the victims.
The Good Samaritan had no title or agenda. He simply saw someone in need and stopped to help. He didn’t ask where the man was from, what his politics were, or whether it would be popular. He acted. He cared.
That’s the model of moral leadership the parable gives us: not the loudest voice in the room, but the one who quietly makes a difference when it matters.
If religion and morality in government are meaningful, they need to begin with compassion, honesty, and service. You can’t claim to “protect life” while voting against suicide prevention. You can’t say you value families while blocking hospice care funding or denying kids meals. And you certainly can’t promote “truth” while spreading falsehoods about your colleagues and state institutions.
We are all walking a version of the road to Jericho. Some people lie wounded along the path. Some walk past, clutching power and claiming virtue.
A few stop, kneel, and lend a hand.
What I remember most from the story is that morality is not just words, it is decisions. With every vote and every choice, we show who we really are.
If we truly want more morality in our legislature, let’s stop listening to who says it and start watching who lives it.
