“A Light on Maple Street”                                                                                          

Based on Luke 10

The rain was coming down hard on Maple Street this November night. Cars splashed through puddles, their headlights cutting through the rain. People were hurrying home, eager to escape the chill. But on the corner, near the old grocery store, sat a woman, her back against the brick wall, her arms wrapped tightly around a small backpack. Her name was Marissa.

A year ago, she had a steady job, an apartment, and dreams of going back to school. But after her mother’s illness and the mounting bills, everything fell apart. She lost her job, she had to spend her savings, and she finally lost her home. Tonight, she was just trying to stay warm.

She pulled her worn coat tighter. As people passed by—some glanced her way but kept walking. One man crossed to the other side of the street. Another woman looked down, pretending to check her phone.

Marissa sighed. “God, if You’re real,” she whispered, “please don’t forget me.”

Across town, a small group was gathered at the New Hope Community Church. Tuesday night was Bible study. Tonight’s lesson was about the “Good Samaritan,” and they had just finished reading Luke 10:33–34, where Jesus said, “But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was; and when he saw him, he had compassion, and went to him and bound up his wounds.”

Pastor Allen closed his Bible. “It’s easy to read this story and nod our heads,” he said, “but compassion isn’t compassion until it moves our feet.”

Maya, a young woman in her twenties, raised her hand. “What if God gave us a chance to live that out—like, actually help someone who’s hurting right now?”

The room went quiet for a moment. Then Henry, a retired bus driver, smiled. “Let’s ask Him for that chance.” So they prayed. They asked God to open their eyes to someone in need and to give them hearts ready to act.

Later, as they were driving home, Maya spotted something unusual through the rain--someone was sitting against the wall of the grocery store. “Wait,” she said, pointing. “Pull over. There’s someone out there.”

The others hesitated. “It’s late,” said Henry. “And this isn’t the best part of town.”

Maya’s voice was gentle and firm. “Didn’t we just pray for this?”

Pastor Allen pulled over and parked the car. They walked toward Marissa, their flashlights cutting through the rain. Marissa looked up, startled. “I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “I’ll move if I’m in the way.”

“No, no,” Maya said softly. “You’re not in the way. We just wanted to see if you’re okay.”

Marissa hesitated, unsure if she could trust them. “I’m fine,” she murmured, though her trembling hands told another story.

Henry stepped forward. “We’re from New Hope Church. Can we get you something warm to eat?”

Tears welled in her eyes. “I… I’d like that.”

The group took her to a nearby diner that stayed open late. They found a booth by the window, ordered soup, and listened as Marissa slowly told her story—how her mother’s sickness had drained her finances, how she’d been laid off, and how she’d been living at a shelter until it closed.

As Marissa was speaking, Maya’s thoughts turned to what Jesus said, “For I was hungry and you gave Me food, I was thirsty and you gave Me drink, I was a stranger, and you welcomed Me.”

Marissa finished her soup and stared down at the empty bowl. “I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you.”

“Don’t apologize,” said Pastor Allen. “God cares about every part of your story. You’re not forgotten.”

Henry leaned across the table. “You know, I’ve got a spare room at my house. I’m sure my wife wouldn’t mind if you stayed with us until we find something better.”

Marissa’s eyes widened. “You’d do that? For someone you just met?”

Henry smiled. “The Lord’s done far more for me when I didn’t deserve it.”

Marissa stayed with Henry and his wife, Linda, for several weeks. She began to attend church on Sundays, sitting quietly in the back at first. The messages about God’s love and redemption stirred something deep within her.

One Sunday, Pastor Allen preached from Psalm 34:18: “The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” Marissa wept as she realized that verse described her perfectly. God had been near—even when she thought He had turned away.

As the weeks passed, Marissa began to heal. The group helped her find an apartment and steady work at Rachel’s community center. God had transformed her pain into a ministry of compassion. She even started volunteering at the center on weekends, serving meals to others who were struggling.

Maple Street was different now, the corner where she had once sat in despair was now the place where she met others in need. Every Friday night, she and the church group set up tables with hot food, blankets, and prayer cards. They called it “The Samaritan Table.”

One evening, a young man named Jordan asked her, “Why do you do all this? After everything you’ve been through, you could have moved on, started fresh somewhere else.”

Marissa smiled. “Because love found me here. And I want others to know it can find them too.” She looked out at the line of people waiting for food—the single mother, the old veteran, the teenager with a backpack. “When Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan, He was showing us what love looks like when it stops for the hurting. I was that person once. Now I get to be the one who stops.”

As the group packed up for the night, Pastor Allen stood beside her. “You’ve become quite the example of living faith,” he said.

Marissa shook her head. “It wasn’t me. It was God’s mercy. Like it says “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning.’”  She gazed at the stars breaking through the night sky and added softly, “Every morning, He gives me a chance to love someone the way He loved me.”

A year later, the Samaritan Table had grown. Local businesses donated food; volunteers came from other churches. What began as one act of compassion became a community movement. When people asked where it started, Pastor Allen would always tell the story:

“It began with a woman on Maple Street, a group of believers who refused to look away, and a prayer asking God to open their eyes. It was never about charity— he would tell them.  It was about love in action. Faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead.” 

One chilly December evening, as snowflakes fell over the city, Marissa stood at the Samaritan Table, serving hot cocoa to children. Her laughter mingled with theirs. She no longer felt like the woman who had lost everything. She felt like the woman God had restored—redeemed for a purpose. As she looked at the faces around her—Maya, Henry, Rachel, Pastor Allen, and dozens of others—she whispered a prayer of thanks. “Lord, thank You for not passing me by when I was broken. Thank You for sending Your people, for showing me mercy through their hands. Help me to keep being that mercy for someone else.”

That night, under the soft glow of streetlights, Maple Street was no longer a place of despair. It had become a place of hope—a living picture of the Good Samaritan’s heart.

As we approach Thanksgiving and the Christmas season, let’s remember those less fortunate, those that may be in need of a touch or a helping hand. Ask God how you can be a Marissa.

Ed Johanson  © 10/15/25