Recently, I broached the topic of loving your neighbor at the dinner table with my husband and five children. Those three words had been rolling around in my head for a few days and left me with an odd mix of emotions. In the abstract, “love your neighbor” gave me all sorts of good vibes. But when I actually pictured my neighbors faces, my brain had to fill in the gaps because honestly, it’s been a while since I’ve even laid eyes on them.
And that left me awash with guilt.
So, I thought I’d throw the topic out on the table alongside the flank steak tacos to see where my family would land on the question, “When Jesus calls us to love our neighbor, who is it exactly that you think he’s talking about?” Interestingly, the first point of debate was so debatable that it took a while to get to anything else. The question that caused the rub was this: who actually is my neighbor? My daughter has been taught here and there that your neighbor is anyone you come into contact with. My husband got more specific, saying perhaps your real neighbor is the person you have an actual relationship with through church, school, work, etc. And yet, I have recently read The Art of Neighboring in a cohort at our missional neighborhood church, and the hypothesis in that book is that your neighbor is—of all people—the person who actually lives next door.
The good news is we weren’t the first to ask this question.
And So, Who Is It?
In Luke 10, a lawyer asks Jesus this same question in an effort to justify himself. Jesus responds with the story of the good Samaritan. In this story, a man walking along a road falls among robbers, who strip him and beat him. A priest, a Levite, and a Samaritan all pass by the wounded man separately. The priest and the Levite cross over to the other side of the road, while the Samaritan bound his wounds and cared for him, even finding additional help on his own dime. Jesus finishes in Luke 10:36-37 with:
“Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.”
In his usual way, Jesus doesn’t let the lawyer off the hook by setting up rules and regulations about neighborliness. Rather, he calls his listeners to work out their salvation by relying on the Holy Spirit’s leading on a daily, moment-by-moment basis. This places the focus not on who our neighbor is, but on our own willingness to be neighborly and extend mercy to anyone God brings across our path. This means sometimes our neighbor will be the person next door, and other times our neighbor will present themselves as a perfect stranger. Surely the three men who passed the wounded man on the road didn’t know he would be a part of their day when they woke up that morning. They answered (or didn’t answer) the call as it came. In some ways, this loosey-goosey approach frustrates the ‘lawyer’ side of me. Rules and regulations are so clear cut. But God is always after our hearts. And this is what it is to walk with God daily: we pray and make thoughtful plans, but we hold them loosely, knowing at any moment, he may call us to some other mercy-portal that we never could have imagined on our own.
Eyes to See
It’s easy to judge the priest and the Levite, assuming they must have been disgusted by the man’s wounds or maybe they thought highly of themselves, making them not willing to associate with someone who appeared to be riff-raff—probably up to no good—on the side of the road. But Jesus doesn’t actually expose their heart motivations. All we know is that the good Samaritan had compassion. In order to have compassion, he must first have slowed down enough to take in the pain of the wounded man.
As a mom of five children ages 7-16, I’ve never been busier than I am in this phase. Even as I proactively make efforts to slow our pace of life, sometimes it cannot be helped. It’s the nature of having so many people under one roof. I find I’m not immune to the response of the priest or the Levite when I see a neighbor in need. I’ve been known to cross over to the other side, but it’s not out of disgust; rather out of busyness. Oftentimes, I don’t engage because I simply don’t have the time. I’ve already committed every spare minute to someone in my own home, and lacrosse practice or a youth function at church seems like the most important thing at the moment. But in order to have compassion, I must first have eyes to see my neighbor. And in order to have eyes to see, I must take time to look around. The first step to loving our neighbor, whether they be friend or stranger, is to slow down, open our eyes, and see them.
Hands to Serve
Once the good Samaritan slowed down enough to see the man, he opened his own bag and used whatever he had to help. In this story, that looks like bandages. In my everyday life, being a neighbor to those in my path may look like providing a listening ear in the bleachers during a basketball game when really, I want to have a quiet moment to myself. It may translate into offering a carpool ride to someone who lives out of my way or going for an early morning walk with a friend when sleeping in really sounds more delightful.
Here’s the thing: It cost the good Samaritan something to have compassion and show mercy to his neighbor. I find myself thinking I can dovetail loving my neighbor into my modern American calendar so smoothly that I’ll barely feel it, but that’s not how it worked in Jesus’ story. The good Samaritan spent time, energy, and even money on his neighbor. If we are loving our neighbors, we can expect to do the same in all sorts of fresh ways.
You Are the Neighbor!
So, interestingly, the question is not, “Who is my neighbor?” as my family and I surmised. The person on the other end of this relationship is not actually the main point. Rather, the better question is, “How can I be a neighbor to whomever Jesus brings across my path?” As it turns out, we are the neighbors Jesus is after. And just as he shows us mercy, we have the privilege of being his mercy-portals to the world around us, one neighbor at a time.
Photo credit: Emilee Carpenter
Candace and her husband Jim enjoy raising their five children in Tennessee. She has written a children's book calledJosephine and the Quarantineabout how God cares for us in times of loneliness through puppies. Candace also writes a weekly column for theDaily Memphianand for publications likeThe Gospel CoalitionandRisen Motherhood. She dreams of having her own writing cottage in Oxford someday (England is the dream, but Mississippi's not bad either). You can find Candace on Instagram @candaceecholswrites or on her website atcandaceechols.com.
