On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”
“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”
He answered, “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”
“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”
But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”
—Luke 10:25-37
Who IS my neighbor? Well...there's the couple next door with the cute new puppy. The older gentleman whose wife volunteers at a local food pantry. The mom I always see at the bus stop with the purple hijab. The woman with the contagious laugh whose adult son owns a Triumph motorcycle.
I live in a small townhouse development, and I am fortunate know many neighbors, their kids, and their dogs on a first-name basis. As I took my daily walk and passed by the rows of houses, I thought about the neighbors who have come and gone; I thought of the families that sought to move up to something bigger and better as their families changed and grew.
A few people who were out and about with strollers or walking their pets stopped to chat. As much as I try to be a good neighbor, it seemed like the bare minimum at best, compared with another community I call "home:" a homeless encampment in Howell that I've begun to visit weekly.
Today we were gathered in the chapel for fellowship after the Sunday sermon, and I listened as one resident mused about how grateful she was to live in a place where she was never alone, where everyone helped one another, and save for the occasional disagreement or conflict, for the most part everyone gets along. In turn, their neighbors in the community - locals with compassion and generous hearts - would come to the camp and give what they could.
That, to me, sounded like a real neighborhood - at least the ones I'd seen in those golden-age TV sitcoms. And there was a time in my life when all the kids on the block played together until the street lights came on, and we left our doors open so neighbors could just walk on in for coffee and company. We weren't just neighbors; we were friends too.
In Luke 10:25-37, Jesus answers the lawyer's question with the parable of the Good Samaritan. And he reveals that the man who showed mercy to a stranger was a good neighbor.
As much as I marvel at technology, I also believe it has a way of making us less neighborly. As a species, we're already inclined to stay within our respective comfort zones, which seem to grow ever smaller with the passage of time. With new gadgets to occupy our attention, we grow increasingly disconnected from one another, even within our own homes. Like many parents, I've adopted the "no electronics during family meals" rule in my house without exception. It's beneficial to everyone, parents included, and it's necessary. I for one have a lot more to learn from connecting with my kids than I do from Google.
As of late, I'm also seeing social media driving friends, family, and neighbors further apart. Facebook, for example, is a hotbed of inflammatory political comments, relationship and family drama, and time-wasting nonsense. We forget that it's merely a tool, and we treat it as a lifestyle, replacing real-life interaction with the virtual variety. Meanwhile, the impersonal nature of online communication allows civility and basic decorum to be swept aside. We are so determined to make our virtual voice heard that we forget there are living, breathing, feeling human beings on the other end of the keyboard whose emotions are just as valid as our own.
We're not going to change the mind of a stranger, folks.
But we can - and should - reach out and touch the hearts of our neighbors.
I know who my neighbor is. Some of them know who I am too.
I want to be a better one. How about you?
