When It’s Hard to Love Our Neighbors

Determine Your Role: Part 3 of 3 in the LYN Series

When we left a quiet cabin in the woods for an old home in an active small town, my understanding of what it means to ‘love your neighbor as yourself’ shifted with the contents in our boxes. Living next door to people is nothing new for me but the level of proximity was an adjustment.

For the past 3 years, we’ve shared a yard with our immediate neighbor, used a town parking lot space as our driveway, and met all kinds of characters in a 1-mile radius. We can look out our front windows and take note of who’s visiting the bank. In related news: I can hear your music playing when you roll up to the ATM. It’s okay, though–I like Bruce Springsteen. Good choice.

Our back door opens to an alley where kids (and adults) run helter skelter to beat the clock before karate class–their belts, bags, and shoes trailing behind them. I see tweens on bikes and skate boards roaming around after school and delivery trucks unloading their loot at the pharmacy.

As one who craves silence and total darkness for optimal sleep, I confess this move was a wake-up call to my petty expectations. Our picturesque lake view in the Poconos, where wildlife (and our kids) roamed freely, has morphed into concrete sidewalks and traffic laws.

I’ve traded quiet hikes in the woods for animated walks with loud pick-ups, barking dogs, and Confederate flags that make me cringe.

Since our move, I’ve learned that our small town was once a KKK hot spot. Friends of mine remember the marches–led by angry cowards in white sheets and pointy hoods– just a few yards from our front porch. Current meetings are held less than 10 miles from our town.

Reading Luke 10:25-37 was easier when I only had to contend with a noisy camp guest or two. The command to love my neighbor as myself hardly seems difficult when those neighbors are beautiful black bears. Or when those neighbors share similar values and core beliefs. But here? Where the KKK uses my post office? Where white supremacists live and work? Where many imply that God is a white Republican and gun ownership is next to godliness? Loving my neighbor can feel impossible and I finally ‘get’ the scandalous nature of the Good Samaritan.

As I’ve discovered my neighbors (part 1 of 3) and defined the love (part 2 of 3 ) written in Luke 10, I’ve also determined my specific role: to care for my neighbors next door and beyond–even when I struggle to relate. This means I wave to the white supremacist while humbly, peacefully helping him to see the beauty in our diverse family. This means I am friends with the poor around me and I get to join the local efforts crossing the socioeconomic barriers. This means I learn the names of my neighbors and find practical ways to remind them of their worth. This means I get to partner with my church and other organizations to effectively engage and support global efforts to reach those in desperate need.

 

 

Looking at this text through my current lens has required a shift in my perspective and a break in my heart. The Good Samaritan moves me to confess my resistance and lame excuses and trust God more fully as I’m pushed beyond my physical, emotional, or financial comfort.

“Why did you move?” they ask. “Why would you uproot your kids from that adorable stone cabin with a 5-minute commute and 6 weeks paid vacation accrued? Why would you abandon that beautiful lakeshore where your littles could catch salamanders in the spring, make new friends in the summer, collect rainbow leaves in the fall, and skate on the lake when winter arrives? Where words like ‘quiet’ and ‘safe’ and ‘fresh air’ were the best descriptors of your home environment? What were you thinking?”

 

Be assured: we were thinking. And praying. And wrestling with the unknowns and the mysterious leading of God. I do know this: it was time to relocate, despite the idyllic setting, comfortable living, easy commute, and quiet outdoor life. God had worked in us and through us in the Poconos and the time came for Him to work in and through us right here–in small town Maryland.

Some days, this area is more difficult to love. I struggle with the homogenized schools and churches and neighborhoods and how that culture affects our transracial family. I have legitimate concerns about the subtle–and not so subtle–racism, the proud insistence on flag worship, and the *angry* resistance and exclusion toward anyone who challenges the local status quo.

I am however, willing to listen and learn in the process.

I listen to the stories and I learn that my proximity to my neighbors–made in the image of God–reminds me of my need for a Love beyond myself. I can move from avoidance to genuine concern for their well-being because God has so loved me in my ugliness.

I listen to T, a man who plays guitar in pubs around the state as he continues to grieve the loss of his son to a deadly seizure.

I listen to J, an incredibly kind and generous man with an easy laugh despite the pain of his divorce and the recent, unexpected death of his infant grandchild.

I listen to A, chatting while she wrangles two tots as her other two ramble toward karate practice. We chuckle over our shared *obnoxious* passion for gardening and the chaos of parenthood.

I listen to M, a man rejected by his birth family, then abused by the foster care system. We talk about the pain of his loss, adoption, and the love of God–our Mother.

I listen to my kids’ friends, “I live with my mom and stepdad but I don’t like him…My mom is marrying her boyfriend but I don’t like him…My dad just went to jail…”

Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy.

In 3 short years, these checkered stories have become our friends. We welcome them into our home, we bake goodies for special occasions, we celebrate their birthdays and happy life events, and we surprise them with groceries. We tolerate the smell of tobacco and body odor because connection is more important than our particulars.

 

 

My proximity to my neighbors allows me the privilege of hearing their stories. Yes, it’s emotionally taxing. Yes, it feels like an interruption to my very full days. Yes, I struggle with the smell of mushroom farms and menthol. Yes, I miss the wildlife and the fresh air and the quiet.

But.

My life is richer. I see lost and broken people daily and I remember that in order to love my neighbor as myself, I must admit my own need for the One who loves me, too, and died to set us all free. I must move toward my neighbors, push beyond my comfort level, and work to help bind their wounds, bring Hope to their burdened lives, and love them as Christ has loved me.

 

Do you know your neighbors? Are you willing to listen and learn from them—even if their lives annoy or offend you? What does it look like for you to specifically love your neighbor in this season?

Your thoughts and questions are welcome.

For deeper study, here is a list of resources that have helped shape my perspective and understanding around this broad and often complex topic.

Books:

The Irresistible Revolution: Living as An Ordinary Radical by Shane Claiborne

The Awakening of Hope: Why We Practice A Common Faith by Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove

The Wisdom of Stability: Rooting Faith in a Mobile Culture by Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove

Love Does by Bob Goff

Falling Free by Shannan Martin

Simple Spirituality: Learning to See God in a Broken World by Christopher L. Heuertz

The Importance of Being Foolish: How to Think Like Jesus by Brennan Manning

Jesus and the Disinherited by Howard Thurman

Befriending the Stranger by Jean Vanier

The Wounded Healer by Henri J.M. Nouwen

Podcast: The most helpful podcast I have found on this topic is Love Thy Neighborhood with Jesse Eubanks. I have not listened to every episode but what I’ve heard so far is practical and thought-provoking.