"Caring about things" isn't enough
"Loving your neighbor" in practice means *actually doing things*
This post is the second part of our exploration of the ways in which Jesus' idea of "loving thy neighbor" goes beyond the generic Christian niceness we sometimes reduce it to. (It's a standalone post, so you can read it even if you haven't read the first part!)
Everybody agrees that we should love our neighbors.
To a significant extent, most of us would agree that it's good to help our unhoused neighbors, to fight against racism, and to be a friend to those slowly sinking into loneliness.
And my fear is that far too often, we read exhortations or scriptural passages or reasoned arguments that challenge us to stop and be there for our struggling neighbors and we think "of course."
Of course somebody should help.
Of course the things being discussed are so blatantly, obviously good that we don't stop to notice the fact that we ourselves aren't doing them. We start to forget that caring about issues and even caring about people aren't the same as actually showing up.
And so we go back to church and praise God for hearing the cry of the impoverished neighbors we can't bring ourselves to make eye contact with on the street.
There are a couple different responses to seeing this problem in ourselves, and I have personal experience with all of them. Sometimes it's easy to push it away, or to push it on some imagined other person so we don't have to confront our shallowness.
Other times, it's easy to descend into guilt, pretending that if we just feel bad enough it will somehow make things right, and our focus on our own feelings ironically keeps us from making any effort to improve.
The times I've been the healthiest spiritually, however, where I've seen the most sincere personal growth, have been when I've given myself grace: grace to accept that I was wrong in the past, grace to make a sincere effort to change, and grace to be patient with myself when "actually doing the thing" is a longer and harder process than I expected and I inevitably make mistakes. (And, even though it ruins the flow of the sentence -- the humility to learn, especially from the people you're trying to love. Caring for people is hard, and we need all the help we can get.)
So in that light, let's look at two major themes of Jesus' ethical teaching that are so obviously important that (almost) nobody does them.
Loving my neighbor means radical social inclusion
The love we have for others is, at its root, meant to be like the love Christ has for us.
And Jesus, the bible repeatedly tells us, does not play favorites. He is not swayed by wealth, or charisma, or social standing, or nationality, or any of the markers we use to separate ourselves from other people. He judges purely on the content of our hearts and, finding that wanting, loves us anyways.
And of course we're supposed to do the same. I've been hearing this message, in some form or another, since preschool.
But I think what makes this tricky is that to "love everybody", in abstract terms, is easy.
In the abstract, I don't have to put in any effort or make any hard choices.
In the abstract, love is never painful or demanding or mundane.
In the abstract, I don't have to worry that the love I show my homeless friends and the love I show my other friends are different.
In real life, "loving you is my good deed today" is not the same as "I love you."
And so it's shocking when Jesus interrupts my magnanimous love for all humanity with a terrifyingly specific command:
Then Jesus said to his host, “When you give a luncheon or dinner, do not invite your friends, your brothers or sisters, your relatives, or your rich neighbors; if you do, they may invite you back and so you will be repaid. But when you give a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind, and you will be blessed. Although they cannot repay you, you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous.”
Luke 14:12-14
My mind, when I hear this passage, immediately jumps to whether or not holding a banquet for our local homeless population in my apartment is prudent, and of course it isn't: I have roommates, and accepting a certain level of risk myself is very different from asking them to.
And I breath a sigh of relief and move on with my life. Unchallenged. Unchanged.
Because if I don't find a way to hide Jesus' words, stuffed deep down and away, I might have to let them into my heart, and they might expose what they find there. Why are so many of my friends comfortable and educated? (More to the point, why are so few of my friends not?) Why does the idea of inviting an unhoused friend to a dinner with church friends feel hard and terrifying rather than obvious? To what extent am I treating people as projects instead of people? How do I fix the power dynamics of these friendships?
And will I have the grace towards myself to answer these questions honestly and think creatively about how I can do better? How I can be better? Will I actually make changes in my life?
Or will it just be more of the same?
Loving my neighbor means radical generosity with my time and money
“What should we do then?” the crowd asked. John [the Baptist] answered, “Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”
Luke 3:11
Stop, breathe, and listen. Before you try to explain it away, before you insist that it's unrealistic, before you ignore it because of course sharing is a good thing, stop for a second to listen.
Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none
Two shirts.
The kingdom of God is not about finding a little money left over to donate.
The kingdom of God is not just leaving ten percent for the church
The kingdom of God is not what's left after I take what I want
The kingdom of God is not an afterthought
The kingdom of God is here when we'd be happy to lend out one of our only two shirts to somebody who needs it.
The kingdom of God is here when we realize that every single thing we think we own is a gift from God given not to entertain ourselves, but to share and to bless and to serve with.
The kingdom of God is not mine. It is ours.
And even now, even after everything I've said, my brain is saying: "This is a nice thought, if a bit idealistic. We can agree that it would be good to live the way John is suggesting, but it certainly isn't necessary, even for Christians." Certainly, at least, until we put it in the context of John's message:
John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”
“What should we do then?” the crowd asked.
John answered, “Anyone who has two shirts should share with the one who has none, and anyone who has food should do the same.”
Luke 3: 7 - 11
Note the harsh language:
"The coming wrath"
"The ax is already at the root of the trees"
"Cut down and thrown into the fire"
Loving your neighbor is not a fluffy heartwarming teaching we can ignore when it asks too much of us.
Loving your neighbor, in the sense of real, sacrificial sharing of wealth and poverty, is our only path out of a deeply sinful, greedy state we didn't even realize we were in. Our entire system of being is so deeply built around ideas of ownership and property that we don't see how radically the kingdom of God undermines them. What I have is not mine -- at best, God is lending it to me, to be used for his purposes. And his purposes very rarely line up with what I would personally like most.
Because what makes Jesus's teaching on wealth hard to accept isn't that it's complicated, but that it isn't. Those who have are required to share with those who do not. Their second shirt. Their life savings. Their dinners. Always. Everything.
When they do so, they create bonds of love and community in which the good news of Christ flourishes. When they do not, or do so in merciless or power-reinforcing ways, they sin and need to repent.
Yes, social inclusion is good. Yes, generosity is good. But they remain just nice ways of making us feel good about ourselves until we actually do them. And that's going to require some creative thinking.
Epilogue: here's a relevant quote from a sermon of St. Basil I was going to try to work into the above but the fit felt too awkward. So as an epilogue instead:
Now, someone who takes a man who is clothed and renders him naked would be termed a robber; but when someone fails to clothe the naked, while he is able to do this, is such a man deserving of any other appellation?
The bread which you hold back belongs to the hungry; the coat, which you guard in your locked storage-chests, belongs to the naked; the footwear mouldering in your closet belongs to those without shoes. The silver that you keep hidden in a safe place belongs to the one in need. Thus, however many are those whom you could have provided for, so many are those whom you wrong.
St Basil, Sermon to the Rich