I love the holidays. The reasons
for this are probably no different than anyone else’s; family, friends, festive
music, white lights, and numerous mugs of steaming cocoa. It truly is the most
wonderful time of the year, in many respects. As I’ve been living in Colorado
for over a year and a half now, the holidays provide a wonderful opportunity
for me to head home, and touch base with the ones I hold dearest to me.
Entering back into doing life with a grown-up family of eight means many
things. We all stay up late and watch endless amounts of movie favorites,
discuss deeper topics like college loans and automotive maintenance, and enjoy
savoring the delights of realizing that some things will never change, despite
our ever maturing family. Things like shoveling.
Growing up in the snows of New
England, shoveling is one memory that seems to supersede most others as I look
back on the winters during my more formative years. My driveway then, (a small
fraction of the one we now have), was to me a small runway that would require
most of my morning’s attention, as it seemed my
brother and I were clearing that strip of pavement for daily eternities.
Even then it seemed our work was never truly done, for our Dad would, without
fail, turn from our completed driveway and go and begin shoveling several
others, those owned by older members of our community. Perhaps it was
conscience, perhaps it was duty, but regardless, my brother and I would join
him in taking care of our neighbors. People would drive past and comment on
perhaps that’s why we have six kids in our family; to help with various chores
such as this. We would smile politely and laugh like it was the first time we
had heard such a joke, and comment to the effect of the weather being too
lovely not to enjoy or the pleasure of finding a reason to work out or
something to that effect. Really we all knew that it was something different.
It was an understood responsibility that we had to our neighbors.
Who is my neighbor? The rich young ruler asked this of Jesus in Luke
chapter ten. That’s a question that perhaps few of us think about and perhaps
even fewer takes the time to answer. Yet how we respond to this question
determines a great deal of how we live. I looked up the dictionary’s definition
and found it described as such: ‘1: one
living or located near another, 2: fellow man’ (Merriam-Webster). The term ‘neighbor’, therefore, implies a few
things: first, it applies community. You don’t have neighbors on
deserted islands. It requires ‘one’
and ‘another’. Second, it implies relationship. In the broadest sense it simply acknowledges
a fellow human being; at least a shared experience if nothing deeper. And
lastly it implies situation. Location, location, location. So even
though someone in Tokyo shares my human experience, Mrs. Crocker across the
street is much more my neighbor as the result of the location we both inhabit.
Though perhaps not shared in the same way, the definition of the term widens
our understanding of who are neighbor is to pretty much…everybody.
But wait, that’s too broad, too
overwhelming, too costly. Jesus answers the rich young ruler’s question with
the parable of the Good Samaritan. The neighbor in the story is the one who saw
the need of another, and was able to meet that specific need. In the context of
that story it makes sense. Why then is it so difficult to see that in my own
life? Do I love my neighbor as myself? What does that even mean? Perhaps the
question I should be asking myself is, what
are the needs I see and which are the ones I’m able to meet?
Last week we got more snow. Western
NY is about as forgiving as Massachusetts in regards to accumulation. Shoveling
is once again the name of the game, and I joined my dad outside for our common
task. Upon completion, without neither hesitation nor conversation, we walked
across the street to our new neighbor’s house and began to shovel. I’m grateful
for this legacy of particular faithfulness my parents have lived out before me
so well; that our neighbors deserve our compassion and help because that’s what
it means to not only be a neighbor, but what it means to be a servant of
Christ. More and more I’ve seen an
increasing trend in how our society regards our neighbors. They’re the ones
that have the nicer car. They’re the ones that have the obnoxious dog. They’re
the ones who need to mow their yard once a century. We know something of the
peoples whose lives surround ours but there is little intersection beyond
possible awkward waves and exchanging of mis-delivered mail. Sadly enough even
as believers, our neighbors receive little more than our half-hearted
considerations. Yet the call beckons us all the same, “…love your neighbor as yourself.” (Mark 12:31). Jesus says that of
all the 613 commandments in the Old Testament, the greatest one is centered
around this idea of loving God and loving others. It is our joy as much as it
is our responsibility to love well. The holidays can be a time when we kid
ourselves into thinking we’re more giving and caring towards our fellow man. Charles
Spurgeon wrote, “…perhaps, you say, “I
cannot love my neighbours, because for all I do they return ingratitude and
contempt.” So much the more room for the heroism of love. …and if they are hard
to please, seek not to please them, but to please your Master; and remember if
they spurn your love, your Master has not spurned it, and your deed is as
acceptable to him as if it had been acceptable to them. Love your neighbour,
for in so doing you are following the footsteps of Christ.”
