In the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Lk 10:25-37), a lawyer asked Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’
The question of ‘Who is my neighbour?’ is of growing significance in our current context of increasing social polarisation, the normalisation of extremism, and the attempts to coopt Christianity to sow seeds of division, fear, and intolerance.
I know firsthand what it is like to be ‘othered’, displaced and resettled. In the 1970s, confronted by the racism of the National Front, my parents – of Caribbean and Indian heritages – chose to relocate from the UK to raise our family in racial stability elsewhere.
Who Is My Neighbour?
In asking, ‘Who is my neighbour?’, the lawyer implies that there is such a thing as a ‘non-neighbour’, that is, someone whom he need not extend mercy and compassion to. But this is fallacious, as we are given the imperative to love each other, unconditionally, stemming from the Imago Dei, which affirms the intrinsic worth of every person and the inclusive nature of God’s Kingdom.
Alongside Christianity, the teachings of Judaism and Islam share the consistent Abrahamic message of welcoming the stranger and loving our neighbour.
However, if we’re honest, we would admit that encountering a scenario like the Gospel parable, we are unlikely to react like the excessively generous Samaritan, possibly less so today given the stresses and uncertainties in life.
Moved with Compassion
In the parable we hear the Samaritan ‘w
as moved with compassion’. Whereas the priest and the Levite, like those referred to as ‘whitewashed tombs’, may have asked, ‘If I stop, what will happen to me?’, the Samaritan possibly wondered, ‘If I don’t stop, what will happen to him and, importantly, what does it say about my faith?’
To get to where the Samaritan was, we need to be broken-open through the transformative, sometimes painful yet liberating power of God to penetrate our defences, our fears, and our prejudices to rebuild us in his image. Refashioned by God’s grace, the Samaritan saw, his heart was touched, and his body acted.
Welcoming the Stranger
Welcoming the stranger becomes less daunting when we remember that the hospitality we offer is the extension of God’s hospitality to our brothers and sisters in Christ – an act of faith, a sign of hope, and a gesture of love.
One of the most compelling aspects of Jesus Christ’s message and ministry was his radical inclusivity – bringing good news to the poor, release to captives, sight to the blind, and freedom to the oppressed. As children of God, we must learn to see others not through the very human but very distorted lenses of ‘different’ and ‘other’, ‘us and them’, but rather as new creations in Christ. Love and justice are two sides of the same coin.
A church that I was connected to had a banner saying ‘Love your neighbour who doesn’t look like you, think like you, speak like you, pray like you, vote like you. Love your neighbour, no exceptions.’ This is our challenge in living a life in Christ. The differences amongst us are not a la carte options where we can choose those protected characteristics that we are comfortable with and reject others. God calls us to love each other unconditionally and, through the celebration of each other’s uniqueness, be united in him.
Go and Do Likewise
To be people of love, we need to tap into spiritual wells to draw on the source of divine hope that enables us to persevere. This divine source gives us eyes to see glimpses of light amid the darkness, and even when we see no light at all, to trust that the light exists.
I end with the Gospel’s charge ‘Go and do likewise’. Both verbs, ‘go’ and ‘do’, are present imperative forms that demand action. In our call to live the true and full Gospel, in all that happens, in every storm or trial, in the face of our enemies, never forget that the answer to how to feel or act has been delivered to us through Christ in the love command: ‘Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another. By this everyone will know that you are my disciples…’
‘Go and do likewise’. In Jesus’ name. Amen
