Who is my neighbor?

Image used under Open Government License from Wikimedia

Now, hundreds in Paris are mourning the loss of a loved one. Now, thousands of Syrians flee from terror in their homeland. And while profiles on facebook supportively turn white, red, and blue in solidarity with our neighbors in France, thirty-one US governors symbolically slam the door on these other neighbors from Syria in need.

And my heart breaks. It breaks for those in France. It breaks for refugees who faced horrors we can't even imagine, only to be told they aren't welcome. It breaks because of the fear that wants to keep out those with nowhere else to go. And it breaks that some who call themselves followers of Christ seem to so completely forget his words.

“Teacher, what shall I do to inherit eternal life? He said to him, “What is written in the Law? . . ,” And he answered, “You shall love. . . your neighbor as yourself.” And he said to him, “You have answered correctly; do this, and you will live.” But he, desiring to justify himself, said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”

Fear speaks loudly. But love can speak louder. And sometimes a story can break down walls.

They welcomed me into their living room, this family who'd arrived as refugees years ago.  "Have you eaten yet?", the mother asked. "No, but I will eat when I get home".  "No, no. Look, we have food left from dinner.  Do you eat chicken? Let me heat it up for you."  Passionately, she told me about her dreams for her two daughters, her love evident in every word. She lit up as she told me how wonderful it felt to see her daughter learn to read. She told me how she narrated stories to her children in her first language so they would grow up multilingual, even though the language she most wanted them to become fluent in was the one of the country they were now living in. 

This was a story of love, of family, a story any mother can relate to.

Jesus replied, “A man . . . fell among robbers, who stripped him and beat him and departed, leaving him half dead. Now by chance a priest was going down that road, and when he saw him he passed by on the other side. So likewise a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he journeyed, came to where he was. . .

Their mother went on to tell me how she wanted her children to know where they came from and be proud of who they are. "Your identity is made up of foundation posts- your culture, your personality, your language and your religion" She continued, faith radiating from her as she spoke, of her Muslim beliefs, the way her heart responds in faith, and how she hopes to pass her beliefs on to her children.

Now this story, like that of the Good Samaritan, takes a turn that isn't quite as easy to relate to. The Jews, listening to Jesus' story, would have been suspicious when the Samaritan arrived on the scene. After all, their faith was not to be trusted.  And too often, we can have the same uncomfortable, suspicious knee jerk reaction to the Muslim faith. 

. . . and when [the Samaritan] saw him, he had compassion. He went to him and bound up his wounds, pouring on oil and wine. Then he set him on his own animal and brought him to an inn and took care of him. And the next day he took out two denarii and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, ‘Take care of him, and whatever more you spend, I will repay you when I come back.’ Which of these three, do you think, proved to be a neighbor to the man who fell among the robbers?” He said, “The one who showed him mercy.” And Jesus said to him, “You go, and do likewise.”

But just as the Samaritan proved to be a neighbor, this lovely woman and her family I met showed this same ability to be neighbors, to show compassion, to love. The boundaries of religion do not mark who is or isn't our neighbor.

We cannot beat hate with more hate. Only love conquers hate.

This is the America I want to be part of:

"Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand

A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame

Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name

Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand

Glows world-wide welcome. . ." 

(excerpt from The New Colossus by Emma Lazarus)

(Writing a blog post seemed an insufficient response to a crisis of these proportions, so I hopped over to Ann Voskamp's blog A Holy Experience and followed one of her suggestions. If you'd like to know a way you can respond, she has a list of practical suggestions and trustworthy organizations you can contribute to here)