And today’s Gospel says: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind … and your neighbor as yourself.”
But the Lord is asked: “And who is my neighbor?”
That got me thinking.
Growing up, I had a good neighbor, a dentist whose first name was Art. He had kids and we played with them. I never paid much attention to Art. But I was young.
When I was 3, I was leaning against a poorly screened window and fell through, down two stories, landing head-first on a sidewalk. I broke both of my wrists as I tried to cushion my fall, but my head was pretty split open … and although I don’t remember any of it, I understand my mom and brother did a fair amount of screaming.
Art the dentist was next door, thankfully, ran over to our yard and quickly grabbed my tongue so I wouldn’t swallow it while convulsing. No doubt … he saved my life. As did the paramedics who came to the scene, the priest from our Catholic church a few blocks away (he gave me Last Rites) and scores of doctors and nurses.
They were all my neighbors at that point … and I survived, thanks to their love, passion for curing others and their God-given gifts.
I think about that a lot. As I healed from that near deadly fall, I developed a strong sense that God must have wanted me to live a little while longer. I suppose every day we wake up and draw our first breath, we can (or should) say the same thing.
I decided as a young boy that I would dedicate my life to helping others in whatever way I could. I used to daydream about saving someone’s life … pulling someone out of a burning home … defending a victim of crime … stepping in front of a speeding bullet.
Of course, none of those happened to me – at least not in the dramatic fashion of a young dreamer’s thoughts.
But as I reflect on my life nearly 50 years after I almost died on that sidewalk, I hope I’ve done my share to help my fellow “neighbors.”
My father actually gave me a great example to follow one day. I was probably 8 years old and we were visiting Washington, D.C. We were across the street from the White House when a beggar approached us out of nowhere. I was scared and hid behind my big brother. I remember the man was dirty, he smelled bad and his knuckles were bloody, as if he’d been in a fight.
He looked at my dad – a Pall Mall Red smoker – and asked if he could bum a cigarette. My dad gave him one, lit it, and watched as the beggar drew in the tobacco smoke with a smile. My dad reached into his coat pocket and pulled out two more packs of cigarettes and gave them to the man, who looked back with a huge smile. It was as if he had been given a million dollars.
I never forgot that moment. It probably changed the way I interact with others as I walk the streets of a big city. Rather than look on with fear, I try to look on with compassion … and although I don’t smoke cigarettes, I will empty my pockets of cash to help someone get a hot meal … or a cold beer (who am I to judge what’s best for anyone?)
So, yeah, I’ve been blessed to have some encounters with my neighbors. And I suppose to anyone who tries to be a good Christian, a good Catholic, good Jew, Muslim or simply a good person, it’s not that difficult to be kind to those who cross your path.
But I also think Jesus is challenging us today to love those neighbors we cannot see. The ones we don’t pull out of a burning house or meet in a big city park. These are the neighbors who live in other cities, other states, other parts of the world.
These are the neighbors who line up for food, water, shelter or medical care in lands that we will never visit. We may not have the chance to cross paths with them. We may never get to be their “Good Samaritan.”
At least not in person.
But this is where the global Church comes into play.
Think about those coins, dollars and church envelopes you drop into the basket on Sunday mornings. Think about your donations made to your local parish and diocese. Or maybe the check you wrote to Catholic Charities last year.
The Church is everywhere.
In many cases, it is the Church that provides the loving care for our “invisible neighbors” around the world, thanks to the tithing that we do on a regular basis.
I realize it can be much more powerful and spiritually uplifting to interact with those that we are given the opportunity to love. This is why I still remember the man with the bloody fingers, the dentist next door and many others who I have met in my journeys.
But let us not ever forget those invisible neighbors of ours who depend on the loving care of Mother Church for things that most of us take for granted.
They, too, need to be loved as much as we love ourselves.
