Who are your neighbours?

We recently spent two weeks at marvelous Camp Imadene as Camp Grandparents. I asked the Director what he expected of us. He said that since this was a new position, we should do whatever we want. But basically, we should hang out with kids. For two weeks, those 200 campers were our neighbours.

Jesus once agreed with a lawyer that the two greatest commands are to love God and love your neighbour. But the lawyer wanted to “justify” himself; that is, he wanted to make himself look good, or as the Message puts it, find a loophole. So he asked Jesus, “Who is my neighbour?”

In response, Jesus told a story that has become the quintessential depiction of neighborly love. But there is one problem: Jesus got the story all wrong.

It should have gone like this: A Samaritan is attacked and left for dead, and a Jewish man finds him. The Jewish man condescends to help the unfortunate fellow even though he is a hated Samaritan. This story would have answered the Pharisee’s question, Who is my neighbor? And this story would have justified his condescending posture toward lowly Samaritans, which is what he wanted.

Instead, Jesus told a very unexpected story, one in which a Samaritan—not a Jew—was the hero. And Jesus adjusted the question to this: Who was the neighbor? The Pharisee was forced to admit that if he was in trouble, he would want to be treated well, even if a Samaritan was the only guy around to do the job. It would be okay for a Samaritan to be his neighbor in dire need, even if in all other circumstances it would not.

What I wanted to do at camp was take campers out sailing, so I did that every day. I was the captive audience of dozens of excited kids, most of whom had never sailed before. Some were easy to love. Big deal! Anyone can love the nice ones. What about the campers who were hard to love, the ones that—if I was willing to admit it—I would rather not have with me on the boat? In other words, I would prefer not having them as a neighbour—unless I was drowning.

Jesus’ parable says that such an attitude would preclude me from loving these campers, my neighbors. Until I am willing to be loved by unlovely people, I will never know how to do for others what I would have them do for me.

What would I be willing to have a difficult camper do for me, if I were in need? Whatever answer I give to that question limits the level of love I have to offer them.

When Jesus told the lawyer, “Go and do likewise,” he didn’t mean for him to become a compassionate Samaritan. He meant that he should become a Jew who was willing to receive the compassion of a Samaritan. Only then could he learn to love his neighbor as himself.