“Who is my neighbor?”, the rich young ruler asked Jesus. The query
was an attempt to deflect responsibility. Of course, I have a
responsibility for my family, kinsmen, and fellow Jews, but surely not
for the outcasts, the morally unclean, or the Gentile. No loophole,
Jesus replied. Your neighbor is the one right under your nose, whomever
God created in his image. Like the rich young ruler, we all have ways of
defining “neighbor” as someone who is like us. It’s group narcissism:
not really loving my neighbor, but loving myself and what I see of
myself in others.
Who Is My Neighbor?
We recognize our responsibilities to our own families, church, and
perhaps various voluntary associations. There are school ties:
fraternity/sorority mates, secret societies, and alumni associations,
where belonging gives advantages in climbing the corporate ladder or
getting your kids into Harvard. In a less mobile era, churches reflected
the demographics of their neighborhood, as it was often divided between
the farm and the town, or along racial and socio-economic lines
(different sides of the tracks). Even in many cases where blacks and
whites worshipped together, the former sat in the loft—never in the main
gallery—and certainly did not drink from a common cup in Communion.
(Paul says something about this in 1 Corinthians.) In our mobile society
today, churches are more divided than ever into ever-smaller niche
demographics defined by the marketplace.
In all of these cases, we choose our neighbors. They are
people who are like us. We share similar playlists on our iPod, shop at
the same stores, drive similar cars, and even dress alike. When we move
to a new city or suburb, we find a neighborhood, church, and school that
most closely fits our own self-chosen identity. (Of course, some people
have more freedom to choose than others.) Continue at Michael Horton
