UniteBoston

Nurturing Relational Connections Across Boston's Christian Community

White Jesus, You Scare Me

Ed Gaskin is our featured blogger this week. Ed is a Black Protestant Christian running Greater Grove Hall Main Streets; he attends Temple Beth Elohim in Wellesley as well as Reservoir Church in Cambridge. He has also co-taught a course with professor Dean Borgman called, “Christianity and the Problem of Racism” at Gordon Conwell Theological Seminary for over 25 years. Read below to hear Ed describe his reflection on a billboard on I-93.

As I drive along I-93, I see a billboard in Dorchester of a white, pale Jesus who looks more like a scary ghost from a horror movie than the Jesus I have come to know in my spiritual journey. I consider myself a Judeo-Christian, practicing both Judaism and Christianity. On any given weekend, you will find me at Shabbat services on Friday and in church on Sunday. I am a conservative Christian who believes in the fundamentals of the Christian faith when it comes to traditional Christian doctrine. 

When I see a ghost-like Jesus, it scares me, and it should scare you too. The ghost-like Jesus is a political statement, and the political values and ideas it represents are scary: primarily white supremacy and white nationalism. In my article, “Whitewashed: How a Jewish and brown Jesus became an Aryan,” I explain the history and politics around the creation of the white Jesus. 

That white Jesus has always been on the wrong side of history, starting with Martin Luther, the father of the Protestant reformation, who was deeply antisemitic. Some scholars have said the Holocaust would not have been possible without his teachings. White Supremacist thinking reflected in the church and state led to the Doctrine of Discovery, which established a religious, political, and legal justification for colonization and seizure of land not inhabited by Christians. 

The Doctrine of Discovery was a church doctrine, not a national political policy, yet it was cited in U.S. Supreme Court decisions as late as 2005 and formed the basis for the 19th century concept of Manifest Destiny — the belief that the United States was destined by God to expand its dominion and spread democracy and capitalism across the entire North American continent. Through Manifest Destiny, the United States justified the forced removal of Native Americans and other groups from their homes. Similarly, the notion of American exceptionalism argues that the United States is uniquely virtuous and superior to other nations, in part due to its historically Christian roots. 

It should be no surprise, then, that Germany claimed to be practicing conservative Christian values when following Hitler. Nazis worshipped the white Jesus. 

Such beliefs mixed with Christian nationalism and white supremacy form a toxic Kool-Aid ingested by too many Christians today. They worship an orange Jesus, who gazes out from billboards with his fake tan. Despite the four years of his presidency — and more on the campaign trail — during which he was documented as telling more lies than any president in history, many people who identify as Christians are still willing to say with a straight face that this grifter, this orange Messiah, best represents the Christian faith and is the person they want as commander in chief.  

Indeed, the Ku Klux Klan is a Christian organization, and those who participated in the January 6 insurrection describe themselves as patriots in the Christian fight for God and country. The John Birch Society, claiming God was on its side, promulgated the fear that communists had infiltrated the government in the 1950s and 1960s, leading to official steps aimed at removing them, including a blacklist. 

In contrast, consider the revolutionary groups of the 1960s: Black Power groups and others that wanted to overthrow the government. None of them, not even modern-day socialists or anarchist groups such as antifa have traveled an inch in their journey relative to Trump followers, who successfully infiltrated every aspect of our government, from the legislative branch to the Department of Justice, the judiciary, and every level of the executive branch, including the White House. 

The term “Christian terrorism” should be an oxymoron, but sadly it is not. When the extent of the planning involved in the January 6 attempt to overthrow our government was exposed, it demonstrated that Christian insurrectionists were the pros, and all the others were mere paper tigers. We should have been fearing conservative Christians in government all along, not communists or anarchists. 

The Founding Fathers understood this. In reviewing the sweep of history, they saw that consolidating religious and political power was too dangerous, so they required the separation of church and state. 

Now you know why the white Jesus scares me. 

Highlights from the 2023 Week of Prayer for Christian Unity

Thanks to everyone who participated in this year’s Week of Prayer for Christian Unity! This year’s theme and liturgies were developed together by Christian churches from Burkina Faso in western Africa, based on the text from the Gospel of St Luke: “You shall love the Lord your God … and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). UB was honored to host a variety of gatherings this year, including prayer, fellowship, and also service initiatives that aligned with this theme.

UniteBoston staff members Rev. Kelly Fassett and Rev. Devlin Scott also wrote blogs exploring what this theme might mean practically for Christians in Boston. Rev. Kelly Fassett invites us to consider, “To whom must I become a neighbor?” and Rev. Devlin Scott challenges us to consider how we might inadvertently seek to justify ourselves instead of fully embracing Jesus’ radical acceptance.

Lord Jesus, who prayed that all might be one, we pray to you for the unity of all Christians, according to your will, according to your means. May your Spirit enable us to experience the suffering caused by division, to see our sin and to hope beyond all hope. Amen.

Saturday January 20 – Loving Our Unhoused Neighbors: Miracle Mile Service Opportunity

Miracle Mile Ministries is a collaborative of churches devoted to a sustained, deliberate, strategic response to the area we call “Miracle Mile,” a roughly 2-square-mile area in the South End of Boston often referred to as “Mass & Cass” or “Methadone Mile.”  It is led by a core group of six Boston-area Lead Churches (Congregación León de Judá, Antioch Community Church Brighton, Cornerstone Church, Restoration City Church, Hilltop Church and Symphony Church) and also involves a dozen or so churches and parachurch ministries from throughout Boston’s neighboring communities who faithfully support this effort, week after week.

On Saturday January 20, 53 volunteers from 17 different churches served dozens of guests with a hot cup of coffee, a nourishing meal, clothing, conversation, and spiritual care. You can learn more about Miracle Mile Ministries here, and this is a regular service opportunity that you can participate in any Saturday morning! You can sign up to volunteer here. For questions, email Heidi, heidi.marie99@aol.com

“God of welcome, grant us the grace to risk embracing the stranger, tending their wounds and standing in solidarity with them. Strengthen our resolve to be kind and merciful and to act towards our brothers and sisters at all times as you do towards us.”

Sunday January 21 – An Afternoon of Christian Unity with The Focolare and Chemin Neuf Communities

We gathered with the Focolare and Chemin Neuf communities for activities and prayer around the “love your neighbor” theme. We learned from Chiara Lubich that we must be the first to love, as that is what Christ did for us. We must develop the capacity to love Jesus in every person, as what we do or say to them we do to Jesus. The day ended with a liturgical prayer gathering in the beautiful sanctuary, including the youth leading us in the melodic choruses of “Baba Yetu / Our Father” song in Swahili.

Monday January 22 – “Love Your Neighbor” Neighborhood Dinner

Cleopatra Muhammad hosted a neighborhood dinner on Monday evening centered on the theme of “Love Thy Neighbor.” It was as intimate gathering where they ate, got to know one another and took a creative look at what it means to love our neighbor. She said, “My favorite part was hearing and seeing people’s creative take on the story of the Good Samaritan – through poetry, re-imagining the story in a modern day setting, free write, and drawing.”

Tuesday January 23 – Taize Prayer Gathering

Tuesday evening’s Taize prayer service in Cambridge was absolutely beautiful visually and musically. It incorporated meditative song, silence and prayer around Jesus’ call to love our neighbor. The Taizé Community is an ecumenical Christian brotherhood in Burgundy, France, composed of over 100 brothers from all over the world, from Catholic and Protestant traditions, a true “parable of community” that wants its life to be a sign of reconciliation between divided Christians and between separated peoples.

Thursday January 25 – Christian Unity Prayer Gathering

We had the privilege and honor of praying with clergy representing Catholic, Orthodox, Baptist, and Episcopal traditions at the Paulist Center and Chapel on Thursday evening for the Octave of this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. It was an incredible time of prayer and ecumenical encounter as we enjoyed beautiful music, heard the call to care for creation by Dean Amy McCreath, and prayed for the needs of one another. To God be the glory!

Above: Clergy at the Closing gathering for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. From left to right: Fr. Tom Ryan (Catholic), Fr. Mina Kaddis (Orthodox), Dean Amy McCreath (Episcopal), Rev. Colin Leitch (Swedenborgian), Rev. Kelly Fassett (Baptist), Fr. Rich Andre (Catholic), Music Director Nourmand Goui

God, our healer, we who are scattered like sheep without a shepherd, ask you to gather us into one fold. Enliven us by your Spirit and send us again, two by two, to be the light of the world and the salt of the earth.

Harvard Slavery Tour Experience: Nurturing Love and a Shared Humanity

In our final blog around the theme of “Love Thy Neighbor” from the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, Dr. Michael James shares some recent learnings and reflections of how he is applying his learning from the experiences he has had as a member of our Christian unity cohort. Michael James is a Resident Minister and faculty member of Boston College and also is a member of the Focolare Movement, a lay ecclesial movement of the Roman Catholic Church who seek to promote brotherhood and to achieve a more united world in which people respect and value diversity in alignment with Jesus’ prayer “that they would be one” (Jn 17:21). 

Here, Michael shares how his experience during the Harvard Slavery Tour renewed his commitment to building unity through the “art of loving.”

In the face of a climate on most college and university campuses that are too often marked by isolation, fragmentation, discontinuity, competition, and abject individualism, my experience during the Harvard Slavery Tour reminded me of my responsibility to build processes of repair on my own university campus that cultivate a culture of unity through practicing the “art of loving.” By practicing the “art of loving,” I can participate in generating the counter currents of interdependence, relational action, dialogue, reciprocity, and fraternity. 

In the Harvard & the Legacy of Slavery Tour Experience, we explored Harvard University’s entanglements with the institution of slavery. We walked for two hours, making ten stops in and around the nation’s first college campus, re-examining familiar terrain and learning about a part of Harvard’s history that has long been hidden in plain sight. The tour helps dispel the myth that the New England region did not play a significant role in slavery, profit from human trafficking, or contribute to the erasure of countless family histories. In addition, the tour elevates stories of Black women and men whose resistance and leadership have shaped the University—and our nation. Our tour was led by Rev. Rita Powell and Pastor Dan Smith, and it was intentional about taking space for prayerful reflection to remember and process a history that has been hidden for so long – too long. 

The art of loving

My experience of walking the Harvard Slavery Tour in communion with brothers and sisters in Christ reminded me of the sacramental opportunity I have to build unity on my own campus of Boston College. Christian colleges and universities offer a distinct, formative, and transformative student development experience – the kind of experience that is animated by the life of Jesus.  Christian unity calls us to encounter Jesus in one another through love. As a faculty member I am called to live a vocation that invites all members of our campus to build unity through a practice in the “art of loving.”

The “art of loving” is demanding. It requires us to love everyone – acknowledging that our dignity and value are not external, but inherent; not dependent on what we do, but who we are: made in the image of God, the Imago Dei (Gen 1:27).  

  • It is selfless. It calls me to share the joy and pain of another person by letting go of my worn strong beliefs, opinions, and ideas in order to make the other’s perspective my own. 
  • It is generous. I am asked to be the first to love in each encounter. I ask myself, “What is the will of God in this moment with this person?” The answer is simple: to love that person who is made in the image of God. I must initiate love for the other right away, without expecting anything in return. 
  • It is reciprocal. I have come to understand, through the example of Jesus, that a person discovers his or her deepest, most authentic self by being detached from the self.  To enter into relationship, I must identify and embrace my own self-identity, while at the same time relinquishing it for the sake of the other.

 Jesus shows me through His ultimate sacrifice that I am myself, not when I close myself off from the other, but when I give myself, when out of love I lose myself in the other. In this way I actually find myself.

Embracing our shared humanity

The opportunity for reverence and reflection at the gravesites of enslaved people in Cambridge was the most formative moment for me on the Harvard Slavery Tour. I learned about Cicely and Jane, aged 13 and 22, who were the only known enslaved people buried in the Old Burying Ground, but for whom not much else is known. In prayer in front of the gravestones of Cicely and Jane, I recalled how I had grown increasingly more at peace with the weeks and then months of being sheltered-in-home during the spring and summer of 2020. Absent my daily commute to campus, I enjoyed reduced stress, more leisure time with my family, long meals and hikes in the park, and the luxury of time to read, write and work on lesson plans.  

However, the walls of silence I had built through self-isolation began crumbling. My conscience grew increasingly unsettled with each incident of violence and racism against brothers and sisters of color. I had been further jarred from my “comfort” as COVID-19 ravaged Black and Latino communities disproportionately compared to white communities. In this state of mind, I eagerly sought out sources of conversation, consolation and conversion.

James Baldwin, in his 1964 essay, Nothing Personal, spoke of the “miracle of love” that begins to “take flesh” when we encounter someone who embraces our wounds and is unafraid of making themselves vulnerable. As I reflected at that time on the national landscape of morally questionable leadership and the divisive nature of our public discourse, I recognized how prophetic Baldwin’s words were at that moment and endure today. 

Baldwin asks how we can navigate and embrace our shared humanity. He laments that “our failure to trust one another deeply enough to be able to talk to one another has become so great that people with these questions in their hearts do not speak them.” In many ways, we as a society are still deluding ourselves that wounds are something to be hidden rather than fundamental realities to interrogate. 

Reflecting more deeply at that moment on my own paralysis to act, to make the connections that this particular moment necessitated, I decided to contact Black and Latino students with whom I shared spaces of teaching and learning over the last several academic semesters. My students spoke with me from locations including Miami, Washington, DC, Los Angeles, Boston, and New York City. Each person described their frustrations with the anemic debate about who is on the right and wrong side of public violence and the murders of black people, as well as the passivity of public conversations about the best way to correct systemic injustices. As these young people shared with me their increased sense of vulnerability to COVID-19 in communities of color, the slaying of Black lives, and their persistent personal encounters with racism and police violence, I experienced their outrage, devastation, exhaustion, fear, powerlessness, and anxiety.

As I entered into my students’ suffering, I heard Baldwin’s question echo – how do I navigate and embrace our shared humanity? The answer, Baldwin proposes, does not emerge in politics or law. As much as the correcting of social evils does require radically examining and repairing our political system, any change that does not begin on the individual level will be inert, at best. I recognized that the answer will not be something one can purchase or manufacture by oneself. Instead, the only adequate answer is something from beyond ourselves.

The founder of Focolare (a lay ecclesial movement in the Catholic Church that I am part of) Chiara Lubich presents the vision of “a world united” challenges me to look beyond myself as an educator, scholar, teacher and minister. Lubich explains,

“The goal that has been assigned to education (to form the human person so as to render him or her independent) is implemented almost paradoxically, by forming the ‘person-in-relationship,’ which for us means the human person in the image of the Trinity, one who is capable of continually transcending self…” It is through this spiritual and educational practice of mutual love, to the point of becoming completely one, that we work toward the achievement of the goal of all goals, expressed in Jesus’ prayer and testament: “May they all be one.’”

Lubich’s insight is that social justice begins from a personal choice to share the suffering of our brothers and sisters. In doing so, we look at our own woundedness and openly share our vulnerability. The more we deny our humanity, the more we become blinded to others’ humanity. We forfeit the grace that comes with the miracle of love.

Conclusion

Walking the Harvard Slavery Tour helped me to renew my commitment to build a unity that requires acknowledgement of exposed systemic injustices in Catholic higher education and in the broader social context. Building unity requires me to address Catholic campus cultures that have been historically fractured by the disparities attributed to students’ socio-economic status, race, gender, sexual identity, and ethnicity. It is my hope that by practicing the “art of loving” on my own campus, I contribute to the work of repair by cultivating unity that generates countercurrents of interdependence, relational action, authentic dialogue and an ethic of reciprocity that may, by a miracle of love, begin to change 400 years of a different narrative in our city, state, and country – one that has not been based on interdependence or love. 

Who is My Neighbor?: Unveiling Today’s Justifications for Exclusion

During this Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, we are discussing practical implications of the theme of “Love Your Neighbor” for Christians in Boston. Last week, Rev. Kelly Fassett discussed “To Whom Must I Become A Neighbor?” and this week, Rev. Devlin Scott challenges us to consider how we might inadvertently seek to justify ourselves instead of fully embracing Jesus’ radical acceptance.

Jesus was known for who He “included” rather than who He “excluded.”

And to that statement, let the church say, Amen. We’re familiar with the narratives showcasing Jesus’s profound love and the courageous sense of community he embodied. He interacted with diverse individuals—the woman at the well, the outcast in the wilderness, the woman caught in an illicit act, the tax collector who exploited his people, the zealot, and those with physical impairments. The company Jesus kept was quite extraordinary and diverse, including individuals with varying interpretations of scripture (the Torah).

Jesus had been establishing a reputation that revolutionized how people perceived their God and faith. However, a segment of society regarded his approach as excessively radical, potentially sinful, and even blasphemous. In an apparent show of bravery, yet with an underlying motive to test Jesus, one man engaged in a series of questions. He initiated with, “What must I do to inherit eternal life” (Luke 10:25 NIV)? This query, a common concern across various religions and notably within Christianity, delved into the pursuit of eternal life and the essence of religious law, commonplace in Judaic discussions. It’s worth noting the man’s presumption that his actions could merit or contribute to attaining eternal life.

Jesus steered the conversation back to the teachings of the Old Testament, an area where the man held expertise and which served as the primary source of religious wisdom. When asked by Jesus, the expert in the law promptly cited the familiar commands: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.” This mirrored Jesus’ own instruction (Mt 22:37-40), indicating the man’s familiarity with these teachings found in the Old Testament (Dt 6:5; Lev 19:18). Jesus appreciated the accuracy of the man’s response, much like praising a child who flawlessly recites a memorized verse. However, the subsequent question wasn’t a test for Jesus; it aimed to justify the man’s position or perhaps refine the command. Commentator and Biblical scholar Kenneth L. Barker suggests, “The only way to justify oneself is to limit the extent of the law’s demand and consequently limit one’s own responsibility.” The expert in the law sought to rationalize or narrow down his personal obligation by asking, “Who is my neighbor?”

This move doesn’t just fall short; it actually achieves the opposite effect. Jesus responds by sharing the parable of the Good Samaritan. As Kelly eloquently delved into last week, Jesus’ answer to the man’s query didn’t narrow down his responsibility to his neighbor, nor did it restrict the definition of who could be considered a neighbor – it widened both aspects. Essentially, Jesus’ reply to the question, “who is my neighbor?” highlighted that he had more neighbors than he had assumed and to truly embody being a good neighbor, he needed to extend far more care and support than he might have initially imagined.

Photo by Alvin Engler on Unsplash

I wonder what derivative of this law-limiting, responsibility-shrinking question we are still asking today? When confronted with the idea of loving our neighbor, are we still attempting to rationalize ourselves, our stances, our theological perspectives, our doctrinal convictions, and our traditional values? While we might acknowledge the command, similar to the expert in the law, are we interpreting it in a manner that enables us to evade a radical response, akin to the teachings Jesus imparted through the parable of the Good Samaritan? What is our version of the evading question, “who is my neighbor?”  Let’s consider two examples; one that is quite familiar and one that I propose we reconsider.

The saying “love the sinner, hate the sin” is a common phrase, often seen by many Christians as a reasonable way to express care for individuals while maintaining strong convictions on various matters. It’s a poetic, passionate, and powerful notion, frequently quoted and attributed to Mahatma Gandhi in his 1929 autobiography. However, Gandhi’s full statement delivers a different message: “Hate the sin and not the sinner is a precept which, though easy enough to understand, is rarely practiced, and that is why the poison of hatred spreads in the world.” This fuller context might not align with the intent of using it to justify or limit responsibility. Moreover, when considering the perspective of the “sinner,” they might not perceive themselves as your neighbor upon hearing this phrase. It’s an easily accessible idea but falls short of encapsulating the depth of Jesus’ message portrayed through the actions depicted in the parable of the Good Samaritan.

Consider this: Churches nowadays often emphasize being “Bible-believing” as a distinguishing factor. The statement would suggest that there are “churches” that do not believe the Bible. Certainly, that can be true. There are gatherings of people that might identify as a church where the Bible is not the sacred word of their deity, nor is it considered in their religious spaces. By this description, these wouldn’t be Christian churches and neither would they claim to be.  Additionally, “Bible Believing” churches might even say that if a church does not see the Bible as inerrant or infallible they do not see the Bible as the authoritative Word of God thus they aren’t “Bible Believing.” But that is not a view that those they are describing would support. A more accurate description of what is juxtaposed to a “Bible-believing” church should be articulated as follows: A Bible non-believing church is a non-Christian organization because Christ and his work and its significance are found in the Bible. Thus to be Christian, of any sect, would require belief in the Bible.

The concern is not that “Bible believing” is clarifying Christian verses non-Christian, but that it’s about segregating one kind of Christian from another; “our kind” of Christian versus “their kind” of Christian.  Moreover, this emphasis is often used to specify who the group will associate with or support. And therein lies the derivative of the self-justifying, law-limiting, responsibility-shrinking question, “Who is my neighbor?”

Setting aside the idea that “Bible believing” as a label against other Christians suggests that your understanding of the Bible allows you to assert ownership over it, the phrase tends to serve as an exclusionary rather than an inclusive marker. Once more, I doubt that those presumed to be “Bible non-believers” feel a sense of neighborliness when this barrier is raised.

Jesus adeptly navigated this by providing the dignity, acceptance, and sense of belonging that those usually marginalized within the church required, all the while upholding the OT law instead of abolishing it (Matthew 5:17-20).  

I encourage you to reflect not only on “who your neighbor is,” but also on how we might inadvertently seek to justify ourselves instead of fully embracing Jesus’ radical acceptance. Remember, Jesus prophesied in his prayer in John 17 that the world would recognize him through how we, his followers, understand and live out our responsibility to one another, that we are unified as one.

As we prayerfully contemplate the theme of this year’s Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, let us strive to emulate Jesus – aiming to include rather than exclude. Let’s introspect, examining our hearts for instances where we might be attempting to justify ourselves by restricting the law or our responsibility. May we lean towards generosity, compassion, and love, rather than starting from a place of scarcity or segregation. Let’s simply and boldly love our neighbor – all of our neighbors – deeply and without reservation.  Let the church say, Amen.

Photo by Tim Bish on Unsplash

To Whom Must I Become A Neighbor?

Some might say that “Love Your Neighbor” is the quintessential call of a Christian… but what might this mean practically for Christians in Boston? This year’s theme for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity is “You should love the Lord your God… and your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). For the next two weeks, UniteBoston staff Rev. Kelly Fassett and Rev. Devlin Scott will be sharing wisdom on how we can live out God’s call to love our neighbors. Read below as Kelly invites us to consider, “to whom must I become a neighbor?”

As I’ve been reflecting on Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan these past few weeks, there are two things that have stood out to me: The willingness of the Samaritan to help his “enemy,” and the way the Samaritan dropped everything, sacrificing his own time, attention and resources to treat the injured man. He was moved with compassion, and so must we, when our “neighbor” is in need.

Photo by Matt Collamer on Unsplash

First, this parable was quite provocative in Jesus’ day because of the hostility present between Jews and Samaritans. Individuals in these two groups hated one another because of their different religious beliefs. Samaritans claimed to be descendants of Israel, and believed that worship should be done at Mt Gerizim, not Jerusalem. These differing religious beliefs eventually became violent – In the intertestamental period, the Jews destroyed the Samaritan temple; and around 6AD the Samaritans spread human remains in the Jewish temple and sanctuary during Passover. Jesus’ followers who heard this story were so provoked because the hero in this story isn’t a religious leader, he isn’t even Jewish; he is a hated Samaritan, an outsider. 

Second, the Samaritan demonstrated abundant self-sacrificial time, attention and resources to the Jewish man. Not only did he bandage his wounds to treat immediate needs, he risked his life by transporting the wounded man to an inn within enemy territory, and spent several days’ wages to continue his care at an inn. He took a risk and modeled costly love for the sake of a stranger, who was perceived as his “enemy.”

By telling this story, Jesus is expanding the idea of “neighbor” beyond the typical understanding of those who are in close proximity to us. The question is not just “who is my neighbor” but “to whom must I become a neighbor?” Jesus describes that neighbor is one from the outside group, the one whose beliefs or practices we don’t agree with and may even harbor feelings against: an “enemy.” The neighbor is someone we may avoid at all costs or we might secretly wish would fail. This isn’t to say that God doesn’t take sides, because I’ve learned that standing up for what is true and right is especially needed on issues of justice. The point is that too often I see God’s people drawing hard lines to keep ideological purity with “our tribe,” which can lead to underlying arrogance, hostility and antagonism, rather than upholding a posture of listening and engaging, treating one another with the love, care and respect that Jesus models and is core to our Christian witness.

In verse 33, the passage describes how Jesus was moved with compassion, which is the Greek verb splagchnizomai. This verb means to be moved in the inward parts, or to experience a deep visceral feeling. Mirriam-Webster defines that “Compassion is the sympathetic consciousness of others’ distress together with a desire to alleviate it.” Do we know one another enough to feel this type of deep compassion?

Here, Jesus is calling us to step outside of our comfort zones to show mercy. Yes, I know how easy it is as a Bostonian to put your head down and ignore all those around you to get what you need done every day (and many of us have a lot on our plates!) It’s also very easy to just stay with those who look like us and believe like us. I’ve learned that especially for the BIPOC community, being with “your people” is absolutely crucial to rest, heal, and avoid the micro-aggressions that are all-too common. Yet, Jesus said that even sinners love those who love them (Lk 6:32). This parable makes it clear that loving your neighbor isn’t about what is easy but about what is costly. It involves laying down our agenda, our time, energy, power, and resources for the sake of the other. It involves actually sitting with those on the “other side,” feeling what they feel, and even risking yourself for their sake, without expecting anything in return.

I invite you today to consider – To whom might God be inviting you to become a neighbor? Is it a particular person, or a group of people? What can you do to tangibly risk your life for their sake, offering your time or resources, in the likeness of what Jesus has done for us? 

Being a neighbor might be risky, but it may lead to connection or friendship, or even change the course of two people’s lives, as it did for the Samaritan as well as the Jewish man in this parable. May you listen to God’s invitation during the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity and beyond, that we might not cross the road from human need but lay down our lives for our friends and neighbors.


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