Who Is Your Neighbor?
The Year was 1968. Laila and I graduated from college. Both of us honor students. I was sure the world would be knocking at my door. No one knocked.
Having no place to go and no money to go with, we moved in with Laila’s parents. We were expecting our first child. To say it was discouraging would be an understatement. It was also embarrassing to me to be living in the house of my father-in-law when I had promised to take care of his only child and precious daughter. The gentleman he was, we were welcomed with open arms.
A newspaper ad invited applications for a Tastee-Freeze ice cream truck driver/operator. I applied. The owner and I agreed to a 50/50 partnership. He supplied truck and goods. I drove and operated the business.
Loading began 8 AM. By 10 AM I was in white folks neighborhoods selling 5-, 10- and 25-cent items. As the evening came I moved to apartment complexes of mostly black folks who did not have air-conditioning. Best sales were in the evenings.
One of my regular customers was a teenage boy named “Harold.” Because our names were the same I treated him special. We developed a good relationship.
On a hot night in July of that year called by some “The Long Hot Summer,” unrest began to move through the crowd of several dozen people. I knew it was becoming dangerous and began to close business and prepare to move the truck out of the neighborhood. It was too late. Men converged from every side and began to rock the truck with intentions of turning it over. Outside voices were at a fever pitch, and the truck was tending to precarious angles.
Suddenly, a loud voice began to rise above the din and roar. It was a commanding voice with clear instructions: “Stop! You will not turn that truck over! That man is my friend!”
Harold withstood the entire frenzy. He stationed himself near the truck. I was locked inside. Harold stood there until the crowd moved to allow me to safely drive away.
Countless times through the years I have remembered Harold. Children, grandchildren and a thousand wonderful events of my life might have never happened ---if Harold had not come to my rescue.
I so wish I knew where Harold is tonight. I would love to call him, invite him to my home, send him a gift, tell him of my gratitude.
Harold was a neighbor to me. I was in distress. He saved my life.
It is not enough to have a person who lives next door be called your neighbor. Jesus taught that we can be and should be a neighbor to those in need…even if we do not know them…even if we do not like them…even if they have nothing to give us…nothing they can do for us.
The Second Commandment is not about social acts of reciprocity of, "I mow my neighbor’s yard, and he changes the oil in my car." Loving others as we love ourselves is about helping people as Christ would help them.
Let us pray for the Lord to open our eyes to see people as precious possessions of God. Let us pray that the Holy Spirit will enable us to be generous with words, deeds, and gifts to bless others, with no expectation or anticipation of return---other than the joy of giving.
Let us practice being a good neighbor even as Christ was and is our good neighbor.
Pastor Bare
Luke 10:25 ff