“Stranger & Neighbor”

Lent Midweek

March 19, 2025

Looking into the eyes of another

Luke 10:25-37

Today, we look at the stranger, the neighbor, and everything in between. When the expert of Law asked Jesus, ‘who is my neighbor,’ what he really wanted to know was, ‘who is in, and who is out?’ Who am I obligated to, and who can I ignore? Who counts? Who doesn’t count?

That is the question being asked in a variety of ways as we watch the news of political chaos at every level of government. Who counts, and who doesn’t count?

Recently, Elon Musk suggested that empathy is a sin—that it is a weakness that draws people into stories from which they cannot extract themselves. That it is a sign of porous personal boundaries. If you see someone sinking in quicksand, empathy means impulsively jumping in, as well, with the intent to save them. Or, as I often think of my own personal relationships with one or two individuals—according to Musk, empathy is swimming up to a drowning victim and allowing yourself to be pushed under in their panic.

In a sense, he’s right. Porous personal boundaries—or non-existent boundaries—do look much like that. But that’s not the same thing as empathy. Or compassion. Empathy looks like hearing the cries of someone drowning and bringing a life-ring along as you enter the water. Or like finding a rope and keeping one foot on solid ground while extending the rope to the person sliding beneath the quicksand.

Empathy and compassion are essential to community. They are essential to humanity. They are essential to life. They are not a sin nor a vice. They are connection—something our society deeply needs these days.

The Law expert wondered, “Who is my neighbor? Who am I obligated to? Who counts?” Today, the politician might ask, “Who holds the weight, the power, the money? Who is the enemy of my enemy? Who has the palm I have to grease?” It is not a question asked in earnest about neighborly love. It is a question about strategy.

And Jesus turns political strategy upside down. Imagine, a dark street in the Russian Bottoms of Lincoln. The nearby streetlights have been broken. A man has been beaten and his tires slashed. He slumps against his car, struggling to breathe. Is he black? Is he white? Does it matter? A local shop-owner sees the slumped body, clothes torn, as he leaves his business. He assumes it’s a homeless person and considers having him arrested for loitering. But he decides not to bother. He needs to get home.

A Pastor drives by and sees the man. He makes the sign of the cross as he goes by, but in this neighborhood, he suspects a ploy—someone pretending to need help only to have people nearby waiting to jump the unsuspecting Samaritan and steal his car. Nope. He’ll call the police once he’s a safe distance away.

And then an immigrant walks by. Or a gang member. Or a trans person. Or a Trump supporter. Or a—whoever it is that you’re scared of. Because you’re the one lying in the street, beaten and broken. And the person you least want to see is the one who stops. The one you trust least in this world stops. For you. They lean over you, and you spit in their face. They take your hand in theirs, put their nasty hands on your face, and look into your eyes. And for once, you look into theirs.

There is compassion there. This is no time for hate. This is no time for arguing. They lift you to your feet and gently help you the nearest bench. They don’t have a vehicle nearby. They call the ambulance. They call the police. Maybe it’s a move that will put them at risk. Will they be deported? Will they be mocked? Will they be arrested for assault? Will you try to accuse them of doing this to you? It doesn’t seem to matter.

The ambulance comes. The police come. You are placed in the ambulance. The person insists on riding along. They want to be there—for moral support. They want to make sure you’re not alone. They are the enemy—but they’re acting like a friend. Like family.

How do we get ourselves from stranger to neighbor? Do we have to wait until people are dying in the streets before we begin to listen?

It begins with a look. I love the experiment done where two strangers are placed in chairs facing each other. Their instructions are to not talk. They are just to sit and gaze into each other’s eyes for several minutes. Some begin to smile. Some begin to cry. When the experiment is over, they learn about the other person—often someone very different from themselves. But they feel like friends. They have seen the image of God in those eyes. They cannot keep hating someone that they have been so deeply intimate with.

I imagine it may not always happen that way. Some hearts have been so very hardened. But I think that for most of us, what we really need right now is an opportunity to stop. Stop talking, stop arguing, stop defending, stop insisting, stop attacking. Just stop. And listen. Look. Go deep. And see. See the pain and the hope, the disappointment and the longing, the love and the wonder in the eyes of the Other. Look to see the face of Christ.

Look from the stranger to the neighbor and see everything in between.

Pastor Tobi White

Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church

Lincoln, NE