by Jeremy Frye
We live in a time of unprecedented connection and yet unprecedented loneliness.
With the exception of a brief look in the morning, I am fairly disconnected from the news of the world.
I don’t watch news on television, I rarely listen to news on the radio and I don’t engage in social media very often. My morning brief keeps my apprised of major world events but I’ve found over the years that, mostly, the news serves as a tool that sends me into an often hopeless spiral of despair. And so, I made a decision long ago to not invest much time in world events.
This has resulted in both awe and ire from various people in my life. Awe from those who wish they too were less connected, and ire from those who feel that my lack of engagement means a lack of care.
I recognize that there are significant things happening in the world. This is always true. My struggle is that, for most of those issues, I am unable to do anything about them. I can be frustrated. I may even be moved to lend support either through words or finances. But regardless of how much I ‘care’ about these global issues, I am not actually able to make a significant difference with them.
Perhaps this statement has added you to the ire category, but please allow me to explain myself more clearly before you pass judgement.
At issue for me is a question of both capacity and attention. I have come to realize that I only have a certain amount of energy and attention to offer. This limitation has required me to prioritize how I use my energy and where I focus my attention. I am unable to ‘care’ for all of the issues that the world is faced with. I have come to realize that I am no good at loving in the abstract. I’m not sure that any of us are. Because we live in a globally interconnected world, I believe that we all feel pressure to be attentive to all that is happening in it. This is what I mean by loving in the abstract. I may “care” about global issues, but I cannot effectively love the people facing those world issues because they are not near me.
In one of the Pharisees’ many attempts to entrap Jesus, they questioned him on the greatest commandment. After giving the “right” answer from Leviticus—that they were to “love your neighbor as yourself” the Pharisee asked Jesus a question that might seem obvious to us, but was an issue of hot debate at the time: “Who is my neighbor?”
As was so often the case, Jesus responded not with a quick reply but with an infuriatingly story. It’s a story that many people, even those with no familiarity with the Scriptural text, know. And because of that, it has lost some of it’s infuriating and unending power.
Consider what Jesus says anew:
A man is sat upon by robbers and left for dead in a ditch. Two different men of a religious order see the man as they are passing and cross over to the other side of the road, too concerned for their own safety, status, schedule, or purity to help. Then another man comes by. This man might, in other situations, be considered an enemy to the man in the ditch. But he only sees someone in need and has the means to help him. So he stops, cares for the man, takes him to the nearest town and puts him up in a hotel where he can recover.
Jesus concludes this story by asking the Pharisee; “who was the neighbor to the wounded man?”
To which he could only reply; “The one who helped him.”
This parable of the Good Samaritan is probably one of the best known and widely told stories in all of Scripture. And many a scholar has waxed eloquent as to what Jesus is trying to say. But I don’t believe that it’s a hard story to interpret. Who is my neighbor? — Anyone who is nearby.
Loving your neighbor is not the end of the journey of soul friendship, but it is where it always begins.
When we think about loving the world, it’s tempting to imagine something distant or heroic—traveling across the world, making a grand sacrifice, doing something “big” for God. But the call to love our neighbor is often far more ordinary—and, perhaps, more challenging. It begins with the people right in front of us: the family we share a home with, the coworker whose habits annoy us, the literal neighbor whose name we still don’t know. And in-so-much as we are actively engaged in loving our neighbor, we are in-fact loving the world.
The Feast of Passover reminds us that God rescues His people from the systems that enslave and dehumanize. It’s not just deliverance from something; it’s deliverance into a new way of life. And that new way begins with the simplest and most demanding command: “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18). During Passover and the days of Unleavened Bread, God told God’s people to clear their homes of leaven—symbolizing the removal of pride, greed, and distraction. Loving our neighbor always requires a kind of clearing out, a making space within ourselves to see and care for someone else.
We live in a time of unprecedented connection and yet unprecedented loneliness. Our lives are cluttered with noise and hurry. We rush past the people who live closest to us while pouring out energy on things far away. We text acquaintances across the country but don’t know the name of the person across the street. And in that gap, the gospel gets lost.
The health of our lives depends on those nearest us—our upstream and downstream neighbors. If we harm them, we harm ourselves. If we bless them, we bless the place we live. This echoes the teaching of Jesus: the love of God is revealed most clearly in the love of those around us, not in vague sentiment or abstract causes.
To love the neighbor who is near is not glamorous. It’s showing up for someone who is sick. It’s pausing to listen when someone is lonely. It’s offering kindness without expecting anything in return. It’s being faithful in small, unseen ways. This is what makes it so difficult—and so transformative.
When we love the person in front of us, we begin to see them as God sees them. We begin to notice their story, their joys and sorrows, the hidden beauty of their life. And something in us changes too. Love given in the small, ordinary moments shapes our souls far more deeply than any grand gesture ever could.
So what would it look like to take this call seriously? Maybe it’s learning the name of the person who lives next door. Maybe it’s texting a friend you’ve lost touch with just to say, “I was thinking about you.” Maybe it’s sitting down for a real conversation with a spouse or child you’ve been too busy to truly hear.
Passover and Unleavened Bread are about leaving behind what enslaves—our hurry, our self-absorption, our endless distractions. They invite us into a new way of living, where we create space for love to take root.
The work of loving your neighbor will not make headlines. It won’t feel urgent or impressive. But it is the kind of love that heals the world from the inside out.
This week, try something small: slow down. Pay attention. Ask God, “Who have You already placed in my life to love?” Then do one simple act of kindness for that person—not because it’s efficient or strategic, but because it’s the way of Jesus.
Loving your neighbor is not the end of the journey of soul friendship, but it is where it always begins.