Seeing Our Neighbor

“You shall love your neighbor as yourself.”   Matthew 22:39
 
Few commands in the Bible combine with such magnificence a fairly ambiguous concept with such a pragmatic object.  Fewer still identify the precise mode in which that command must be carried out.  

“Love your neighbor as yourself!” What’s more intangible, ambiguous, and so defies definition as love? What can be more flesh and blood, tangible and identifiable as your neighbor?  The command does not stop at “love your neighbor”, but paves a pathway for this love – “as yourself”.  It sets a standard for this love.  We are not simply to love our neighbor, but to love them as ourselves.   It is this precise mode, this standard, that has so captured the attention of theologians and psychologists alike, and spawned many a good pages on the subject of learning to love yourself.   While there is much truth in all of our excursions in the subject of loving ourselves so we can love our neighbor, I suspect that there is a simpler, more subtle truth intended in this command, and it has less to do with how much in the abstract we love ourselves, and more to do with how much in the concrete we see our neighbor as ourselves. 
 
It is a universal experience that we are intimately and distinctly aware of ourselves in the concrete, but we often think of our neighbor in the abstract.  For example, I am rarely aware of myself (and hardly think it as my major identity) as an “Asian Indian” with a distinct accent who loves curry and rice, owns a good Japanese car, and sports a bad haircut.  But I am perpetually and intimately aware of my feelings, my pain, my joy, my dreams and my struggles – in essence my humanity.  In contrast, when I meet my neighbor, I often see him in abstract – for instance as a tall, thin, southerner with annoying habits, or worse, as a proud, pompous northerner whom I differ sharply in my worldview.  It is only by a conscious effort that I see him in the concrete – as another human being with frailties, with feelings, with desires, with sorrows and fears not much different than mine. 
 
I suggest that when Jesus emphasized loving the neighbor as yourself, that at least one of the things he was commanding was a radical change of perspective that would make that love possible.  He was advocating viewing our neighbor not in the abstract categories that we so automatically place them in, but as the tangible concrete fellow human beings, made in the image of God whose essence is the same as myself.  
 
In fact that is the only possible basis of genuine love to our neighbor.  You cannot love the neighbor as yourself until you see them as yourself – frail humanity with a stamp of divinity.  As long as you see them as abstract categories, you may tolerate them, you may even help them occasionally, but you can never truly love them.  Love is not only difficult, but hate finds its roots when we do not see the neighbor as ourselves.  History itself testifies to this.  One of the reason the holocaust happened was the fact that a fellow human being became a category – a people group to be annihilated.  The essence of humanness was blurred, and the abstract became the focus. 
 
The Gospel narratives brim with examples of this very thing.  In the story of the Good Samaritan, the glory of the Samaritan’s action is that he did not see the robbed and battered man in the abstract as a “Jew”, but in the concrete as a fellow human being in pain, dying and in desperate need for help.  The rest of the actions simply were a natural response to his seeing the man as himself.  

It is perhaps this lack of the vision of the tangible humanity was the failing of those who were shocked and asked Jesus, “ Lord, when did we see You hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to You?” (Matthew 25:44). Perhaps all they saw was the problem of poverty, the oddity of the stranger, the crisis of health care, and the scandal of the prisoner.
 
It is expressed in the  astonishment of Simon the Pharisee on seeing the sinner woman washing the Lord’s feet, and annointing His head with fragrant oil.  The thought in his mind exposes how he sees her – not as a imminent, corporeal, weeping and broken woman but rather as a representative of that flaunting city sinner, a blot to civilized society. 

It is expressed in the public prayer of the Pharisee who sees his neighbor prayiong, not as a fellow worshipper, but rather in that abstract category of a “publican”. 

How do we then as Christians, mandated by our Lord, love our neighbor as ourselves?  May I point you to the One who is our inspiration, our strength, and our enabler!  The One who saw us, not in the abstract of a fallen and rebellious humanity, but as individuals worthy of the price of His very own blood for our redemption! May the same Lord give us the grace to see our neighbor as ourselves, so we may love them as ourselves!
 
Danesh Manik

The Tyranny of the Memory of Guilt

“I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and an insolent man; but I obtained mercy … that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief. 1 Timothy 1:13-15

In October 2003, The Washington Post carried an article on North Korea, subtitled, “Haunted by Guilt over Loved Ones Left Behind.” It profiled a couple of defectors who had run away leaving their families behind to save their lives from an oppressive government, and their unrelenting memory of guilt on leaving behind friends and family who were suffering. The article ended with a quote from one such defector, “I don’t think you can be happy when you feel guilty.”1

While I cannot interpret the action, or comment on the psychological implications of such a feeling, it is a universal experience – the tyrannical collusion of memory with conscience, indicting the heart of past guilt, and casting a shadow over the present. The joy of the present is mingled with the pain of the past. The actions of the past have blemished the conscience and taken residence in memory.

Paul lived with such a blemish, but the secret to his powerful life was that he had found that which defanged the memory of its venomous power – he had learned to live in the shadow of the Cross.

Writing to Timothy, he says, “I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, an insolent man but I obtained mercy.” The memory of the angelic face of Stephen as he was stoned, the people who had become objects of hate because of his zeal, the scorning of Christ as he sat with the Sanhedrin rose its head to accuse him, but he looked to the Cross of Christ and it was robbed of its power. It was a past scar, not a present wound.

It is not a simple magically waving of a wand to wave away any responsibility for past actions, Paul is fully cognizant of the struggle of his present nature. He is fully aware of his current weaknesses. He starts, “I was formerly a blasphemer” – past tense, but he ends, “I am” the chief of sinners – present tense. The past guilt of sin, and the present power of sin, and the Cross can take care of both! Paul learned to bring both the past action, and the present nature under the shadow of the Cross, and the result is his life being of service to God. He concludes, “for this reason I obtained mercy, that in me first Jesus Christ might show all longsuffering, as a pattern to those who are going to believe on Him for everlasting life”

May I suggest that the only way to unshackle yourself from the guilt of the past, and the struggle of the present, and be of authentic service to God is by living under the shadow of the Cross. Friend, is there is a past guilt that haunts you, or a present weakness that assails you? Then bring it to the Cross, for there and only there will you obtain mercy. It is only there where our sin is requited, the sting of guilt removed, and the power of sin subdued.

Danesh Manik

References
1. Opening a Window on North Korea’s Horrors, Doug Struck, Washington Post Foreign service, October 4, 2003

What are you doing here?

And there he went into a cave, and spent the night in that place; and behold, the word of the Lord came to him, and He said to him, “What are you doing here, Elijah?”  1 Kings 19:9

What are you doing here, Elijah?  In a conversation with God, a question is not a request for information, or a clarification of fact.  It is a solicitation for a confession.  It is God’s petition to us for self-reflection.  It is the question we ought to have asked ourselves, but were too distracted to ask.  Sometimes, it is the question that is absolutely essential for our redemption from our current estate. 

“What are you doing here?” was such a question for Elijah.  Elijah, perhaps the greatest prophet of the Old Testament, one who was ultimately privileged to circumvent the way of the grave, and be carried away on the chariot of God was hiding in a cave wanting to die when God asks him, “What are you doing here, Elijah? 

Often, saints of God find themselves in a place that is not their inheritance.  It is not where God wants them to be.  It was a place that the devil would be delighted them to see, a place far away from the center of their calling.  In Elijah’s case, it was a cave far away from the center of evil, from Jezebel and Ahab, and their plans to ruin the nation of God to which Elijah was called as a prophet.  And it was an appropriate question, a question God articulated that Elijah would have done well to ask himself , “what am I doing here?”   If you read the answer of Elijah you realize that it is discouragement that has brought him there.  He has been zealous, and he seems to be fighting a losing battle with evil.  God has not lived up to the expectation, evil has not been completely vanquished. Good wins, only for evil to suggest a new renewed attack.  He is disheartened, and the cave is his refuge.

Sometimes it is discouragement, sometimes it is sin, and other times it is simply busyness or apathy that has pulled us away from a place of God’s center.  The tragedy of many lives is not that they have ousted God completely, but that they have put God on the periphery.  They have pulled from the center of their calling and taken refuge in a cave.  And the question to Elijah is the question to all those who find themselves in a cave of doubt, discouragement, despair, or apathy – what are you doing here?  The cave is no place for the prophet of God.  Sometimes our geography illuminates the philosophy of our mind.  God was asking Elijah to reflect what state of mind had caused him to retreat from his calling.  It is interesting to note that God’s answer to Elijah is not a rebuke, nor an explanation.  It is not even a set of instructions to change his mind about the place where he was.  It simply begins in the following verses with, “Go return”.  In other words, just go back and do what God has called you to do.  Go back to the center of God’s calling. 

Perhaps you find yourself in such a cave.  You are not in a place of your inheritance.  You are away from God’s center of your calling.  Perhaps it is not discouragement, but like the prodigal son, a result of rebellion and sin.  Then I pray that this question to Elijah becomes your question.   And the answer of God to Elijah becomes your answer.  In God’s strength and purpose, “Go return”.  Return with a renewed trust in your Lord and Savior.

Danesh Manik 

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How Much More

“how much more shall your Father in Heaven give ….” Matthew 7:11
“how much more shall the blood of Christ …cleanse…” Hebrews 9:11

There are some declarations in the Gospels we find in opposition to our natural understanding. For example, the Bible declares that giving is better than receiving, loving life is losing life, to be last is to be first, and that meekness is the gateway to inheriting the earth. Heaven seems to be operating on a principle contradictory to strictly earthly realities. And to those who have an unqualified trust in the Author of these declarations are filled with hope. Here faith precedes and breeds hope! But then there are other declarations in which earthly realities are a faint reflection of a much grander heavenly reality. The heavens work on the same principle, only on a grander scale. The earthly principle we so easily recognize and implicitly trust is a little glimpse of the heavenly reality. Here, hope is the progenitor of faith, and it begins with these three little words, “how much more!”

If there are breathtaking vistas on earth, how much more is heaven? If an apathetic judge answers incessant cry for help, how much more a just God? If the frail earthly father displays kindness, then how much more is the Heavenly Father? If God cares for the sparrow, then how much more does he care for you? If we are capable of such great sacrificial love, how much more is God capable of? Charles Simeon, the vicar of Trinity Church in Cambridge, close to his death was reported to have said that his favorite verse in the Bible was, “In the beginning God made the heavens and the earth” because if God could make something so beautiful out of chaos, how much more had he hope yet for himself! He lived a life on the hope of a “how much more” God.

Indeed, these words are heralds of hope, but those who take them seriously, sooner or later come to realize the sobering side of these words. They are filled with hope on one side, but there is also a horror on the other. If a wayward son or daughter brings so much pain, how much more does the willful rebellion of his people bring pain to the heart of God? If humanity recoils at evil, and seeks justice, how much more shall we expect God to recoil at sin and deliver justice? If our imperfect conscience can convict our hearts of wrong doing when there is no fear of judgment, how much more when we are face to face with the perfect God who judges all hearts? The hope of the “how much more” God is also the horror of the “how much more” God. And the beauty of the Gospel is the story of the reconciliation of this hope and horror. A couple of thousand years ago, outside the city limits of Jerusalem , hung the Son of Man, the Son of God on a cross sealing the hope and stilling the horror, once and for all. How much more shall your Father in Heaven give? Gave Himself, and sealed the hope! How much more shall the blood of Christ cleanse the conscience? Cleansed completely, and stilled the horror!

Friend, let us rejoice at the cross. How much more do we need?

Danesh Manik