I’ve been considering the question this week since we had the Good Samaritan story as a Gospel reading on Sunday. The most common interpretation of this passage (which is more or less what we got in the homily) is that the answer to the lawyer’s question (”Who is my neighbor?”) was: everyone. I’m not sure that’s quite right, or, at any rate, it seems to me that it’s missing some critical points in the story.

Now, obviously, there is some rhyme and reason to this standard answer. The man who was robbed and left on the road was a Jew. Of the three men who walked by, the one who stopped to help was the least likely one, the one who seemingly would have had the least reason to stop and help the wounded man. This is surely not an accidental feature of the story, and it seems that we can at least conclude that, contrary to what some might like to think, everyone is potentially a neighbor. Nobody can be automatically screened out on the basis of superficial external characteristics.

Still, I’m not sure that’s quite the same as blanketing the whole world with mutual-neighbor status. It’s somewhat interesting that, at the end of the story, Our Lord doesn’t ask, “Who was the man’s neighbor?”, the obvious reciprocal to the original question. Instead he asks, “Quis horum trium videtur tibi proximus fuisse illi qui incidit in latrones?” “Which of these three, does it seem to you, was a neighbor to the one who fell among thieves?”

So, being a neighbor is evidently not a passive state that exists whether you like it or not. One becomes a neighbor by performing neighborly actions. In that case, it would seem that we are not neighbors to everybody; in practical terms we really couldn’t be. We’re only neighbors to those whom we’ve actually treated in neighborly fashion, which of necessity will be a relatively limited set of people. Now, obviously the Lord’s words, “Vade et fac tu similiter,” (”Go, and do likewise”) indicate that we should try to be neighbors to other people, so maybe my distinction is just a hair-splitting one. Our neighborly obligations still extend to everyone, although we don’t technically become neighbors with a given person until we’ve had some sort of contact.

But actually, I’m not sure the distinction is hair-splitting. It indicates that the state of neighborliness is something particular and personal that exists between two individuals, not just a general air of goodwill that penetrates a whole society. Note that, although the Samaritan was an unlikely person to stop, there was still a connection between him and the injured man — he happened to be walking right by on the road. He didn’t hear about it from two towns over and come running. This particular person fell into the Samaritan’s path, quite literally, and he took this as placing on him an obligation to help. And then, note the way in which he helped. He didn’t just drop some money at the guy’s feet and say, “hey, tough break, man.” He took care of him fully, “as himself.”

And this seems to me to be a lesson that should be attended to, but that really can’t be unless we understand neighborliness as a personal and particular relationship. We are to love our neighbors as ourselves. So, in other words, we shouldn’t just help them out a little bit and then feel satisfied because, hey, they’re better off than they were before. A donation to Catholic Relief Services doesn’t satisfy the obligation to love neighbor as self. We’re supposed to treat our neighbors as if their welfare is as important to us as our own. In fact, it should be as important to us as our own.

If that is to be the case, we won’t be able to have very many neighbors. Definitely not everybody. Just possibly, if you’re a St. Francis type, you can love everyone you ever encounter as a neighbor, but those of us who own property and have professional responsibilities and families to care for, won’t be able to be neighbors to everybody; if we tried, we’d often fail others who might be depending on us. How do we choose, then? Well, to some degree perhaps life chooses for us. And this is one place where the standard superficial interpretation does get something right: everyone is a potential neighbor. You can’t just pick the people you feel like helping; you need to be prepared to respond, and respond fully, when you’re needed. When a stranger falls into your road and you’re the only one around who is able or willing to help, it’s time to neighbor up.

The other part of the story that doesn’t get enough attention is the one highlighted by the companion Epistle reading. The first two men who passed by were a priest and a Levite — people, in other words, who would have made themselves ritually unclean by helping a wounded man. They weren’t just too lazy or too selfish to help the wounded man; they knew that it would interfere with their professional obligations. Our Lord is teaching us here that obligations of this kind are less important than our need to love and care for other people. The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life.

This seems to me to harmonize well with the other points that I wanted to draw from the parable. It isn’t that we should throw a neighbor-blanket over the whole world. Rather, we need to be prepared to act in whatever way is required by us, when particular individuals are in need of our help. And when that does happen, we shouldn’t be the kind of benefactors who congratulate ourselves for having made some contribution (when after all, we could have made none.) Rather, we should consider the other’s needs as our own, and do everything in our power to relieve another’s distress.