Thy Neighbor

Atul Gawande, a doctor at a hospital in the Boston area, writes about how cultural change is more difficult than many of the other challenges facing us in this pandemic. He says "the culture of the operating room [is] about wanting, among other things, never to be the one to make someone else sick." We would do well to strive for such a goal.

Once again I am mortified to see some of my fellow Christians lead the fight against regulations—and common sense—as we struggle to navigate the effects of the corona virus. If we were serious about loving our neighbors as ourselves, we would lead the way in wearing masks, keeping distance, avoiding the possibility of infecting anyone, and respecting authorities who juggle efforts to keep us safe and prevent a depressed economy from devastating us and our neighbors. But perhaps that path is too narrow and too difficult.

And at what point are we willing to put away our fear to help our neighbor? Is it even fear? A Facebook post says, "You won't see a mask on this face!" That's not fear; it's inconvenience. If it were only your safety at stake, you should be allowed to go wherever you want without a mask. But it isn't just your safety. We can choose to be considerate. We can choose not to risk infecting our neighbor as we would have them not risk infecting us. What has come over us? Is our outlook so sour that we must be suspicious of everyone's motives? And, being suspicious, must we wish them evil? Maybe they aren't the ones that are the problem.

An old man sits on his front porch, the story* goes, when new neighbors arrive. They ask him, "What's this neighborhood like?"

The man pauses and says, "What were people like where you come from?"

They reply, "Most everyone was wonderful. They were kind and friendly and helpful. We are sorry we had to leave."

The man says, "I reckon you'll find people pretty much the same around here."

A little later, another new family shows up and asks the same question. And the old man says,  "What were people like where you come from?"

They reply, "People were rude and mean and stingy. We are happy to be gone from there!"

The old man says, "You'll likely find folks pretty much the same around here."

I'm reminded of some middle managers I've mostly just heard about who are frustrated that they keep getting the irresponsible and troublesome workers reporting to them. Comes a point you wonder if it's their subordinates.

There's a lot of suspicion going around these days. At what point does our distrust begin to say more about us than about those we resent?

*I heard this story song on Mike Flynn's Folk Sampler, but I can't seem to locate it. Much obliged to anyone who can help me out.