I recently found myself in a challenging dilemma: potentially shelling out $115 for three hours of downhill skiing. Don’t get me wrong—I absolutely love skiing. It’s probably my favorite outdoor activity. But to the tune of nearly $40 an hour?
The reason it was even a question, though, is simple: my neighbor, who has a season pass, had invited me—and spending three hours on the slopes with him, as well as three or four hours in the car to and from the mountain, was far more valuable to me than $115.
As it turns out, I was able to get a free pass at the last minute from another friend who works at the resort. But I would have forked over the money if necessary. That’s because I take Jesus’ admonition—that the second greatest commandment is to love your neighbor as yourself—very seriously (and literally).
Not that I’m perfect at this at all. I fail at it quite frequently. But since moving into our neighborhood in Portland, Maine, nearly eight months ago, my family and I have been doing all we can to love our neighbors as best we can, learning their stories, serving them in mutually edifying ways, and seeking to embody the love of God to them. We don’t view this as a “side” part of ministry—an optional tack-on if we have time. We view it as the foundational aspect of life and ministry, stepping into life with people and showing and sharing the gospel with them.
As an added bonus, it’s often quite exhilarating and fun—sometimes taking you down ski slopes.
I’ve heard the question asked a thousand times.
This is also all the more relevant in contexts in which there’s high skepticism toward Christianity—such as my state of Maine, where people are very unlikely to ever set foot in a church building, and they have no intention of going to a traditional series of evangelistic meetings. But they will gladly accept your offer to help them shovel their driveway, or join you for a meal at your table, or go for a jog on a Sunday morning.
And this is where the real stuff of life takes place anyway, helping us learn how to apply present truth to all of life in ways that nudge people toward the “sealing” we’ve historically thought is necessary before Christ’s return.
So we follow Christ into the neighborhood—and sometimes onto the ski slopes.
I’ve heard it asked a thousand times whether people in your town or city would notice if your church suddenly shut down and disappeared. I think that’s a great question, implicitly pointing to the need to be a positive presence in our communities and highlighting the reality that many of our churches are doing little more than turning the lights on for a couple of hours each Saturday morning.
I like to make the question even more personal, though, underscoring the contextual nature of our missional calling: If you moved out of your neighborhood, would your neighbors miss you? Would they even notice? Or would they perhaps be relieved that you are finally gone? Do you even have neighbors to love?
We are called to love our neighbors as ourselves. Let’s get on with this important, timely, and invigorating work.