Love Your Neighbor, Period.

Speaker: Fr. Iakovos Athanasios

Occasion: The Fifth Sunday in Metanoia

Readings: Dt 30:9-14; Ps 25:1-21; Col 1:1-14; Lk 10:25-37 (GNT)

You know the story. A man is beaten, left for dead on the side of the road. A priest walks by. A Levite walks by. And then—someone unexpected stops. A Samaritan, the outsider. The kind of person the religious elite wouldn’t even look at. But he’s the one who helps.

Jesus told this story after summarizing the law: Love God. Love your neighbor.

Simple, right? But not easy.

We say it every week. We post it on signs. We stamp it on mugs and Instagram bios. But loving your neighbor isn’t always a cozy sentiment. Sometimes it’s sweat-stained, uncomfortable, and downright inconvenient. And it’s not just a Christian idea. Every major religion, every culture worth its salt has a version of it. Treat people the way you want to be treated. See the humanity in the person beside you.

So why do we struggle so much to live it?

We’ve let modern-day Pharisees and Levites distract us. They don’t wear robes and tassels now—they come in the form of consumerism, political nonsense, and religious gatekeeping. They tell us who’s “unclean,” who’s “not worth it,” who to avoid. And we buy in. We walk past the hurting because we’re too busy upgrading our phones or defending our dogma. We argue over liturgy while people are literally starving.

We spend money we don’t have to impress people we don’t like, while children go without backpacks, food, or shelter. We prioritize image over impact. And we tell ourselves it’s fine because we tithe or repost something performative.

But Jesus didn’t say, “Love your neighbor as long as they look like you, vote like you, or make you comfortable.” He said love them. Period.

We’ve turned faith into performance. Did the priest say the right words? Did the Levite do the right washings? Meanwhile, people are bleeding on the roadside, and we’re too caught up in rituals to notice.

And look, I get it. I’ve been the Pharisee. I’ve been the guy arguing over liturgical technicalities while someone was quietly falling apart next to me. But this faith—this calling—it drags you into grace. It pushes you past your comfort. It forces you to see people.

Real people. Hungry people. Lonely people. Neighbors.

There’s a phrase a mentor of mine, Bishop Kenny, said early in my formation: “Muscles don’t grow unless they tear first.” Change is like that. It’s uncomfortable. It hurts. But if you let it, it makes you stronger. More compassionate. More real.

So maybe this week, don’t walk by. Don’t let the distractions win. Be the one who stops. Be the one who sees. Buy the bottle of water. Say the prayer. Skip the Netflix renewal and give to the classroom instead.

Love God. Love your neighbor. It’s not complicated.

But it does take courage.

Amen.