You know, Scripture could not be more clear about how we are to treat the most vulnerable people among us. In this particular reading from Exodus, the voice of God is not only direct but a little threatening: “If ever you wrong them and they cry out to me, I will surely hear their cry. My wrath will flare up, and I will kill you with the sword; then your own wives will be widows, and your children orphans.”

Ouch.

I don’t think God is really vengeful or violent, but I do appreciate how strong and clear God’s directive is. Do not mistreat the vulnerable ones – the immigrants and orphans and widows; they belong to God.

I don’t know about you, but the connection between this reading and the things happening in our day seems staggeringly obvious. We have our own orphans and widows, people made vulnerable by poverty. We have people who are oppressed because of their identities, their race, religion, and/or gender. Here in the United States and around the world, immigrants and refugees are living with tremendous uncertainty and fear. Families worry about being separated, children face circumstances they can't begin to understand, and people who have left their homes in search of safety and a better life can find themselves feeling unwelcome or threatened in the places where they're trying to build a future.

Whatever our views on immigration policy, I think these readings ask us to pay attention to the human beings at the center of these conversations. These are people with families, hopes, fears, and dreams. They are people whose cries God hears. The question is, are we willing to hear them, too?

It’s hard for me to imagine what it must be like for someone to gather up themselves and their families and leave their homeland. I know how attached I am to my own country, how attached I am even to my city and my neighborhood. I have had wonderful opportunities to travel to different parts of the world, and while I treasure those experiences, I get terribly homesick when I’m away. One time when I was at our motherhouse in France for an extended time, I was out for a walk, and I heard the faint sound of a song I recognized. I followed the sound to a house where someone was working in the yard. I just stopped and listened, standing there on the sidewalk like a weirdo, soaking it in because I was so happy to hear a familiar song in English. I love visiting my sisters around the world, hearing our various languages, French and Malagasy and Spanish and Polish, but there is something so heartening about hearing my first language. And there’s something about being home.

So, if I get that homesick while being away for a short time, what must it be like for people to leave everything familiar and the rest of their family and their culture to relocate in a more permanent way? I can’t imagine what that homesickness is like, and worse, what’s it like to be treated with suspicion or even violence in your new country. And what horrors must they be leaving that are even more terrible than moving somewhere else?

This passage from Exodus admonishes us to treat people well by connecting their experiences with our own, and this is what Jesus does in the gospel passage from Matthew. In the story, the Pharisees are testing Jesus by asking him which are the greatest commandments. He says, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your soul, and with all your mind. This is the greatest and the first commandment. The second is like it: You shall love your neighbor as yourself. The whole law and the prophets depend on these two commandments."

You shall love your neighbor as yourself. Not because your neighbor is exactly like you, but because your neighbor is a human being with the same fundamental needs for dignity, safety, love, and belonging.

Sounds nice, but when I get down to it, it is hard to see people who are different from me as similar while also honoring their differences. The reality is that we’re all different from each other. We come from different ethnicities and different cultures. We speak different languages and think about things in different ways. There are differences among genders and identities, among generations and ages. And yet, deep down, all humans must meet our basic needs. We all want and need love and belonging. And we need to lead meaningful lives.

I wonder if the reading from Exodus offers us a helpful way to deepen our empathy. We can draw on our own experiences to imagine what someone else might be going through. I know what homesickness feels like. I know what it's like to struggle with a language or to feel unwelcome. But I don't know what it's like to be an immigrant, and I don't want to assume that I do.

Imagining someone's experience isn't the same as knowing it. When we have the opportunity, we can ask people about their experiences and listen—not to argue or offer advice, but simply to understand. And sometimes we won't have that opportunity. We may never know someone's story, but we don't have to understand everything about another person to care about them or to believe they deserve dignity, justice, and compassion.

Maybe that's part of what love of neighbor asks of us: to let our own experiences open our hearts to others, while remembering that their stories are uniquely their own. We don't have to know exactly what someone else feels to care about what happens to them.

These commandments are especially challenging in times when we're so divided. It's easy to see people who disagree with us as stereotypes rather than as human beings. And yet, loving our neighbors doesn't mean we have to agree with everyone or pretend that every action is acceptable. We can speak out against injustice, challenge policies that harm people, and stand alongside those who are vulnerable without losing sight of the humanity of those with whom we disagree. Love doesn't ask us to be neutral about suffering. It asks us to care about the people who are suffering and to respond with courage and compassion.

We can begin by listening more deeply, getting curious about experiences different from our own, and asking ourselves what love of neighbor calls us to do when we see someone being treated unjustly. These readings are challenging, and in a time when our differences can seem so great, loving our neighbors isn't easy. But we don't have to understand someone's experience completely to care about them, and we don't have to agree on everything to stand up for their dignity.

Here at God Space, we're trying to put that love into action. Next Sunday, October 25th, we're gathering for a Honk and Wave for Immigrants and Refugees at 1 p.m. at the corner of Hamilton Avenue and Northbend Road in Cincinnati. It's a simple way to show support for our immigrant and refugee neighbors and let them know that they belong in our community. If you're nearby, we'd love to have you join us!

Maybe that's one way the Holy Spirit works among us: opening our hearts to people we might otherwise overlook, helping us see beyond the labels, and giving us the courage to put love into action. May we have the grace to hear the cries of our neighbors, as God hears them, and the courage to respond. May we notice all the ways God cares for us, and may we all take good care of each other.

For Reflection:

How have your own experiences helped you connect with someone whose life is different from yours?
How can you listen more deeply to people whose stories you don't know?
What might love of neighbor ask of you when you see someone being treated unjustly?
How is God with you in all of this?

By Sister Leslie Keener, CDP

Sister Leslie Keener, CDP is the director of God Space, a vibrant spirituality ministry building community in Cincinnati and Northern Kentucky. A Sister of Divine Providence, she holds a Master’s in Ministry and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction and Retreats from Creighton University. Sister Leslie guides retreats, offers spiritual direction, and nurtures vocations within her community. Passionate about helping people encounter God in everyday life, she delights in the Virtue of Simplicity, meaningful conversations, dancing, and spicy food along the way.

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