Source: The Pilgrim Continues His Way, Author Unknown, translated by Olga Savin, Shambhala, Boulder, 2001.

Lord Jesus Christ, Teach Me to See My Neighbor

In my last reflection on The Pilgrim Continues His Way, another prayer was added to my School of Prayer:

Lord Jesus Christ, teach me to see.

The Skhimnik has been teaching the Pilgrim and the Professor about unceasing prayer. I am not trying to correct his teaching. I am listening to it and asking where it takes me on my own pilgrimage.

I began at the door:

Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me.

Mercy gets me through the door.

But once I am inside the house, grace must teach me how to live there.

And one of the first things grace must teach me is how to see.

Today the prayer becomes more specific:

Lord Jesus Christ, teach me to see my neighbor.

Who Is My Neighbor?

A man once asked Jesus that very question:

“Who is my neighbor?”

Jesus answered with a story.

A man was attacked by robbers, stripped, beaten, and left beside the road.

A priest came along.

He saw the wounded man.

He passed by.

A Levite came along.

He saw the wounded man.

He also passed by.

Then a Samaritan came along.

He saw the wounded man.

But something was different.

He was moved with compassion.

All three men had eyes.

All three could see.

The difference was not eyesight.

The difference was how they saw the man lying beside the road.

That makes me ask:

When I look at the person in front of me, what do I see?

God Does Not See as We See

When Samuel was looking for the one God had chosen, he was impressed by outward appearance.

God reminded him:

People look at outward appearances, but God looks at the heart.

Samuel was looking.

But God had to teach Samuel how to see.

I need the same lesson.

I can see a tattoo and think I know something about the person wearing it.

I can see a scar without knowing the story behind it.

I can see a disability and allow that disability to become the first thing—or perhaps the only thing—I notice.

I can see someone’s clothing, poverty, wealth, age, occupation, education, race, denomination, mistakes, or reputation and begin constructing a story about that person before I have heard a single word from them.

So I pray:

Lord Jesus Christ, teach me to see beyond outward appearance.

Teach me to see the person.

Teach me to see my neighbor.

Teach me to see someone you love.

The Father Saw His Son

The story of the Prodigal Son gives me another picture of seeing.

The younger son had made some terrible choices. He had wasted his inheritance. He had left home. He had experienced the consequences of his decisions.

When he finally returned, his father saw him while he was still far away.

The father did not pretend nothing had happened.

But neither did he reduce his son to everything the young man had done wrong.

He saw:

his son.

The elder brother looked at the same person and saw something different.

He saw the brother who had wasted the inheritance.

The father saw:

“This son of mine.”

That challenges me.

Can I recognize someone’s mistakes without making those mistakes the person’s entire identity?

Can I recognize someone’s wounds without defining that person by the wounds?

Can I see beyond what someone has done and recognize someone God still loves?

Lord Jesus Christ, teach me to see my neighbor as you see them.

Jesus Saw the Crowds

When Jesus looked at the crowds, he was moved with compassion because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.

Then Jesus said:

“The harvest is plentiful, but the laborers are few.”

Jesus saw more than a crowd.

He saw people.

He saw need.

He saw a harvest.

He saw with compassion.

That is the kind of vision I am asking for.

Teach me to see through love rather than judgment.

Teach me to see through peace rather than fear.

Through patience rather than irritation.

Through kindness rather than indifference.

Through goodness rather than suspicion.

Through faithfulness rather than convenience.

Through gentleness rather than harshness.

Through self-control rather than immediate reaction.

Perhaps the fruit of the Spirit can become lenses through which grace teaches me to see.

Seeing Does Not Mean Being Naive

But there is something else I need to remember.

Seeing my neighbor as someone God loves does not mean ignoring harmful behavior.

Compassion does not require me to trust everyone.

Love does not require me to remain where I am being harmed.

Forgiveness does not require me to give someone unlimited access to my life.

Jesus told his disciples to be wise as serpents and innocent as doves.

So perhaps this prayer also needs to include discernment:

Lord Jesus Christ, teach me to see clearly.

Teach me to recognize another person’s dignity without becoming blind to danger.

Teach me compassion without naivety.

Teach me when to help.

Teach me how to help.

Teach me when helping would actually enable harm.

Teach me when I need to establish a boundary.

Teach me how to say yes with love.

And teach me how to say no with love.

Seeing as Jesus teaches me to see does not mean closing my eyes to reality.

It means learning clear-eyed love.

Perhaps Seeing Also Requires Listening

There is another lesson beginning to emerge.

If I really want to see my neighbor, perhaps I must also learn to listen.

I can look at another person and create an entire story about them in my mind.

I might even replace a negative assumption with a sympathetic assumption.

But I am still assuming.

The tattoo may have a story I do not know.

The scar may have a story I do not know.

The person living with a disability knows things about their life I cannot discover merely by looking.

The stranger beside the road may need something different from what I assume they need.

Perhaps seeing my neighbor sometimes begins with becoming quiet enough to hear my neighbor.

That is another lesson for another day:

Lord Jesus Christ, teach me to listen.

For now, perhaps it is enough to recognize that I cannot truly see someone if I never allow that person to tell me who they are.

When I See Someone Beside the Road

So I return to Jesus’ story.

Someone is beside the road.

I see them.

What happens next?

Do I see an inconvenience?

Do I see someone else’s responsibility?

Do I immediately decide why that person is in the situation?

Do I see someone I fear?

Do I see one of “those people”?

Or do I see:

my neighbor?

Matthew 25 makes the question even more uncomfortable.

Jesus speaks of the hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the naked, the sick, and the prisoner.

And somehow Jesus identifies himself with them.

That means when I look at the person I might otherwise overlook, perhaps another prayer is needed:

Lord Jesus Christ, teach me to recognize you in my neighbor.

First John reminds us that we cannot claim to love the God we cannot see while refusing to love the brother or sister we can see.

The two Great Commandments belong together:

Love God.

Love your neighbor as yourself.

The relationships cannot be separated.

Seeing Becomes Doing

The Samaritan did not simply feel compassion.

He stopped.

He approached the wounded man.

He treated his wounds.

He placed him on his animal.

He took him somewhere safe.

He provided for his care.

His seeing became compassion.

His compassion became action.

And Jesus ended the story:

“Go and do likewise.”

This helps me understand something about the relationship between grace, prayer, and good works.

Grace teaches me to pray.

Prayer teaches me to see.

Seeing my neighbor awakens compassion.

Compassion becomes love.

Love bears fruit in what I do.

The good work is not the price I pay to get through the door.

Mercy has already brought me through the door.

The good work is fruit growing from a life being changed by grace inside the house.

So today my prayer is simple:

Lord Jesus Christ, teach me to see my neighbor.

Teach me to see beyond outward appearance.

Teach me to see beyond labels.

Teach me to see beyond scars, tattoos, disabilities, mistakes, and reputations.

Teach me to see the person.

Teach me to listen before I assume.

Teach me to see with compassion.

Teach me to see with wisdom and discernment.

Teach me when to stop beside the road.

Teach me when love requires a boundary.

Teach me to recognize the person you love.

And perhaps, in seeing my neighbor more clearly,

teach me to catch a glimpse of you.

Mercy got me through the door.

Grace is teaching me to see.