Like A Good Neighbor

what the story of the Good Samaritan reveals about how we ought to love today

This article is part of the Claritas spring 2023 issue, Love. Read the full print release here.

BY Annina Bradley

When I first arrived at Cornell for freshman move-in, I remember being struck by my dorm’s floor-to-ceiling windows and motion sensing light fixtures. The paint still smelled fresh. 

I was one of the lucky ones, I thought—assigned to a brand new dorm. The North Campus Residential Expansion was finally complete, ready to welcome the class of ‘26 and to foster a “cohesive community.” [1] My neighbors would be from all over the world. I was ecstatic. 

While I unpacked, my suitemate Emily* knocked on my door to introduce herself. Her roommate Angie* followed, clad in Cornell gear and a sincere smile. Standing on the patch of patterned carpet between our half decorated rooms, we excitedly shared our hometowns and majors—answering all the typical orientation week questions. 

Yet, following our first interaction, a blurry whirlwind ensued. In the busyness of determining the fastest walk to Morrison, donning shower shoes, reading syllabi, and learning the ropes of the TCAT bus system, I ceased to see Emily and Angie, save for the occasional moments we’d cross paths, extending small smiles. 

As time passed and sunsets came sooner, we slipped into an awkward two-step. Encountering each other in our hotel-like hallway, we’d pull out our phones to avoid eye contact. At night, we’d brush our teeth standing next to each other in heavy silence. It became our convention. 

“North Campus Dorms Provide Luxury But Social Isolation,” an article from the Cornell Sun headlined in the fall. [2] When I reflected on my own freshman dorm experience, this statement didn’t feel too disparate from reality. Residents kept their doors closed. My relationship with my suitemates—a once promising flame—had extinguished.

I knew it was my responsibility in part. But I was busy. During my first weeks at Cornell, I reveled in the newfound freedom of building my schedule entirely around myself, color coding squares of time onto my Google Calendar. 

Cornell’s ecosystem is uniquely designed for ambitious students: convention on campus is to accomplish great things for our respective selves. We pack our schedules full of boxes to check off. Yet, in our culture of self-ambition, saturated with the words “self improvement” and “self realization,” we must not miss the very word of God. The second greatest commandment—which follows only loving God with all of our hearts, souls, minds, and strength—reads:

“Love your neighbor as yourself.” [3]

It echoes. “As yourself.” This commandment is meant to set the foundation for how we live. Through orienting ourselves towards it and the first, all other subsequent commandments are fulfilled. So often, however, I race through my day never taking in the myriad of faces of Cornell, never wondering how I can better love each one. I extend apathy to the residents in my dorm—my physical neighbors.

The gospel of Luke recounts a man, well acquainted with Jewish law, asking Jesus “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied by sharing the Parable of the Good Samaritan:

During a time of strong hostility between the Israelites and the Samaritans—two neighboring tribes animus toward one another because of religious difference—an Israelite fell among robbers along his journey from Jerusalem to Jericho. He was stripped, beaten, and left half dead. While he lay wounded, a priest and a Levite walked along the road without stopping, denying aid to their fellow Israelite. Only did a Samaritan, the expected enemy, have compassion. He bound up the man’s wounds, poured out his expensive oils and wine, and carried the man to an inn on his own donkey. 

This Samaritan, who reached across lines of social class, religious division, and deep-seated antipathy to demonstrate unexpected love and mercy, proved to be a neighbor, Jesus revealed. [4]

I, on the other hand, realized I had not. Beyond neglecting friendships with those in my dorm, I had watched sour cream slip off my plate at Okenshields, leaving the task of cleaning it up for dining hall staff. I’d sped past acquaintances on my walk to class without saying “hi.” My way of loving was far from the extraordinary love Jesus described in the story of the Good Samaritan. 

Repeatedly throughout the Bible, God characterizes love as a radical departure from expectation. In the Gospel of John, Jesus is depicted washing his disciples’ feet. The all-powerful Creator lowers Himself to His knees. A humble God is almost paradoxical. Understandably confused, Simon Peter, one of Jesus’ disciples asks, “Lord, are you going to wash my feet?” Jesus replies, “You do not realize now what I am doing, but later you will understand.” [5]

Today, with the image of Christ’s broken body on the cross, we can understand. The love God lavishes on us is nothing we could ever earn or afford. Yet He humbled Himself to take on human flesh, exemplifying a servant’s love for the sake of our salvation. [6] In our broken nature, we need Him to wash our feet to enter a relationship with Him and be freed from our bondage to sin. 

True neighborly love, as it’s biblically characterized, transcends a doormat inscribed “Welcome!” It surpasses Mr. Rogers’ neighborly friendliness [7]. It breaks with convention. The Good Samaritan, who would have been expected to revel in the beaten Israelite’s brokenness, had compassion. When God washes His disciples’ feet, He stumps Peter, one of His closest followers. This picture of love, as God paints it, should serve as a stark example for how we ought to live today. 

My shiny new dorm had become a place for little more than switching off my bedroom light within good comfort. It seemed acceptable. I could go a whole semester not once conversing with my suitemates. But it no longer sat right with me. 

Freshly convicted, I stepped outside of my own comfort and reached out to my suitemates about grabbing a meal together. Sitting beneath Appel’s warm ceiling light, slices of sheet pizza between us, my roommate and I conversed with Emily and Angie for the first time in months. Our talk was small, but refreshing. A minor shift occurred. When we returned to our dorm, our subsequent interactions were characterized by rekindled friendship. 

Today, on a larger scale, relationships seek rectification. The faces we might pass on our rush to class long to be seen. Cornell’s 2021 Undergraduate Experience Survey reports 22.9% of respondents disagreeing with the statement “I’ve found a community where I feel I belong.” [8] Furthermore, Gen. Z is described as the “loneliest generation.” A survey from Cigna reports individuals aged 18-22 scoring high on the UCLA loneliness scale. [9] Initiatives on campus like Anabel’s Grocery and the Basic Needs Coalition care for our immediate neighbors with essentials such as food, housing, health, and finances. [10] Yet, despite these inspiring initiatives, a deeper need remains. Loneliness is still experienced in crowded rooms; brokenness still hides behind closed doors. With such need, it merits asking: are you loving like the Good Samaritan?

C.S Lewis writes “To love at all is to be vulnerable.” [11] Slowing down to strike up a conversation with a dining hall employee might require initial discomfort. Loving is not always easy or free. It may come at the expense of a shattered heart. But in experiencing the abundance of God’s inconceivable love, what overflows empowers us to love unabashedly. This bold love can bring to life what was dormant, like Ho Plaza’s cherry blossoms in springtime. It can reignite flickering flames of friendship.  

If we are to truly love our neighbors as ourselves, we are to love across social barriers, outside of expectation, and beyond what is often convenient—clearing our calendars for a hurting friend, breaching silence with a kindhearted “hello,” and not taking acquaintances for granted, whatever barriers in our way. 

This article appeared in Claritas’ spring 2023 Love Issue

Sources

[1] “The North Campus Residential Expansion: Cornell North Campus Residential Expansion.” The North Campus Residential Expansion | Cornell North Campus Residential Expansion. Accessed May 1, 2023. https://ncre.cornell.edu/. 

[2] Cefola, Marisa. “Similar to Last Year, New North Campus Dorms Provide Luxury But Social Isolation.” The Cornell Daily Sun, November 12, 2022. https://cornellsun.com/2022/09/22/similar-to-last-year-new-north-campus-dorms-provide-luxury-but-social-isolation/.  

[3] Mark 12:30-31 NIV

[4] Luke 10:25-37 ESV

[5] John 13:3-8 NIV 

[6] John 3:16 ESV

[7] Rogers, Fred. “Won't You Be My Neighbor?” 1967

[8] “2021 Cornell Undergraduate Experience Survey .” Cornell University. Accessed May 1, 2023. http://irp.dpb.cornell.edu/wp-content/uploads/2022/08/CUE-21-tables-for-web-FINAL.pdf. 

[9] “Cigna U.S Loneliness Index,” 2018. https://www.multivu.com/players/English/8294451-cigna-us-loneliness-survey/. 

[10] “Basic Needs Coalition.” Anabel's Grocery. Accessed May 1, 2023. https://www.anabelsgrocery.org/general-8. 

[11] C.S. Lewis, The Four Loves, 1960