"Won't you be my neighbor?"

Avenged Sevenfold’s “Nightmare” couldn’t capture what I experienced early Saturday morning. Perhaps it was the high quantity of beer, rum, and Dagwood sandwich from the Dispensing company in my stomach at the same time that created such horror, but Saturday morning consisted of several short apparitions of some of the most disturbing nightmares I think my mind was capable of creating. Having awoken from my slumber, I woozily made my way down the three flights of stairs and onto the uncomfortable couch in our living room. I turned on the television to distract my mind from the panic inducing hell-sleep. What did I find at 5:00 am on a Saturday morning?

“Won’t you be, please won’t you be, my neighbor?”

 I sat and watched with a mixture of emotions that were difficult to handle. I got this strange sense that Mr. Rogers had a great facade.  He seemed like a man weary of the world outside, but laboring with all his energy to create a safe place that fostered innocence, kindness, and goodness. I felt like I could trust Mr. Rogers for a brief moment, but then I felt the crushing weight of reality telling me that this world was not real. His intentions were noble, and I felt the warmth of a lost moment in my childhood revisit me, but there was something disturbing or maybe agitating to me in the request:

“Won’t you be, please won’t you be, my neighbor?”

There on the couch, cold and alone, I sang along with Mr. Rogers, and it felt like the response was a resounding “no”.

The weight of where I am going with this makes it really difficult to express:

Perhaps I only want to be a neighbor to those who are like me. Those who, in a sense I respect and want approval from. If I can be a neighbor to those people, then perhaps I have achieved some sort of value. Inevitably what happens is the lack of reciprocation, or the discovery that receiving acceptance from my desired “neighbors” rings so hollow and empty that I’m left shallower then when I began. Complicating this further is the fact that my insecurities run so deep that I want everyone to be my neighbor in this sense, regardless of how unhealthy or unable they might be to appreciate my efforts. Every person I meet, I am asking the question “do you think I am a good person?” “Do you like me?” “Am I worth liking?” "Won't you be my neighbor?"

I know I’m not alone in this, the people who find my condition to be shallow are usually the same people who say “I don’t care what people think of me” in an adamant sentiment. People who really do not care about the perceptions of others do not waste their time declaring their apathy for others opinions. Seeking to marginalize the opinion with “I don’t care” only gives the validity to the fact that we do. 

I guess that’s the beauty of Jesus’ parable of the Good Samaritan. It was a rare, unselfish act on his part. What did it prosper him to help the battered man? What did it prosper him to take the man to an Inn, and to pay for his expenses? If Jesus told that story about me, it would consist of me being so occupied with making friends with the priest and the Levite, that I wouldn’t have seen the man on the side of the road.The Samaritan man wasn't occupied with achieving the approval of the religious leaders, he was concerned about the well being of another man in need.

The question that brings despair is “won’t you be my neighbor?” That’s like the painful question Tevye asks his wife in “Fiddler on the roof.” “Do you love me”. Certainly we can ask that question of our spouses, but when our wounds run so deep that we ask whether or not we are loveable from everyone around us we create alienation for ourselves. We are all asking this question. We are all alienated, we are all separated from each other, we are all surrounded by many, yet very alone, and the only thread that seems to bind us is our loneliness. “Americans are among the loneliest people in the world” – George Gallup Jr.

I still believe by faith that my faith holds the answer to this question. I feel obligated in some fashion to give the easy answer to what I have defined for myself. I feel a great tension concerning being honest and being reverent.  I don’t want to speak to resolve the pain because the pain remains, even though I apply the prescribed solution. So I will not fully articulate it just yet, but I affirm that I hold on by faith that my brokenness can be mended, that my wounds can heal, that my disparity can be resolved, that my anxiety can be alleviated, and my pain comforted.

I just hope that I am not wrong.