Who Is My Neighbor? The Question Behind the Question

I was a terrible student in high school. I felt overwhelmed all the time trying to decipher

the expectations for every class. I graduated with a 2.7 GPA. And in case you're thinking I had a difficult class load, I only took one advanced class during high school and that was Honors English… which I barely passed.

I entered college with a determined mindset. From day 1, I was ready to buckle down and focus. It was then that I discovered the wondrous power of a syllabus, a class calendar and clearly listed course objectives. I felt like I uncovered a secret code that told me exactly what I needed to succeed in each class.

Once I discovered the secret treasure of the syllabus, I became an expert in knowing exactly what each professor expected, and meeting those expectations. I was the student that showed up to lectures only on test dates, having read and studied all the material on my own. I shaved corners whenever I could. And it worked! I did the least amount of work, while earning the best grades I had ever seen.

And that’s why, when I read Luke 10:25–29, I see myself in the man speaking to Jesus.

“On one occasion an expert in the law stood up to test Jesus. “Teacher,” he asked, “what must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“What is written in the Law?” he replied. “How do you read it?”

He answered, “ ‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind’; and, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’”

“You have answered correctly,” Jesus replied. “Do this and you will live.”

But he wanted to justify himself, so he asked Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”” ‭‭

Luke‬ ‭10‬:‭25‬-‭29‬ ‭NIV‬‬

This man knew the Mosaic Law. He studied the Jewish expectations. He wasn’t ignorant or careless—he was informed. And yet, like me with my syllabus, he wanted clarity on the minimum requirement. He wanted the recognition of checking the box without having to do more than necessary.

Jesus answers the man’s first question with a question of His own: “What is written in the Law?”

The man answers correctly. I imagine he feels confident. He’s ready for his gold star!

But when Jesus confirms that his response is right, the man presses further. “Who is my neighbor?”

Simple words—but they reveal the heart behind the question. And if we’re honest, we probably carry some version of it in our own hearts.

How far do I need to go?

Does God mean the people in my immediate community?

He’s probably talking about those who look like me and believe like me, right?

Surely Jesus doesn’t mean them. Does he?

But, what if it costs me something?

What if that neighbor’s life is messy?

What if it makes me look messy?

“Who is my neighbor?”

This wasn’t a question born out of curiosity - it was a question of boundaries. A request for a syllabus. A desire to know where obedience could end.

But Jesus isn’t interested in giving this man (or us) a checklist. Instead of answering directly, Jesus tells a story.

A story that dismantles the idea of minimum requirements.

A story that exposes our tendency to justify ourselves.

A story that reveals that faith, at its core, is not about doing the least—but about loving fully.

The expert in the law wanted to know who qualified as his neighbor.

Jesus would respond by asking something far more uncomfortable: What does it look like to become a neighbor?

And that’s where this story begins to press in on us—to step on our toes a bit. Not with rules to follow—but with hearts to examine.

Because loving others has never been about doing just enough to get by.

It’s about allowing God to stretch our definition of love—beyond convenience, beyond comfort, beyond calculation.

In the coming posts, we’ll step into the road Jesus describes. We’ll meet the ones who pass by. We’ll sit with the one who stops. And we’ll wrestle with what it means to live out a faith that doesn’t ask, “How little is enough?” but instead asks, “How can I love?”

Something to Consider:

Where have I been asking God for a checklist when He’s inviting me into limitless compassion?