Growing up, both my mother and grandmother wore girdles to church. After church, when we got home, both ladies would exit the room, exclaiming, “I have to get this girdle off!” Then, whichever home we were in, they would disappear and return having shed the restrictive foundation beneath their dresses.
To my childhood mind, a girdle was simply a way to hold in whatever a woman wanted to conceal so she could look slimmer. In our household, however, the ladies could endure that containment for only so long.
What brought back those humorous, recurring memories was a lingering thought about that troubling conversation Jesus had with a religious scholar—a conversation that culminated in the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37). The parable hinges on a single, challenging question: “Who is my neighbor?”
You might wonder, “What do women in girdles have to do with that?”
In my mind—which can be a minefield of interconnected thoughts—it has everything to do with the human effort to contain what God intended to expand. The essence of a girdle was twofold: containment and appearance.
I see this same dynamic across our nation, a country blessed with extraordinary abundance. I see a radical right wing in control of our state and national politics. They seek to contain who can rightfully live within our borders, claim citizenship, participate in our national dialogue, belong, and be one of “us.”
Containment is ultimately about defining “them.” Once “they” are identified, it becomes far easier to ostracize, restrict, demean and separate them from the rest of us.
The underlying problem is our attempt to contain God’s expansive love to “just us.”
For the legal expert in Luke, “us” meant Israel—or more specifically, those within Israel who were flawless in their observance of the law. Those unable to meet that standard, for whatever reason, were officially excluded from being neighbors. According to the expert, our neighborhood had strict boundaries that required rigorous policing and enforcement.
Jesus—the embodiment of God’s love—rejected that mindset entirely. Yet he let the lawyer’s constricted heart convict itself right there in God’s presence.
Nothing, it seems, has changed.
In today’s supposedly “Christian America” (a label that is not and has never been accurate), we remain comfortably committed to restricting Jesus’ definition of a neighbor. Here lies the deep irony: If God has so richly blessed us because we are a “Christian nation,” then why are we so reluctant to live out Jesus’s teachings toward others?
Reality exposes the falsehood. Our history reveals just how un-Christian our actions have been from the very beginning.
Our compassion has been spotty at best—and “at best” is generous. We were hardly neighbors to Native Americans when we forced them from their ancestral lands. We were not neighbors when we brought human beings to this country in chains, enslaving them on plantations and continuing to stigmatize, ostracize, and marginalize their descendants to this day.
Nor do we treat undocumented immigrants as neighbors when we hunt them down, arrest, detain, and deport them—often fueled by political slander that reflects the character of the accuser far more than the accused.
We cannot move forward without asking what neighborliness looks like today. As Jesus illustrated, it can be surprisingly simple:
First, it requires responding to immediate needs.
Nothing suggests the Samaritan was actively searching for a crisis; he simply encountered a wounded man along his journey. The difference was that he stopped when others passed by.
Second, it demands both compassion and tangible care.
It was not enough for the Samaritan to notice the man or pity his condition. He got involved—providing immediate medical aid, securing shelter, and paying for ongoing care.
Third, it asks us to reconsider the boundaries of our community.
Jesus’ teachings were precise, drawn directly from real life, and their power lay in their absolute clarity.
So, what is the shape of your neighborhood? Who is our neighbor today?
In answering, do not think merely of your family, your circle, or those who look like you. The Good Samaritan shared none of those ties with the man on the road.
When Jesus asked who proved to be a neighbor, even the legal expert had to admit: “The one who had mercy on him.”
I suspect Jesus is still waiting for us to get the point—and more importantly, waiting for us to become the neighbors our world so desperately needs.
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A private practice counselor working with veterans and survivors of trauma. Previously, Chancellor served four churches in Texas for 33 years, then ran a Mental Health Department of Alan B. Polunsky Maximum Security prison which houses death row.