They Will Know You Are My Disciples

In Japan and Ecuador this past week, terrible earthquakes took hundreds of lives and left many others injured, emotionally distraught, and faced with the burden of having to rebuild and start over. In response to such a tragedy, I find it easy to think that I am a good Christian. I am moved to compassion after all. I have kept the people who are suffering in my prayers, and I even donated to Catholic Relief Services to provide some assistance. At the heart of Christianity stand Jesus’ words to his disciples that we hear in John’s Gospel this Sunday:

“I give you a new commandment: love one another.                                                                                As I have loved you, so you should also love one another.                                                                This is how all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Surely I have done my duty. I have acted out of love. Let me pat myself on the back. Let me go back to my comfortable life.

It is this return to comfort that disturbs me and eats at my conscience. Did I do enough? Am I ever doing enough? Even when I act out of love, is it unselfish love? Is it sacrificial love? Is it the costly discipleship that Dietrich Bonhoeffer spoke about and exemplified? In short, am I really loving as Jesus loved? If only the commandment were “Don’t hate anyone.” That is far more manageable. I don’t think I really hate anyone.

Love, though—that’s a different story, especially to love as Jesus did. It means recognizing every person as a brother or a sister, and acting accordingly. If it were any one of my blood brothers who lost his house or his health in the earthquakes, I would not yet have moved on. I would never think that my small donation and a few prayers had met the requirements of love. I would put my own life on hold for the sake of my brother. I would go into debt for him. I would give all that I could and wouldn’t be satisfied until I saw that he was back on his feet again. Wouldn’t you do the same? And yet, when it comes to my brothers and sisters in Japan and Ecuador, I have already moved on. Apparently, “brothers and sisters” is just a phrase without meaning to me. I am not yet loving as Christ did.

Pope Francis has asked the world to reject the “globalization of indifference” and to foster a “culture of encounter.” It’s easy to move on, to be temporarily moved to pity and then to return to life as normal. It is much more difficult to stay, to really care. It interrupts my plans and makes demands on my time, energy, and resources. In other words, it forces me to become less focused on myself and my agenda. Without this displacement of the self, though, my “love” may be an imposter, an act of the ego with very little cost or investment. It takes time and commitment, after all, to “encounter” the people who are suffering so far away; but only in the encounter can I begin to see a brother or a sister. Only then will I begin to love as Jesus did. Only then can I honestly say, “Our Father.” I’m not there yet, but I know that’s where I want to be.