Why Oh Why Don't I Love My Neighbor?

Today my docile black lab sat calmly outside while I shucked the last of the Christmas tinsel off of my white Easter tree, when suddenly she growled low and took off in a dead-on gallop with her ears pressed back and her hind legs kicking up in a beeline down the long driveway, across the street, and right into the sacred personal space of my mail-checking neighbor.

But not just any neighbor.

This guy has a track record with us.  I don't know his name, to be honest, but he knows ours because I've found handwritten notes in our mailbox detailing his complaints. At first they were anonymous but finally he had the bravery to sign his name. On moving-in day, he also complained about our POD in the driveway within hours of it being delivered.  Excuse me, but between my husband and myself, we moved every blessed piece of furniture out of that POD and into our home. Not a other single hand lifted a single item/armoire/dresser/sofa that we owned.  And yet he was reporting us to the HOA for having a storage unit in our driveway for 48 hours? What the what?  

The acrimony is palatable.  It must be if gentle Kate Middleton could sniff out the wafting pheromones of hairy bearded humans who are antagonistic towards her master and rush the suspects accordingly.

Okay, so here was the perfect time to make friendly with this guy.  To introduce myself and my dog, shake his hand, ask how his wife was doing (who just gave a kidney for a transplant, which I know through a mention in the last note of complaint about our recycling bin--most certainly, my guilt deepens), or to be generally friendly, for the love of Pete.  I call myself a Christian and Jesus said plain as day that the second most important commandment (Mark 12:31)  is to love thy neighbor and I've read it dozens if not over a hundred times and WHAT DO I DO?

Snap an apology, grab that rascally pup by her collar, turn on my heel, and march back across the street and down the long driveway to home.

Ahhhh, what in the world is wrong with me?

Of course, I know the answer to that question. Boy, do I know it.  I am such a fallen human being--this is only additional evidence on the heap of daily examples I could cite.  I am angry at myself for falling short of the ideal of Christian behavior yet again. Is there any hope for a recidivist like me?

I grieved through this while making non-organic (yet homemade!) chicken nuggets for the gang tonight.  Why do I constantly sin when I know the right thing to do?  Why do I give in to the momentary feeling of exhausted snippiness instead of overcoming it with noble and God-honoring behavior?  How do I have the right to call myself a Christian when I act more miserly and pitifully than the non-believing friend?

The silver lining, I think, is that my sin is ever-present in my mind.  Perhaps hope can be found in the fact that I see the wrong and that I am acutely aware of my need for redemption.

Oh, me. I need Jesus. It's that simple. Incidents like this only remind me all the more.

As the chicken nuggets were consumed, a family conversation about why the palms were waved fanned the flames of my previous thoughts. (Palm Sunday being tomorrow after all, which I was reminded of by a very proper member of our church yesterday who asked "of course your children are waving the palms tomorrow? to which I answered....um, no ma'am, not if it requires us being in any way shape or form early to church, which is not in the realm of possible right now.  thankyouverymuch.")  The discussion turned to the notion of Pentecost, the Jewish view of the lamb's sacrifice, and ultimately to why in the world the most learned, scholarly Jews would beg Pontius Pilate to kill the one person who fulfilled all the scriptures they had spent their lives pouring over in the Torah.

Shouldn't they--above all else--have seen the Christ for who he was?

When my child looked me in the eye and asked this tough question, in that moment I was reminded that it's not enough to have the head-knowledge.  It must be accompanied by gritty acknowledgements of a groveling heart and all that goes with them--admittance of poor behavior, missed opportunities, painful regret, difficult consequences, self-reflection, and--most importantly--coming to the space in my thoughts to search for and accept free grace, that undeserved forgiveness by the very One who asked that I love my neighbor.

My prayer is not only for forgiveness, but for another chance to get it right. And perhaps a leash when that opportunity comes around.

Thank you, Tim Keller, for the balm of these words:  

The gospel of justifying faith means that while Christians are, in themselves still sinful and sinning, yet in Christ, in God’s sight, they are accepted and righteous. So we can say that we are more wicked than we ever dared believe, but more loved and accepted in Christ than we ever dared hope — at the very same time. This creates a radical new dynamic for personal growth. It means that the more you see your own flaws and sins, the more precious, electrifying, and amazing God’s grace appears to you. But on the other hand, the more aware you are of God’s grace and acceptance in Christ, the more able you are to drop your denials and self-defenses and admit the true dimensions and character of your sin.

and to Paul, because nothing is new under the sun:

So I find this law at work: Although I want to do good, evil is right there with me. For in my inner being I delight in God’s law; but I see another law at work in me, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within me. What a wretched man I am! Who will rescue me from this body that is subject to death? Thanks be to God, who delivers me through Jesus Christ our Lord!  

Romans 7:21-25