You cannot love God and hate your neighbour

Black History Month celebrates the contributions of Black people to Britain. Yet this year’s theme, “Honouring our communities”, challenged me. Celebrating individuals is worthwhile, but our communities are fragmenting, and there seem to be concerted efforts to pull apart our social fabric.

Extremism is being normalised and Christianity weaponised to sow division, fear and intolerance – not least in the Church of England.

Over the summer, anti-immigration protesters entered Doncaster Minster to confront the vicar, who had supported an anti-racist counter-demonstration. Police had to intervene.

In West Sussex, a church display about its historic links to African enslavement was damaged, and the words “God is white” were scrawled across it. Racial conflict has entered our sacred spaces.

Amid this discord, the Good News offers a way forward through Jesus’ command to love one another (Matthew 22:37–39) and the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37). Both ask the fundamental question: Who is my neighbour?

Treating the wound, not the symptoms

In 2020, Patrick Hutchinson carried Bryn Male, a counter-protester at a Black Lives Matter demonstration in London, to safety. In June this year, Henry Nowak’s family warned against using his death “to create further division, hatred or tension”. Both echo 1 John 4:20: “Those who say, ‘I love God,’ and hate a brother or sister are liars.”

In Southampton, Belfast, Thetford, Dover, Portsmouth and elsewhere, vigilantism and intimidation – a politics of ‘might is right’ – terrify those most likely to be targeted and threaten the common good.

What motivates this? Perhaps fear. Perhaps feeling left behind and unheard. Perhaps lies repeated until they sound like the truth. To ask why is not to excuse: intimidation is wrong, desecration is wrong, racism is a sin, and those responsible must answer for it. But if we never ask why, we treat only the symptoms and never tend the wound.

The parable of the Good Samaritan is more than a tale about kindness to strangers. By making a Samaritan – a member of a community despised by many of those listening to Jesus – the hero, Jesus challenges us to confront our deepest prejudices.

It also answers the lawyer’s question: “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” By asking: “Who is my neighbour?”, the lawyer implies that some people are not neighbours, undeserving of mercy. But Christianity, as Jesus proclaimed it when reading from Isaiah (Luke 4:16–21), is radically inclusive. We are all made in the image of God. Our faith does not build walls; it opens doors.

What we can learn

The parable offers four lessons for this Black History Month.

1. Sacred worth. The Samaritan “was moved with compassion”. Martin Luther King Jr suggested that the priest and the Levite asked: “If I stop, what will happen to me?” The Samaritan reversed the question: “If I don’t stop, what will happen to him?”

A parish I once served in had a sign on its noticeboard that read: “Love your neighbour who doesn’t look like you, think like you, speak like you, pray like you, vote like you. Love your neighbour, no exceptions.” Our differences are not à la carte; God calls us to love one another unconditionally.

2. Beyond transactional religion. The priest and the Levite, known for their devotion, showed no compassion to the injured man. By making the Samaritan the hero, Jesus shows that our worth is defined by what we do, not by our religious or social status.

To stand where the Samaritan stood, we must let God’s grace break open our defences, fears and prejudices. Refashioned, the Samaritan’s heart was touched and his body acted. Judaism and Islam share this Abrahamic call to welcome the stranger and love our neighbour.

3. Blessing those who despise us. Just as Jesus exposes the lawyer’s prejudice, the parable asks us to examine our own: who is the Samaritan in our lives? Blessing those who oppose us frees us from the cynicism that demonises them.

We must stand against prejudice without being consumed by an outrage that fuels further division. Holding people to account is not the same as hating them. We must keep the door of reconciliation open, even to those who would slam it in our faces.

4. Keeping hope alive. Hope is not passive; it moves us to stand up, speak out and act, even when circumstances seem overwhelming. Drawing from deep spiritual wells, we glimpse light amid the darkness - and, when we can’t see it, trust that it is there.

Go and do likewise

The parable closes with the charge: “Go and do likewise” (v37). In the Greek, both verbs are present imperatives, calling for ongoing action. Whatever storms we face, Christ has shown us how to act: “Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (John 13:34).

Now it’s time for the people of God to go and do likewise…