Ryanne Molinari

The Backstory

Four weeks ago, my husband called from work. He’d found a kitten in the church parking lot and was bringing her home. As I prepped a spare room as a temporary kitten nursery, I joined a few groups on Facebook dedicated to lost pets. I wanted to make sure the kitten did not belong to anyone.

Big mistake.

While nobody seemed to be missing this kitten, everybody seemed either to be missing a pet or to have found a pet in distress. I had no idea there were so many turtles on the run in my area. I also had no idea that it was so hard to catch a runaway turtle.

As I lingered over these posts, the algorithm kicked into gear. (“You like lost pets? Let me show you more!”) Barely a week later, it seemed that my entire feed was missing pets or, worse, found dead ones.

My heart, à la Grinch, grew ten sizes that week, and it was heavy. Nothing makes me as sad as animals in peril. Soon, the algorithm branched out from domestic cats and presented me with picture after picture of depressed cows and pigs. I even had to scroll past a post about a sad snail.

A SAD SNAIL.

All the while, Billy and I were caring for Parking Lot Cat. We named her Biscuit and made sure she was safe, well-fed, and parasite-free. While our cat, S’mores, was not a fan, Biscuit is quite possibly the most perfect feline to grace this planet. Playful, snuggly, gentle, and hilariously small.

However, as we cared for this kitten, I remained burdened by the feeling that we were not doing enough—that we could never do enough. Animal shelters are overflowing. Pets are wandering onto highways. What is one kitten in a world of rapidly reproducing cats and owners who fail to keep track of them?

This weary feeling is not new. It strikes every time I look at social media for longer than it takes to check my posts and those of people I actually know. It’s the feeling of too many neighbors.

Who Isn’t My Neighbor?

In Luke 10:29, a lawyer tries to weasel out of the command to love his neighbor as himself by asking Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” As I close social media, I often find myself wondering, “Who isn’t my neighbor?” Is there anyone or anything I don’t have to worry about?

We know that we are to love our neighbors. The problem is that our modern way of life has completely skewed our understanding of neighbors. We likely interact with online friends more than the people who actually live beside us. Physical proximity is no longer the main determinant of neighborhood.

On one hand, this is good. When I moved across the country, I was comforted by the same technology that now torments me. I remain in touch with friends who live far away. My family in Arizona can watch our church services in Iowa.

But this constant connectivity can veer quickly and sharply from blessing to burden. Which friends am I supposed to stay in such close contact with? Do I really need to see what has happened to every classmate since college—for better or worse?

Do we need to have access to every church from afar? This makes it far too easy for us to scrutinize and criticize churches we have never visited, perhaps while neglecting the local body to which we belong.

Do I need to see every lost cat in Eastern Iowa? Or every sad pig, for that matter? (In a state that boasts more pigs than people, this has the potential to be a lot of sad, sad pigs.)

The answer is almost certainly a resounding no.

“Actually, That Isn’t My Neighbor…”

God tells us to love our neighbors—the people near us. Only God can love and tend to every person on the planet at every moment.

While the lawyer in Luke 10 wanted to limit his neighbors, our problem seems to be the opposite. The internet makes everyone our neighbor. With curated news feeds, social media makes us feel like we, and we alone, are responsible for every lost pet, every suffering person, every war, every political battle, every religious controversy…every, every, every.

It takes a certain amount of wisdom to discern, “Actually, that may not be my responsibility. That isn’t really my neighbor.”

We should be informed and active citizens of the world, praying and serving on local and global levels. However, I’ve been convicted lately that my foremost responsibility is to those who are near me—connected with me physically and spiritually, not just digitally.

Pragmatically, I will look out for lost pets, but I will not allow the algorithm to hold me personally responsible for their well-being. I’ll support my local animal shelters, but “I can’t hug every cat!” (Anyone else remember that video?)

Now that Biscuit the Parking Lot Cat has been adopted, I must simply return to caring for the one grouchy cat I love so dearly.

I will focus on being physically at church each Sunday, tuning in to the live stream when sick or traveling. While I love that I can access great sermons and worship music from other churches around the world, I must prioritize presence and service in my local church. I must concern myself with the maturity of the ministries entrusted to me, rejecting the pseudo-universal church created by the internet.

Conclusion

Like the familiar hymn, I ask, “O soul, are you weary and troubled?” Reader, are you overwhelmed and sorrowful? Are you mentally and emotionally overextended? Perhaps it’s because you’re trying (and failing) to manage the crushing weight of too many neighbors who aren’t even really your neighbors.

Social media demands that we be neighbors to everyone, everywhere, and deal with everything, all the time. Lost pets. Peers from your school years. Churches acting in ways you disagree with. War. Famine. Disease. Political strife. They all jostle for our attention.

But, returning to the same hymn, let’s “turn our eyes upon Jesus.” Is this what he requires? We are told to give to those who ask and to tend to those in need. We are commanded to make disciples of all nations. I am not at all advocating for isolation and ignorance. I am simply reminding myself that I am a finite creature called not to omnipresence but to neighborliness.

In the Parable of the Good Samaritan, the hero of the story is a neighbor to one man, nearby, in person.

It is not wrong to keep up with lots of people or to stay aware of ongoing issues—from missing pets to distant wars. But beyond asking whether it’s wrong, we need to consider whether it’s wise. My news feeds tempt me to spend mental and emotional energy on a million different people and problems, ultimately distracting me from serving those who are near me and solving the issues that are within my control.

At some point, we have to shut down our apps, set aside our phones, and turn off our notifications in order to steward our real, tangible relationships and responsibilities. We may have to ignore our Instagram followers or leave certain Facebook groups in order to tend to our truer neighbors—those near us in actual rather than digital proximity.

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