(RNS) — “I realized it was that Renee Good, our kids are in school together,” read a text I received in the last 24 hours from a friend in our Minneapolis community. I did not know Renee personally, but I feel the pain and sadness that’s now a lasting part of our city.
That is precisely the point of the lived theology of neighborliness, something uniquely Minnesotan that presses us to show up for each other. I do not need to know you to love you and show compassion; knowing you are my neighbor is enough.
This interconnectedness is reflected in the highest levels of our state government. In a press conference yesterday, Gov. Tim Walz said, “I saw it last night, I saw it during George Floyd, I’ve seen it throughout our history, when things look really bleak, it was Minnesotans first who held that line for the nation … to rise up as neighbors, and simply say we can look out for one another.” He connected this bond of neighborliness as a cornerstone for a healthy, thriving democracy that holds us together when we differ and disagree.
The simple concept of caring for those in your proximity holds religious resonance. And even for atheist Minnesotans, it holds an ethic of care that encompasses the unknown neighbor.
The late sociologist Robert N. Bellah gives us a directive for charting a course as a nation: “A chance for another course, another role for America in the world, depends ultimately on the reform of our own culture. A culture of unfettered individualism combined with absolute world power is an explosive mixture. A few religious voices have been raised to say so. The question of the hour is whether our fellow citizens, much less our leaders, are ready to hear such voices.”
Minnesota has the highest number of refugees per capita in the U.S. This hospitality is based on theologies of welcoming the stranger, enacted by Christian and other religious relief services dedicated to resettling refugees who flee violence and persecution. It’s a familiar story, and a truly American one.
Taking a neighborly approach to helping is not dependent on the legal immigration status of any community member. Describing people as “illegal” creates a dehumanized class in which withholding basic human rights becomes the norm. In Minneapolis, our close-knit communities already know this. In fact, Renee Good moved to the South Minneapolis area because she was seeking community, and her community is grieving her collectively.
Our ability to create bonds of humanity creates an empathy grounded in action. Embodied empathy is the basis of activism — it’s when you put your body on the line in non-violent action to support the continued living of another. Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas tied human interaction to our ability to act together for the dignity of another.
We see this time and again with leaders coming together to bear witness to the human rights abuses against immigrants, who are, at their core, our neighbors. Examples abound of projects across the Twin Cities of people organizing to provide food for neighborhood children, offering accompaniment to immigration court and standing witness as people are detained. We are operating out of this common category of neighbor, and in this day and age of toxic division, the simple category of “humanity” holds people together and fills them with courage.
One of the famous sayings of Prophet Muhammad is, “He is not a believer whose stomach is full while his neighbor to his side is starving.” And in Islam and in many other religious traditions, we do not typecast the neighbor as having to represent one’s own religion, race, national origin or history. At an interfaith meeting about a month ago at a church, convened by a pastor and imam concerned about anti-Somali rhetoric, a rabbi said to our group, “I am here because what is happening to your community happened to me in the past, and my Jewish teachings pressed me to be here.”
People are showing up, across faith communities, caring for one another in material ways because they see the neighbor as someone who is in proximity. Yesterday, as I was checking in with faith leaders around the area, an imam expressed deep sympathy for Renee and her family. He did not know her, share her belief system nor reflect her ethnic heritage. None of those connections mattered, though. Tears have been flowing for her from every faith community and from people without a faith community. The site of her killing is now a sacred one.
Beyond Minnesota, I often say the “flyover” part of our country is leading on interfaith action and care because these states are places where you still know your neighbor. In them, interfaith relations are building what I call casserole (or hot-dish) hospitality. Maybe it’s a samosa or shawarma plate, but hosting, holding space for and being in community are natural, intentional parts of the Midwest culture and ethos.
People across our state and region have made the practice of neighborliness a way of life. Maybe we are a test case for the future of America — one in which we could choose a future based on compassion.
(Najeeba Syeed is the El-Hibri endowed chair and executive director of the Interfaith Institute at Augsburg University in Minneapolis. The views expressed in this commentary do not necessarily reflect those of Religion News Service.)