By Dr. Pat Saxon
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July 23, 2026
SCRIPTURE Luke 10:29 And who is my neighbor? WORDS OF HOPE It’s Sunday morning, so Sage and I are taking an early, early walk. Though it’s no longer dark, the clouds are just barely tinged with rose blush. As we turn east and pass one house after another, those who live there come to mind—the young woman in dental school and her house mate, the couple with a 3-year-old autistic son, a retired veteran with mobility challenges who grieves the death of his beloved German shepherd. Though Sage is a curious dog and friendly with most everyone, she has her favorite neighbors, so she tugs me toward the house across the street where a family--husband, wife, and adult son—abide. Last year they started a lawn and clean up service and are some of the hardest working people I know. Sage is hoping for a belly rub or scruff of her fur before they go off to work, but they are not out yet, hopefully still enjoying a well-deserved rest. As we come to the end of the block, an ache fills my chest. Though the light is on, no Sarah sits on the front porch enjoying the morning and no Keith engages us with his stories. Nor does Osso, their deaf yellow lab, voice his defense of the house as we come by. When Keith told me they were moving about month ago, it was like a kick in the gut. I really miss them. Keith’s warmth and willingness to chat draws people out. Over time we talked of his prize- winning barbeque sauce recipe, his former job filming Dallas Cowboy games for a local TV station, being at the lake, families, and much more. We’ve exchanged fresh tomatoes from his garden and peaches from my favorite orchard in East Texas, and recently he shared a delicious Mexican casserole he made. Once, when Sage’s legs hurt too much to walk any more, he stayed with her while I got the car and took her home. No politics, though, except for one day we slid that way unknowingly when he named the downtown church they attend—one which preaches hatred for gay people. I winced inside, but with this gracious, caring couple---well, that hatred just didn’t stick. Every morning and evening I still sense the emptiness of where they would have been. Grief over neighbors who have moved away is one of the many types of unattended sorrow we carry. I am so grateful for my good neighbors and this morning I hear the ancient question: Who is my neighbor? The answer expands in concentric circles wider and wider. My neighbor is the unhoused woman in a black hijab who takes shelter near the QT, the chatty clerk at Tom Thumb, the irritating solicitors who ignore “no solicitation” signs, the crews tearing up our streets for a city project, but who at the end of a hard day pause to play with Sage. My neighbor is a sister grieving her brother Lindsey Graham and the advocates working passionately to secure safe medical care for women in anti-abortion states. Neighbors are Israelis and Palestinians both carrying ancient wounds, the starving people in the Sudan and the ebola nurses seeking to save lives in Eastern Congo. My neighbor is the great Pacific octopus and the grizzly bear feasting on salmon. Starburst and black holes, neighbors of the universe, all God’s creation. PRAYER God of all creation, expand our hearts and minds to embrace the universe of our neighbors until we can say, with John Donne: No one is alien to me. Amen. DEVOTION AUTHOR Dr. Pat Saxon