In John 17, as Jesus prepares to go to the cross, He prays not just for His disciples, but for all who will one day believe in Him. And what does He pray? That we would be one. Not just unified in theory or theology, but in life, love, and witness. Jesus says something incredible in verse 23: "May they be brought to complete unity to let the world know that you sent me and have loved them even as you have loved me."
That means our unity, our togetherness, isn't just for us. It's one of the most compelling ways the world comes to know Jesus. And friends, in this divided, anxious world, we can show what unity, love, and hope look like.
So, what does that look like? It looks like neighboring, because before we can unite the world, we must unite our blocks.
Every great movement begins not with an answer, but with a question. And this particular movement, the one we're talking about today, was sparked by a few local pastors who began to dream together. They weren't trying to reinvent the church or compete with one another. They asked, "What would it look like if we linked arms—not just to do church better, but to serve our city better?"
That question was humble and bold at the same time. Humble, because it admitted they didn't have all the answers.
Bold, because it acknowledged that the Kingdom of God is bigger than any one church, and that maybe, just maybe, fundamental transformation starts when we move from isolation to collaboration.
So instead of crafting a vision in a vacuum, they decided to listen. They went out into the community and asked two questions:
1. What's your dream for our city?
2. What would it be if you could wave a magic wand and change one thing?
They asked teachers, business owners, city officials, community organizers, single moms, retirees—people from every walk of life. And what they heard was eye-opening.
Some of the answers were expected: better schools, safer streets, and more affordable housing. But underneath those practical hopes was a more profound yearning that didn't fit neatly into a program or policy. People were hungry for connection.
They didn't just want services, they wanted relationships. They wanted to feel like they belonged in their neighborhoods, that someone would notice if they were hurting or missing, that someone would knock on their door to say hello.
And perhaps the most insightful response came not from a theologian or a pastor, but from a mayor. When asked what churches could do to make the most significant difference in their city, he didn't say, "Run more programs" or "Build more buildings." He said, "The smartest thing pastors could do for the city is to start a neighboring movement."
At first, it might have sounded too simple. But the wisdom of that statement is profound. Because relationships always trump programs. Programs come and go. Events start and end. But relationships, the ones built in everyday places, over time, have the power to change hearts, families, communities and cities.
Community begins with connection, and connection begins next door.
What's more, research backs this up. Here are a couple of statistics:
• People who have close bonds with their neighbors tend to live longer.
• In neighborhoods where people know each other by name, crime drops by 60%.
• When natural disasters strike, it's not FEMA or the fire department that arrives first—it's your neighbor.
• And perhaps most sobering of all: studies show there is no measurable difference between Christian and non-Christian neighbors.
That last one should stop us in our tracks. Jesus said in John 13:35, "By this everyone will know that you are my disciples, if you love one another." He didn't say they would know us by our theology or by our attendance, or by how many Bible studies we attend. He said they would know us by our love. Lived out, embodied, visible love.
So what happens when even our neighborhoods, the places we live, raise kids, mow lawns, walk dogs, and share fences, can't tell the difference? That should be a wake-up call. Because the truth is: this isn't about running a campaign. It's not about launching a flashy initiative. It's about discipleship. It's about rethinking what it means to follow Jesus in the real world, in real time, with real people. It's the Gospel with shoes on.
Imagine what would happen if we stopped seeing our neighborhoods as just the place we sleep and started seeing them as the place we're sent. Not just where we exist, but where we're called. That's what these pastors began to realize. And that's what this movement is about. Not programs. Not slogans.
Not even events. Just the simple, sacred act of being present with the people around us. Of seeing, knowing, and loving our neighbors. And Jesus, brilliant as always, already showed us exactly how to do that.
Jesus had a way of cutting through complexity with crystal clarity. While others debated theology, argued over law, or obsessed over appearances, Jesus always brought the conversation back to the heart. That's precisely what He does in Luke 10 when a religious expert approaches him.
This man doesn't come looking for community—he's looking to test Jesus. He asks, "What must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus, knowing this man's background, responds with a question of His own: "What is written in the law? How do you read it?" The man answers well: "Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, strength, and mind, and love your neighbor as yourself."
Jesus replies, "You've answered correctly. Do this, and you will live."
Simple. Powerful. Brilliant.
But the man isn't done. Scripture says he wanted to "justify himself," so he asks another question: "And who is my neighbor?" That's the moment Jesus launches into what we now know as the Parable of the Good Samaritan, one of the most famous and beloved stories in all Scripture.
But we sometimes miss that Jesus told this story in response to a question that still echoes today: Who counts as my neighbor?
Jesus tells the story of a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. Along the way, he's attacked by robbers, beaten, and left for dead. A priest, a man of God, sees him and crosses the road to avoid him. A Levite, a temple assistant, does the same. But then a Samaritan, a person culturally despised and religiously rejected by the Jews, stops. He doesn't just stop, he bandages the man's wounds, puts him on his donkey, takes him to an inn, pays for his care, and promises to return.
Then Jesus asks, "Which of these three was a neighbor to the man who fell into the hands of robbers?" The expert in the law replies, "The one who had mercy on him." And Jesus says, "Go and do likewise."
Let's pause there.
This is not just a lovely story about kindness. It's a radical redefinition of what it means to follow God. The religious leaders in the story knew what they should do, but did not show love. The Samaritan, the outsider, had compassion and action, which made all the difference.
Jesus is telling us that neighboring isn't just an ideal, it's an essential. It's not a side ministry for the extroverted or the overly nice.
It is the very framework of God's law: Love God. Love people.
And when the rubber meets the road, when someone is broken, bloodied, or burdened, what matters most is not your religious resume, but your willingness to show up and love.
Neighboring is not about geography; it's about proximity and compassion.
And think about the genius of Jesus' strategy here. What would change if every believer took this story seriously in every neighborhood? What if the primary mission field wasn't overseas, but across the street? What if evangelism didn't start with a tract, but with a conversation? What if revival wasn't something we chased at a conference, but something that took root on our blocks?
Jesus' command is simple and world-changing: "Go and do likewise."
• Not "Go and organize a big outreach event."
• Not "Go and build a platform."
• Not "Go and create a perfect discipleship curriculum."
• "Go and be a neighbor."
And maybe that's the point.
Because the kingdom of God advances not just through pulpits and platforms, but through kitchens and coffee tables. Through shared stories and sidewalk conversations. Through mercy, presence, and practical love.
Jesus knew that the world doesn't just need more religion—it needs more relationships. And He gave us the exact model to follow. The question is: Will we go and do likewise?
Loving our neighbor doesn't begin with a dramatic act. It starts with something far simpler, yet deeply profound: learning someone's name.
You might be surprised how often Jesus used names. He didn't just heal a woman with a bleeding issue—He called her "daughter." He didn't just call His disciples "you guys"—He called them by name: Peter, James, John, Andrew. Even from the cross, Jesus looked at the criminal beside Him and said, "Today you will be with me in paradise." That wasn't a general offer. That was personal, relational, intimate.
And yet, in our neighborhoods, so many of us live surrounded by strangers.
We wave politely. We nod at the mailbox. We might even exchange small talk. But if we're honest, we don't know their names. We can't tell their stories. And it's hard to love someone you don't know.
That's why the first step in neighboring is so basic and vital: learn their names.
Think about the progression of relationships in a neighborhood:
• It starts with a wave.
• Then it becomes "Hey man" or "Hey there."
• Eventually, it turns into "Hey Mike."
• Then maybe one day it becomes, "Hey Mike, how are you doing?"
• And then, "Hey Mike, can you help me move something in the garage?"
• And finally, "Hey Mike, I noticed your son moved back in. How's that going?"
It's a journey from stranger to acquaintance, to friend. It's a journey built not on pressure, but on presence.
And we all take that journey in different ways. For some of us, it might begin with standing in the front yard a little longer. For others, it might look like inviting a neighbor over for coffee or a backyard barbecue. Maybe it's offering to babysit for the single mom next door, or shoveling snow for the elderly couple across the street.
But it all begins with intentionality.
One of the simplest tools for this is called the block map. You draw a square to represent your home in the middle, then draw the eight closest houses around it. The challenge is to fill in the names of each neighbor and something you know about them.
Studies show that most Christians can only fill in 1 or 2 names. That's not condemnation, that's an opportunity. Because once you name someone, they stop being a stranger.
And when someone stops being a stranger, the doors begin to open:
• You begin to notice their rhythms—when they come and go, when they're struggling, when they're thriving.
• You start praying for them—not generically, but specifically.
• You start serving them, not as a project, but as a person.
• And eventually, you might even share the most important story of your life, your story of Jesus.
But none of that happens if we don't take the first step.
The truth is, people are hungry to be seen. Many of our neighbors are fighting quiet battles, loneliness, anxiety, broken relationships, and financial stress. They don't need a sermon, they need a connection. They don't need a religious expert, they need a caring neighbor.
That's why this isn't about adding more to your schedule. It's about being more intentional with the life you already have. It's about seeing your street where you live and where you're sent. Remember what Jesus said: "Go and do likewise."
That doesn't mean moving across the world. It means walking across the street.
Imagine what might happen if every church member made one new connection this week. One name learned. One story heard. One act of kindness was offered. That's how revival starts, not with noise, but with neighboring.
So, here's your challenge: Start the block map. Begin with one name. Be consistent. Be available. Be prayerful.
Because the truth is: the Gospel doesn't just travel through preachers, it travels through friendships.
In John 17, Jesus prays that all believers would be one, unified in love and purpose, so that the world might believe in Him. That unity isn't just theological; it's deeply practical. It starts right where we live, in our neighborhoods.
This week, take one intentional step toward loving your literal neighbors. Fill out a block map. Learn one new name. Initiate one conversation. Start one act of kindness. Don't wait for the perfect time. Start with the person next door because the Gospel doesn't just move through churches. It moves down driveways, across fences, and into living rooms.
Let's be the answer to Jesus' prayer—right here, right now.
