Or at least be able to recognize her in the grocery store or pick her out in a line up. Neither of which I could do.

We’ve been in this house four years, and when I saw our neighbor today I realized I wouldn’t know her if I saw her on the street. It made me sad.

At our old house, our neighbors were drawn to each other for conversation. Greetings at the end of the day, inquiries about each other’s health and family. It was partly because most people didn’t have garages so they couldn’t drive into their private bat caves and secretly enter their lairs unscathed by human contact. It was also partly because a many of our old neighbors were just that: old.

They were from a different generation with a different sense of neighborhood and fellowship. I miss that. I also miss them, but fortunately still see them a church, which makes me that much more grateful for the sense of community our parish provides. The regular contact with people young, old and everywhere in between with Christ at the center almost seems like the Lord knew what he was doing.

Maybe in four years, the next time our neighbor is visible, I’ll run to her and greet her …

For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them.

Mat 18:20