When it comes to neighbors, it isn’t the Samaritan that most of us have difficulty with.

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One day while I was standing in front of the generic brand products in our supermarket, deliberating whether to buy their toothpaste or to continue to rely on Colgate, I saw the Lord Himself. He was over at the delicatessen ordering potato salad.

I ran right up to him and asked the question that was burning in my heart. “Good Master,” I said, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?”

“Well, loving God and loving your neighbor are the main things,” he answered.

“Yes,” I persisted, “so I have tried to do. But who is my neighbor?”

“Your neighbor,” he said, with a piercing look, “Is Menandez Felicidad from Nicaragua.”

“Yes,” I said, “I can handle that.”

“And your neighbor,” he added, “Is Mbotubu Lombombo.”

“No problem,” I said.

“And Ivan Schnotsaliski,” he went on.

“Yes!”

“And Pierre Thibadault,” he added, (seeing that I was from Maine).

“Yes, I know.”

“And George W. Bush,” he said finally.

And I went away very sorrowful for obvious reasons.