When Jesus, asked about inheriting eternal life, affirmed the need for the Great Commandment to love God before all things and your neighbor as yourself, the expert in Jewish law (“wishing to justify himself”) then asked, “And who is my neighbor?” (Luke 10:25-29). Jesus replied with the Parable of the Good Samaritan, which teaches that our neighbor, whom we are to attend with mercy and compassion, is anyone we encounter along the path of life.

Growing up in New York City, I was constantly challenged by this parable, passing any number of folks each day who looked like they had fallen among thieves and worse: knocked over by drugs or drink; laid waste by mental illness; battered by cruel circumstances, hard luck, or dumb and destructive choices. It was easy to think they had brought these hardships on themselves because in many cases they had. It was also easy to think that handing out a quarter or a dollar would only help to support their addictions and afflictions.

What would Jesus do, indeed?

An idea on how to follow the Great Commandment came when I was in minor seminary, where a priest had a slightly different tack. “If you are to love your neighbor as yourself,” he said, “the first question should not be Who is my neighbor, but rather How well do I love myself?” Since he was not your typical touchy-feely, self-care priest, I opened my ears and mind wider to hear what he would say next.

The priest first explained the true meaning of love; a word poorly understood in our culture of undifferentiated “love is love.” True love, he went on, is to will the good of the other as other. Applied to oneself, love is to will the good of my true and authentic self. Basically, the priest said, we are talking about a form of the Golden Rule, to do unto others as you would have others do unto you. Jesus, however, adds the important insight that true love begins with the self, because you cannot give what you do not have. Love is diffusive. If you yourself are filled with love, that love will bubble over into love of neighbor in a generous response to everyone you meet, even the other who is difficult, destructive, offensive, scary. The other who is so far beyond your understanding as to be your enemy and, you think, not deserving of love.

In his discussion, the priest had the attention of every seminarian present.

So, who is our neighbor, and how must we love him?

Well, the priest said, we must seek to determine what is truly good for each person we encounter, either at that moment or long term (if we have a long-lasting relationship). This determination requires that we try to take on something of that person’s perspective, shoulder some of his suffering, understand a bit his condition—stand in his shoes, so to speak, so that the other becomes akin to brother. We must forge a bond of goodness based on our common humanity.

But, the priest warned, “you cannot do this without God.”

We all agreed, for this form of love seemed too close and intimate to be shared with anyone and everyone. Family members and best friends, sure, we may be able to love so well. But were we called to empty ourselves, sacrifice our inner peace, our comfortable lives, our safety and possibly our lives for just anyone?

His answer was: Yes!

It was crazy. Who can live like that?

“I am not talking about the life you know, good and holy as you think it is,” he said. “I am not talking about the way you love yourself as a good and upstanding person who wins friends and influences people. I am talking about the life God calls you to, and most of all about the way God loves you. The inner life of the Trinity, the public cross of Christ.”

Okay, so I still hesitate to give a dollar to a beggar because—standing in his shoes—I perceive that the money will probably not be used for his good. But for the past 35 years, I have begun my sacramental confessions with this admission of guilt: “I have failed to love God with my whole heart and mind and my neighbor as myself. And here are some specific instances of that failure.”