{Photo of Neighborhood Summer Supper}
It was only about 48 hours into our first home, in a new neighborhood, in a new state, before I knocked on the neighbor’s door to borrow their vacuum. Something happened to ours and, well, why go anywhere else when the neighbor is right next door? So it went, and so it goes in my family. When we need something (such as sugar, butter, eggs, or a lawn mower), we ask our neighbor first. I come by it honestly! That was my experience in childhood. We borrowed stuff regularly from neighbors, or, believe it or not, we even went into their homes if they were away (with permission, of course) and borrowed what we needed. I know it sounds like I grew up in Mr. Rogers’s neighborhood, but I think it was more likely that we just all hoped it would be, so we made it so.
My parents fostered relationships with neighbors through shared meals, carpools, and kids galore at our home. I called my neighbors “aunt” and “uncle” because we had grown so close over the years of life together. None of us attended the same church, and we were politically different, but we respected and cared for each other.
So it wasn’t a huge leap for me and my husband to begin hosting neighborhood dinners seven years ago. One neighbor who was like-minded and wanted to foster “loving our neighbor” worked with me on a plan. It wasn’t as hard as it sounds. We called them Summer Suppers on Long (because we live on Long Lane), and they began with a few homemade signs, handwritten invitations, and simple, crowd-friendly crockpot food. We picked a few evenings throughout the summer to host a front lawn meal where neighbors could come and go as they pleased from 6-9 p.m. We provided the main dish (chicken, tacos, meatballs, etc. ) and a simple side dish. The invitation indicated the date, time, location, and the option to bring a side or dessert if desired. We set up tables and chairs on the front lawn and played music in the background.
We had only recently moved into the neighborhood and had no idea what to expect. Would people even come? Would they want to eat a meal with neighbors they didn’t really know? Would they call the police? So we prayed, and the Lord used our tiny little efforts to gather our neighbors and start a tradition that has continued through seven summers, even during Covid, believe it or not! The neighborhood has come to expect our Summer Suppers, and they inquire throughout the year, “Will you be hosting the suppers again?”
Over time, we have had the joy of getting to know our neighbors in good times and bad. We’ve made them meals when cancer has struck. We’ve prayed for them and with them when death has taken a loved one. We’ve gone to funeral services and celebrated births. We’ve watched some move away while welcoming others. None of my neighbors go to my church. Most of them are religious, yet unsaved. We all have differing political and socio-economic views. But all are beautiful, image-bearers of the living God. All my neighbors have the same critical need that I have: to know and love Jesus Christ through the forgiveness of our sins by his death and resurrection.
My family and I are not experts at evangelism, but we love Jesus and we love our church. So we gather our neighbors for Summer Suppers, sit down to eat, and talk about both! Conversations are casual but purposeful. Our neighbors know that we truly care about them, and that opens doors to invite them on walks in the neighborhood, tea, church, and Bible study.
There’s nothing grand and glorious in any of this, but I’ve found that loving people well can start simply. The Lord takes my faith, as small as a mustard seed, and makes it grow. It’s his delight to do so, and my delight to see his work done in the world, even in my tiny corner of it!
