It's not my problem, but it might be someone else's

"It's not my problem." It's not something I say out loud very often. It usually sounds more like:

I've put it in the bin so it's no longer my responsibility.

It's included in the price, so I may as well use as much of it as possible.

The cleaners will sort it out, that's what they're paid to do.

They're all seemingly different sentences. Different circumstances and different scenarios. But underneath them all sits the same thought:

It's not my problem (anymore).

If you've been reading my blog entries, you'd know that we've recently moved.

Anyone who has ever moved knows that there is an astonishing amount of stuff that gets thrown out in the process. It's amazing how much stuff we accumulate and can ignore .... until the day comes when we have to sort out our belongings. I found things that we've held onto for years just because. Broken things. Random bits of plastic. Things that don't fit anymore. Things that somehow survived for years in a cupboard without ever being used.

So I (tried) to cull as ruthlessly as I could. Things that I could donate or give away or sell, I did. But then there was stuff that we just couldn't. Tons of plastic. The only place those could go to was the rubbish dump.

Once I threw them out, there was a strange sense of relief. It's gone. Not my problem anymore.

Technically, that's true. It's no longer with me. Out of sight, out of mind. But there's an uncomfortable truth that I've been wrestling with.

Just because it's no longer my problem doesn't mean it isn't someone else's.

Someone has to empty the bin. Someone has to collect the rubbish. Someone has to pay for the disposal. Someone has to live with the environmental consequences of what I casually throw away. Other living creatures suffer from our careless contamination. The earth groans and bears the heavy weight of our pollution.

The problem didn't disappear. It simply changed hands. What I don't take responsibility for, someone else or something else has to.

This happens in far more areas of life than accumulating and disposing of stuff.

Imagine me walking out of a room and leaving every light blazing because I'm not paying the power bill. It's easy to justify.

Well, electricity is included.

The host offered to pay for it.

It's already part of the accommodation.

Again, technically, perhaps it isn't my financial problem.

But it is still someone's. Someone receives that bill. Someone bears that cost. Someone has to generate that electricity.

The fact that I'm not charged for it doesn't make the cost magically disappear. It simply means that somebody else has to bear the cost instead.

It reminded me that the 2nd greatest command (which is equal to the first) is to love my neighbour as myself.

I've heard that verse taught in enormous contexts: Love the poor. Love the stranger. Love your enemy.

But sometimes I think loving my neighbour begins in remarkably unglamorous places.

It looks like rinsing the recycling properly. Turning off the heater when I leave. Picking up the bit of rubbish that missed the bin. Leaving the public bathroom in a condition I'd be happy to walk into. Returning the trolley. Washing the mug instead of leaving it 'to soak' indefinitely.

It's the boring, unglamorous, mundane stuff that 99% of life is made of. Nobody is likely to congratulate me for thoroughly sorting through my recycling. There's no trophy for returning my trolley .... and collecting the other 2 trollies that were left in the wrong spot.

They're tiny acts that are almost invisible. But perhaps that's exactly what love often is. Not dramatic gestures or impressive speeches, but a commitment to make life easier for my neighbour (that is, anyone and everyone I may come across).

So if loving my neighbour means loving them as myself, perhaps one of the simplest ways I can do that is this:

To not make their life harder simply because I had the opportunity to make mine easier.