Love your neighbour as yourself

We all know the phrase: ‘Love your neighbour as yourself.’ It rolls off the tongue easily, but let’s be honest it’s a lot harder to live out. Because our neighbour isn’t always the friendly face next door. Sometimes our neighbour is a stranger. Sometimes our neighbour is the person who turns up in our town with nothing but a backpack, speaking a language we don’t understand. And sometimes our neighbour is the person we’ve only ever seen in the headlines labelled ‘asylum seeker’, ‘migrant’, or even ‘illegal’.

For years, immigration has dominated the headlines here in the UK. Every week there seems to be a new debate about ‘small boats’, asylum seekers in hotels, or promises from politicians to ‘fix the system’. Behind those headlines, though, are real people. According to the Home Office, there are still tens of thousands of people waiting for decisions on their asylum claims. Some have been stuck in limbo for years – unable to work, unsure if they’ll be allowed to stay, living in temporary housing that can change at short notice. But loving our neighbour means finding ways to help that are honest and humane.

The command, ‘Love your neighbour as yourself’, is rooted in Jewish and Christian teachings but asks for more than just thoughts and prayers. So, what does ‘love your neighbour’ look like then? Do we let fear shape us, or love?

Fear says:

‘There isn’t enough space.’

‘There isn’t enough money.’

‘There isn’t enough to go around.’

But love says:

‘Here is a person.’

‘Here is a neighbour.’

‘Here is someone made in the image of God.’

When Jesus told us to love our neighbour, he didn’t add: ‘so long as they were born on your street.’ He didn’t say: ‘so long as they look like you, or sound like you, or vote like you.’ He just said: ‘Love them.’

And the truth is, when you meet people face-to-face, everything changes. ‘Migrants’ stop being a category. They become names and stories. A father who fled war. A mother hoping her children will be safe. A teenager who just wants to play football. That’s when we realise our neighbours aren’t threats they are just people longing for the same things we long for safety, dignity, and hope.

You might have heard or read about Craftivism. Craftivism is activism through craft, things like sewing, embroidery, knitting. Instead of loud protests, it’s gentle, creative protest. Sarah Corbett, who writes about it, calls it ‘gentle protest’. And I think it’s a beautiful picture of what love-your-neighbour activism can look like. Craftivism invites us to slow down, to use our hands as well as our hearts, and to create something that speaks of justice, dignity, and belonging. It is resistance expressed through beauty. It is prayer made visible.

This picture is of a tree I embroidered that was used as part of a large Craftivism project called ‘Stitch A Tree’ by Thread Bearing Witness in 2017.

The project aims to connect communities and individuals globally to show support for displaced people around the world. The trees were arranged into a large embroidery called Forest with over 10,000 stitched trees by artist Alice Kettle. https://threadbearingwitness.com/stitch-a-tree-project/

Here are some Craftivism suggestions you could consider doing, on your own or as a group:

Sew or knit squares with words of love, hope, and welcome using colours, fabrics, or images that represent the diversity of your community, symbolising how each unique piece forms part of a greater whole. These can then be stitched together into a communal banner for your church or neighbourhood.

Write and decorate prayer cards for racial justice, which could be placed around your church, given to neighbours, or tied to a prayer tree.

Paint or embroider symbols of unity e.g. hands clasped, circles interwoven, rivers meeting, reminders of our interconnectedness.

These small acts may seem simple, but they carry meaning. A handmade object speaks of care, time, and love. It is an invitation to conversation and a spark for deeper reflection. Craftivism reminds us that justice is not only fought in courts and parliaments it is also nurtured in kitchens, living rooms, church halls, and community groups where hearts are softened and new stories are told.

Neighbours aren’t just the people we choose. They’re the people we’re given. And how we treat them says everything about who we are. In a Britain that feels divided and defensive maybe the most radical thing we can do is to live as if “love your neighbour” really means what it says.

One stitch at a time.

One welcome at a time.

One neighbour at a time.

Sr Lorraine Shorten

Minister and Provincial Ecumenical Officer for the Moravian Church in the British Province.

Taken from the CTBI’s Racial Justice Sunday resource for 2026: https://ctbi.org.uk/racial-justice-sunday/