Brookings resident Carl Kline is an ordained clergyman, part-time teacher and occasional blogger.

We live in an old neighborhood. I’m talking about older homes, not older people, like me. And like most neighborhoods in our country, people come and go. Since our last neighborhood potluck, I’m aware of at least three homes that have changed hands; either through a death in the family or simply moving on.

The neighborhood potluck is a tradition that began in the street next to our house. Organizers walked the neighborhood with invitations establishing the date and location. Our block was selected and filled with tables and chairs; no traffic allowed. We ate, met new and old neighbors, and generally had an enjoyable evening. Conversation went on until the skies began to darken.

One year the city discouraged blocking off a street, so we moved to an alley. Another year a neighbor offered their yard. Changes in location didn’t discourage attendance but seemed to increase participation with each new location. We’re due for another gathering this summer, as there are those new neighbors for all to meet and greet. And we are due to exchange more meaningful conversation than a quick, “hello,” in passing.

I’m thinking about neighborhood and community this morning as I recognize the divisiveness abroad. A spirit of unity, of working together, starts small. It begins over backyard fences, neighborhood potlucks, shopping with local merchants and attendance at local events like city council meetings. It begins in churches and neighborhood centers, high school activities and university events. It begins whenever we are able to move out of our individual shells and encounter the individual reality of an “other.”

I saw unity in the rural farming community where I once was a pastor. After a terrible wind storm, we drove to a farmstead where there was significant damage. Driving from some distance away, I discovered I left home too late. I had to walk a quarter mile to get to the farm, as the cars were parked all along the road. Dozens were already present cleaning up the debris and beginning to bring down a silo severely damaged in the storm. Someone even brought coffee and refreshments for the crowd. A potential tragedy turned into a memorable, remarkable event of human solidarity.

Or I would go to a community event like a high school graduation ceremony. The whole town was there. Looking around the hall, I identified many of our church members, more than I had ever seen altogether at one time in church. Or have the men provide a dinner at the church on Mothers Day, and watch the whole community come through the doors.

Neighborhood and a sense of community can also happen in the city. I witnessed it in New York City as my friend and mentor walked several blocks down Broadway, greeting friends and neighbors along the way. Neighborliness is also possible in a high-rise, just as in a residential area of single family homes. We found it in our seminary community, as we often ate in the hall with all of our first floor neighbors.

In the Gospel of Luke a lawyer asks Jesus, “Who is my neighbor?” It wasn’t a genuine question. The lawyer wasn’t looking for understanding but rather expecting limits to the scope of the answer, potentially excluding others. The response of Jesus is the Parable of the Good Samaritan. A neighbor for Jesus is anyone in your path in need, regardless of background or ethnicity or affiliation.

If you look at neighborhood and community through the eyes of Jesus, you recognize that everyone is our neighbor. We’re all in need. Perhaps not as needy as the wounded laying on the roadside. But underneath the outer facade, there’s an inner emptiness in all of us that can be filled by a good neighbor; a thoughtful and generous person simply passing by.

After recent surgery, my hip was severely bruised. The bruising ran down my leg almost to my knee. I’ve watched the color change, day by day. After more than two months, the bruising is almost gone. The body has an amazing ability to mend.

So too, the body politic. Little by little, as people engage the neighbor and the larger community, as the heart continues to pump and the blood flows, the bruising of the body politic begins to disappear. The healthy color returns and the limbs resume their appropriate function.

It starts small. It takes time. But neighborliness and community can overcome, even the bruises of ethnic hatred and political divisiveness. We just need to keep the faith.