Summers were long and hot here in New Jersey when I was young enough to run around outside all day with my neighborhood friends, free from obligation.  Together we rode our bikes (farther than our parents knew or allowed), ran barefoot in the grass under a sprinkler, and invented new games of chase with complex rules that we were all able to agree on only after prolonged and heated debate.Blowing bubbles was another of our favorite pastimes.At the start we would simply gaze in wonder at the delicate, glistening spheres emerging from the ends of our red plastic wands.  Then, after filling the air with bubbles of all sizes, we would run in pursuit of the drifting cloud of them, trying to catch one on the tips of our fingers.  Invariably someone felt a need to pop the bubbles."Let them go!" another would exclaim, not wanting a single one of our unique creations to perish before its appointed time.Whether it was the disagreement about the fate of the bubbles, the hot sun beating down on us or boredom setting in again, I'm not sure, but at some point a competition would ensue to blow the biggest bubble.Always we felt a distinct kind of sadness as we watched the last of the bubbles drift up and away to places unknown.Some years ago a small group of SHLC members traveled to another country for a mission trip and came home changed.  They tried to articulate their experience to the rest of us who had stayed behind.  One member of the group said he hadn't realized what a bubble he'd been living in.  Being with people in real need helped him to better appreciate his material blessings, and immersion in the everyday life of another culture had widened his world.I've heard people call our town the "Basking Ridge Bubble" because of the wealth that some (though not all) are blessed with in this community.  When I hear this, I can't help but bristle because I feel like I'm being judged as comfortably unaware of and unconcerned about people outside of my small, controlled, glistening sphere of existence.  My impulse is to either shut the person making the comment down with evidence to the contrary, or (on my better days) to smile politely and try to change the subject.Why do I do that?  Because the person making the comment is wrong or because I'm not wanting to listen to her?  Why am I so quick to want to silence her?Last month some of our community members marched in the streets of a neighboring town in peaceful protest of racial injustice, as other groups have been doing around the country and world.  The protests, and the personal stories that people have shared, are sparking conversations here in my community, in my home and in my church.  And as I listen, I'm finding the courage to admit the truth that I really have been living in a bubble.Members of SHLC joined in conversation last week about racism and injustice (see links below).  We shared stories and examined what the church and the Bible have to teach us about the issues, all with the goal of listening and learning together as a family.  We talked about the importance of being in relationship with people who've had different experiences and who hold different viewpoints from ours.  One member challenged us by pointing out that we could start doing that right here in our own church family.She took hold of what we were grappling with in the abstract and presented it as a concrete opportunity, bringing everything that had seemed far away and difficult to attain within reach.Why hadn't I seen and taken that opportunity?It seems that I'm not just insulated from the wider world here in my bubble, but from people who are near me as well."Love your neighbor as yourself," Jesus said (Matthew 22:39).  In the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:30-37), Jesus clarifies what he meant by "neighbor" (whoever is near you) and also what he meant by loving that neighbor - love is open and active, love reaches out and welcomes in.There is one standard by which we are to love all people - as we love ourselves.Jesus' command to 'love your neighbor' is radical, because it doesn't allow me to choose which neighbors I reach out to in love based on my comfort level, and it doesn't give me the option of not reaching out either.  Am I reaching out to everyone equally, welcoming all people into my heart and my life, or are subtle biases at work in me?  Does race, culture, nationality, income-level, political affiliation, religion, sex or some other category influence not just my assumptions about people but my openness to them?These are hard questions to answer, because they feel like fingers pressing on the surface of my bubble, so that I suddenly become aware of the tension that's been keeping me in and everything else - that is different and makes me feel uncomfortable - out.To think that I'm not biased is to deny the truth of that sinful self-centeredness that's been in me since I was a kid trying to blow bigger bubbles than my neighbor and judging myself superior to her in so many other ways.  I haven't outgrown my sin, though I'm learning to recognize and repent of it (again and again and again).Jesus died on the Cross to set us free from everything that would insulate and blind us from the truth of God's unconditional love for all people.  Loving fingers press on the bubble around me.  When I know and trust that in my heart then the tension between us becomes a place where Jesus and I meet, where by the power of his Holy Spirit he is at work reaching into me and reaching out through me.Resources:For "Sparking Conversation:  SHLC Family Conversation on Racism and Racial Injustice" (Slides), click here.For "Sparking Conversation:  SHLC Family Conversation on Racism and Racial Injustice" (Transcript), click here.For "'Racism and the Church: Overcoming the Idolatry', A Report of the Commission of Theology and Church Relations of The Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod (February 1994)," click here.For The Kairos Network: "How our Churches Can Confront Racism and Injustice" (Webinar), click here.For "A Lutheran Paradox: Racism and Anti-Racism," by Rev. Andrew R. Jones, click here.