As Americans debate who belongs in our country, the reality exists that our literal neighbors are dying of thirst.

Well before border arguments and today’s polarized climate, there was one phrase I heard repeatedly growing up in Texas whenever Mexico was mentioned: “Don’t drink the water.”

It was said as advice. A warning. A cultural proverb. And it’s true that in many places, you shouldn’t drink the water. But here’s the question I’ve never heard anyone ask: What are you supposed to do when you can’t drink the water, but survival depends on it?

The reality is you can’t opt out of thirst. You can’t negotiate with dehydration. You don’t get to debate whether your kids need water. You simply drink.

Our Neighbors to the South

In too many communities, people are forced to drink water that is making them sick. This is currently happening in Los Kilómetros, an isolated community just 12 miles from the U.S. border. Located on the outskirts of Juárez, Mexico, many homes lack running water and proper drainage, contributing to widespread waterborne illnesses. Marked by deep poverty and systemic neglect, Los Kilómetros is home to some of the most forgotten people in the region.

Consider this for perspective: Juárez sits just across the border from El Paso, Texas. Yet instead of seeing a neighboring community in need, many Americans see two cities separated by a line and two nations divided by politics, policy, and endless debate.

But geography is stubborn. Mexico is our neighbor. Lately, the word neighbor has become complicated. We debate immigration policy, argue about border security, and grow increasingly divided over questions of economics and enforcement. But in the middle of all the noise, we are called to love our neighbors. And if we care about basic human rights, we shouldn’t ignore the crisis happening right outside our door.

When Thirst Crosses a Border

Juárez and its surrounding communities are made up of people like you and me. If you take a trip down south, you’ll find families, children, mothers carrying buckets, fathers trying to provide, and churches serving faithfully in hard conditions.

Clean water is not a political issue there; it’s survival. When contaminated water causes disease, children miss school, parents miss work, medical costs rise, and the cycle of poverty tightens. So, what do you do when the water that sustains life becomes the very thing that threatens it?

You intervene — not with slogans but with water filters. Alongside local church partnerships in Juárez, I have the privilege of working for an organization that equips families with long-lasting water filters connected to a bucket. The gift of clean, safe drinking water opens a door — not as a transaction, but as the beginning of a meaningful relationship with local residents.

Our organization is focused on practically loving our neighbors and looking after their physical and spiritual well-being — a mission deeply guided by the example of Jesus and the Good Samaritan.

The Example of the Good Samaritan

In the Gospel of Luke, Jesus is asked a pointed question: “Who is my neighbor?”

It’s a seemingly innocent question that carries great political and theological weight. Beneath the surface lies a deeper question about boundaries — who counts, who qualifies, and who falls within the circle of our concern. In response, Jesus tells the parable of the Good Samaritan.

A wounded man lies on the side of the road while several individuals pass by without stopping. The religious pass by and the insiders avoid involvement, but the Samaritan — the outsider, the ethnic other and the cultural enemy — stops.

He crosses the road, uses his own resources, risks inconvenience, and gets close to the problem. By the end of the story, Jesus reframes the original question. The issue isn’t simply who our neighbors are, but whether we are willing to act like neighbors ourselves.

I know this idea can make people uncomfortable. Some will say that we should only focus our attention “here” in the United States. But what is “here” when your neighbor lives 15 minutes across a bridge? Some will say that by helping, we are creating dependencies. But what creates deeper dependency than waterborne disease? Some will say the border should define our responsibility, but Jesus never asked the people he served for an ID.

The Good Samaritan didn’t begin with immigration status; he began with mercy.

What If We Became Neighbors?

The question isn’t whether Juárez is our neighbor. The question is whether we will act like one.

When people must drink water to live — even when that water harms them — we don’t have the luxury of debate. We cross the road and draw near to those in need, just like the Good Samaritan. Most importantly, we remember that, like water, the gospel has always flowed across borders.

Ahead of World Water Day on March 22, my message is simple: Access to clean water should never be a privilege; it is a fundamental human right. Let’s join hands, bring more awareness to this silent global crisis, and show love in practical, tangible ways to our neighbors.

Matt Arnett is the Community Pastor and director of Business on Mission & Church on Mission for The Bucket Ministry, a nonprofit organization that works to provide the gift of clean, safe drinking water to communities in need around the world.