Friends Go the Extra Mile (By Grace, Alone)

Three things, tonight. Jesus's friends, the Good Samaritan, and going the extra mile.

What does it mean to do something "as unto the Lord?" If He calls, foremost, for love--self-sacrificial love toward Himself and others--then what is it to do anything as done unto Him, except in this spirit. By His Spirit, then. Love.

I'm not going to presently research again the practice of Roman rule wherein soldiers (or perhaps any Roman official?) could require a person to carry their belongings, their gear moreover, for a mile. Feel free to check it out, because my recollection may be a bit hazy. But from what I recall, the practice was one not only generally extremely degrading, debasing, and oft-accompanied by mockery and torments, but it was exceedingly laborious--a heavy burden. I'm not sure how much a soldier's gear weighed, but not light at all. (Otherwise, why even bother someone else to carry it?)

Romans were permitted to require someone to carry their gear for up to a mile, per person, from what I've understood. Under such conditions as, again, perhaps entailed mockery and torment along the journey. We might contemplate Simon of Cyrene, along this, in terms of being required to carry the Lord's own burden by soldiers attending Him. Consider, though, if our foremost call is to love, then what spirit are we called to carry such burden in? And by which spirit are we called to offer and to go a second mile?

Not out of spite. Not to esteem ourselves. But further subjugating ourselves--counting another more esteemed, counting our own trials light, and calling it joy to suffer to serve: In love. With love. Out of love. Or otherwise, turned our heart is against the God who calls us to love, foremost (out of which arises obedience, even as obedience signifies love's presence).

Enduring and surrendering self-will to God's call to serve others as He has served us is our calling. He came as a servant. And by His work, we're now free to likewise serve. By His Spirit dwelling in us, we're able.

The root Hebrew word used in Genesis 2:15, translated various ways as work, cultivate, till, and so forth...is in other places written and translated "serve." Even also sometimes written as signifying slavery, being in bonds. And with particular context, particular cognate interprets as "perform acts of worship." An action of service, working, tilling, cultivating, as in bonds...worshipping.

Why not?

Our spiritual act of worship: Setting all we are before Him--every broken shard of our being, shattered bit of our heart, each aching limb--as to do the work of service, as worshipping Him.

He didn't resent nor despise nor turn away from His disciples, knowing they didn't understand Him and were intimidated by Him--sometimes outright terrified of Him. Not even knowing they'd turn their backs on Him, at various points, betraying Him with words and with actions. No, He didn't turn from them at all--never loved them any less. Instead, He called them friends. He loved them no less, knowing their fickleness and sometime duplicity.

Jesus still laid down His life for them--for us. And we have none been kind to Him, on the whole. We've all despised Him and betrayed Him and scorned Him and spurned Him and looked askance at His mercies, at His grace, at His love. But He loves us, still. No less than He ever has or will. Constant. And He bids us come to Him and lay down our burdens: take up His yoke, which is easy--for His burden is light. Meek and lowly of heart, He said. And He didn't esteem Himself. The Father has exalted Him. And He bids us come to Him. Lay down our lives and give them up to Him. Even as giving them up, as He leads, unto one another.

No matter the grief. No matter the pain: He bore it and will carry us through.

He bids us come.

So to be able to go the extra mile. And to pray blessings on our enemies--not so that they'll have brimstone rained down, but so that the warmth of stoked coals will be a blessing to warm their thoughts, their own hearts. That warmth come to mind, then to heart, may be carried home unto quiet moments alone with God--so may they carry the warmth of His love home with them to their own hearths, that He might stoke a fire unto reconciliation and redemption.

Forsaking care for self, then, we serve with great love--self set aside in compassion for the battered lives of those around us. No matter despising, no matter pain, no matter what's to come. Just to love and serve, as He bids and permits and ordains. Like as the Good Samaritan, who cast aside any thought of his own danger in approaching the wounded man. And who further cast aside care for himself by entering forbidden territory to seek the care of the one he carried. I'd heard his entering the inn compared to an Indian finding a wounded American in the "pioneering days"--casting aside care for himself and what would likely be assumed, carrying him into a saloon and begging help. Without regard for what happened to himself, on all fronts--moved wholly by compassion for the one found wounded. He, in essence, laid down his life for that man.

And said he'd return to settle accounts for anything lacking, thus ensuring a second chance at his own loss of wellbeing...per entering hostile territory, yet again.

And much the same, what would it have meant socially for a Jew to go out of his way to carry a Roman's burden twice the distance required by law, and to do so out of charity?: Much despising, at the very least. If not ostracism from those nearest him, ultimately.

To act in these ways without ulterior motive--moved only by love and compassion, though? That's of the Lord.

What is love, though, but laying down one's life for others--even moment by moment in service, in solidarity, in compassion, in prayer? Howsoever the Lord leads. No matter the circumstances. But it must be His leading, or otherwise goes amiss: Otherwise, worldly ideologies attempt to spring up in the heart and machinations may begin to hold sway--doing something to earn favor, rather than out of love of God and love of others.

That would only sow disease into the mix. Self-will cannot effect good, being inherently self-seeking.
Love does not seek its own.

To the altar, then, with hopes, with dreams, with the longings of a restless, broken heart. He wounds to heal, and His salve soothes beyond reckoning, though grief lingers still.

There's much to grieve in this world. So much to grieve, even seeing the pain of others.

And I wonder: While He grieved in the garden, what of it was for the pain to come and to be borne, and yet what of it was over all which required His work be done at all: From a pure heart, whatever arose. Full of love, abounding in mercy. Grace and peace, to us all.