And the
barbarous people shewed us no little kindness: for they kindled a fire, and
received us every one, because of the present rain, and because of the cold.
Acts 28:2
This
has been a few days of watching the no little kindness of the “barbarous.”
Yesterday
I did some political canvassing, “getting out the vote.” Whether it be from the
toothless woman who “doesn’t get out much” from her apartment near Dodge to the
hot and sweaty union man whose four kids “are doing great and all in college,” to the seriously tattooed family taking their three-year-old daughter for a sunset stroll. The mom teared up when Adam promised that her child would receive a world-class education, with a goal to be above-grade-level before third grade. Each was so happy to be seen, as I wandered the back neighborhoods with this candidate for the TUSD school board. They couldn’t really believe that the
smiling face from the brochure was the same face looking at them from over the
clipboard.
The Barber
Pole School down the street is giving away very sharp-looking haircuts for that
all-important first day of school. They gave me a huge honkin’ hug when I
arrived with a box of school supplies.
The
bright-eyed millennials manning the coffee pot and sign-out sheets.
Today’s
inspirational quotes were from William Wilberforce, who after an experience of spiritual
rebirth, dedicated his political life to the service of God, in this case,
ridding Great Britain of the institution of slavery.
And I have stood by the sidelines too long, wringing my
hands over the headlines while “barbarians” tromp under the hot sun, with the sheep's challenge detailed in their four-color brochures: “Then
the King will say to those on his right, ‘Come,
you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the
kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was
thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me
in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after
me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.’
And
this next season of life began with my committing to “The District,” stepping
into the rather convoluted, seasick swaying mass of well-intentioned people.
And I am committing to walk the pot-holed asphalt with them, as they serve the
hungry, the thirsty, the stranger, the sick…and the naughty children who have
been kicked out of all of the other fancy fine schools with high test scores
and neatly ironed collared shirts. How many times have I overheard the
face-saving but very firm slam-the-door-in-your-face, “We cannot meet your
child’s needs,” as they are tossed to The District, who can turn no one away.
Yesterday’s
Sunday School lesson at Prince Chapel was about the great feast, and how all of
those invited were a little too busy with their land and their oxen to show up.
Then the invitation was sent out to the poor and the crippled and the blind,
and when they did not fill the table, He told his servant to go out into the
byways and country streets and compel them to come in. And the context of this
Jesus story was at a dinner held at a Pharisee’s home, as to what the Law
really teaches, “pulling a child or an ox out of a well on the Sabbath.”
All
of the “straining at gnats” folks at the table were pushing and shoving for
themselves, for a place of comfort and honor. That made Jesus really sad.
I pray
that I will be a light-bearer and a truth-speaker, as I love my neighbor,
especially “the least of these.” It was not the well-regulated-behaviored priest or the jot-and-tittle perfect doctrine Levite who loved
the Lord God with all of their heart, all of their soul, all of their strength,
and all of their mind.
It
was the barbarous Samaritan who knelt down by the side of the road and showed
the broken what this “like unto it” love looks like.
Because one day, the Son of Man will come into His glory,
and reply, “Truly I tell you, whatever you did
for one of the least of these brothers and sisters of mine, you did for me.”
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