Go and do likewise.

 When he turned his back to leave Samuel, God gave him another heart. 1 Samuel 10:9

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.”

Always set an extra place

The native people showed us unusual kindness, for they kindled a fire and welcomed us all, because it had begun to rain and was cold. Acts 28:2

Really, in many ways, this is my favorite part of the Bible, the bits told by Luke, Dear and Glorious Physician, which by the way was one of my favorite dorky fourth or fifth grade books when I didn’t know how to do anything except read.  

This is real life.  The Bible mostly chunks up life into Moses forty years herding sheep in the wilderness of Midian, and Joseph was in prison two more years, or Rebekah was barren for twenty years.  And it is hard to imagine or relate to this sort of record.  But you remember the moments, such as When Paul had gathered a bundle of sticks and put them on the fire, a viper came out because of the heat and fastened on his hand.

And Luke who carefully investigated the stories, and recorded all the details so that we might have certainty concerning the things we have been taught, noticed the small acts of kindness.  Not random acts of kindness, but deliberate outpouring acts of unusual kindness that were vaguely inexplicable and undeserved but important in the flow of life.  

And once again, it was the heathens who received them with hospitality. Their minds and hearts were open, and all who had diseases came and were healed.  While the big religious leaders, not so much; their hearts had grown dull, and their ears that could barely hear.  And really, all of the expounding in the world was not going to change a thing.  Their eyes were closed. And they would not receive the healing held out by the Lord Jesus Christ.

 And Paul, who welcomed all who came to him, reminds me once again that the big table in the backyard under the strings of twinkling lights is a good thing, and that the other stuff, not so much.