Real love is sacrificial

There was a great message preached from my local church’s pulpit last Sunday on the Good Samaritan. In today’s world of warring sides and factions – right versus left, immigrants versus natives, feminists versus traditionalists – what parable could be more apropos? 

The last year has been rife with opportunities for us as Christians to love our enemies. In my homeland of America, a man half the country and much of the world despises was sworn into highest office in the New Year. In September, Charlie Kirk was murdered in cold blood and broad daylight. Only weeks later, his widow, Erika Kirk, forgave the man accused of her husband’s murder from the stage of his memorial, reportedly before 100 million viewers. Even more recently, Britain experienced a horrific terrorist attack at a Manchester synagogue not long before a Gaza ceasefire agreement was negotiated.

Extravagant love

What resonates with me more than the players in Jesus’ picture of loving our enemies is his challenging depiction of love’s inherent sacrificial element:

“But a certain Samaritan, as he journeyed, came where he was. And when he saw him, he had compassion. So he went to him and bandaged his wounds, pouring on oil and wine; and he set him on his own animal, brought him to an inn, and took care of him. On the next day, when he departed, he took out two denarii, gave them to the innkeeper, and said to him, ‘Take care of him; and whatever more you spend, when I come again, I will repay you’” (Luke 10:33-35, NKJV).

Now, I knew the Samaritan was to be commended for the kindness and care he showed his enemy, but I never stopped to ponder just how far out of his way the Jewish man’s ethnic nemesis went on his behalf. He didn’t merely, as the empathy driven pop-speak of the day would suggest, ‘hold space’ for the injured man. No, the Samaritan’s compassion was worked out upon the needful stranger to excess. 

The Father gave the most beloved and treasured gift from heaven

First, he spent what might have been costly resources, oil and wine, not to bless or celebrate whatever was at the end of his intended journey, but on the wounds of a badly beaten, unknown person. He bandaged the man (who, don’t forget, was naked, exposed to the dirt and the elements for who knows how long, probably not smelling too fresh in the heat of the desert) and set him on his own animal either walking or riding awkwardly as he held on to his incapacitated companion. He travelled who knows how far (this likely wasn’t the high street or town centre) to an inn, and spent all night taking care of him (that part had also escaped me all these years). Not only this, but the next day, before he finally left to tend to the thwarted plans for which he’d been travelling, he spent (get this) the equivalent of two days wages (the average daily wage of a full-time salaried Brit today is close to £150) for the care of the mystery man, and promised to make up any difference in cost when he passed through again. I don’t know what’s more incredible, the type of person with an easy £300 to spare spending it unexpectedly on a beaten stranger, or the type of person without it, easily willing to do the same, promising more even. 

Inherent in this time-tested personification of the Greatest Commandment is not only whom we should be loving, but how extravagantly, nonsensically, even offensively drastic love is from Jesus’ vantage point. 

The Father’s sacrifice

The Good Samaritan parable isn’t exactly a Christmas story, but what about God the Father’s sacrifice that first Christmas? The apostle John opens his book with these famous lines: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning” (John 1:1-2). We see many examples of Jesus depicted in the Old Testament, sometimes referred to as the ‘angel of the Lord’ (Genesis, Judges and the psalms of David have examples). Later, John famously reiterates the Father gave and sent his Son into the world (John 3:16-17). Imagine the missing piece there in heaven, when Jesus left that realm to come to earth and be born of a woman. No wonder the Father saw to it he was met with natural wonders (Matthew 2:2), angelic hosts (Luke 2:13-14) and impressive men from the east who bowed down and worshipped him with gifts (Matthew 2:11). When Jesus was baptised, God thundered from the heavens to proclaim: “This is my dearly loved Son, who brings me great joy” (Matthew 3:17, NLT). 

All through Jesus’ birth and earthly ministry, heaven was watching him. He acknowledged his Father and his Father acknowledged him. Until finally, God didn’t. In the Garden of Gethsemane, Jesus prayed all night with such distress, he sweat drops of blood (Luke 22:44). All through his earthly life, Jesus and his Father stayed close together through prayer, but the moment came upon that cross when Father and Son had to separate completely, on our behalf. “Then at three o’clock Jesus called out with a loud voice…‘My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?’” (Mark 15:34, NLT), and the earth quaked and went dark (Matthew 27:51, Luke 23:45).

With Christmastime upon us, let’s remember that the Father gave the most beloved and treasured gift from heaven; to cleanse, heal, carry, comfort and pay the way, for the good of us. Half familiar-half other, journeying the road toward worship and honour, carrying the costly elements of anointing oil and new wine, Jesus welcomed our glaring needs. He stooped down and lovingly served when we were ravaged and tossed aside as useless goods by the enemy. Jesus loved us back to life. ‘Tis the season to demonstrate God’s costly, sacrificial love to the least deserving, least capable, least able to repay – even our enemies – as the same love has been poured out on us.