The Extra Mile
THE EXTRA MILE
“Ye have heard that it was said, An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth: but I say unto you, Resist not him that is evil: but whosoever smiteth thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also. And if any man would go to law with thee, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloke also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go one mile, go with him twain. Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away.”—S. Matt. 5:38–42.
These sayings of Jesus have been the cause of much difficulty to the Christian conscience. No man obeys them; and yet no earnest Christian is quite at ease in ignoring them. In the estimation of Christ they are of vital importance, for they are the very qualities that give proof of sonship, and distinguish His followers from the rest of the world. Christians are to be known by the things in their life that are in excess of the claims of law, civilisation, and duty. Others demand restitution, recognition, and appreciation. The Christian resists not wrong, returns good for evil, and reflects the Divine character in the persistence of unappreciated goodness. These “extras” are the distinguishing marks of Christianity, and declare men to be sons of the Father which is in Heaven. If this is the estimate Christ puts upon these things, no follower of Christ can ignore them, and it is important we should understand and obey them.
S. Matthew’s Gospel is the Gospel of the Kingdom. The Sermon on the Mount is the manifesto of the King. It first sets forth the character of the citizen, and then proceeds to adjust the old order to the new life. We understand perfectly His treatment of the old law. There He teaches us that obedience to the letter is not enough. Sin is a question of spirit rather than action. Its offence is in the motive, not in the transgression; in the attitude, not in the act. Hatred is murder, a lustful look is adultery, and extravagance of speech is of the Evil One. God judges by the heart. That is clear.
Then we come to those precepts which are in excess of law, and set forth the Christian’s spirit in social life, and define his attitude to social wrongs. Resist not evil; turn the other cheek to the smiter; submit to injustice rather than go to law; yield to the oppressor even in excess of his demand; give to the beggar, and to the borrower, lend; love your enemies; pray for persecutors; and do good to the evil and unthankful. Everything short of this is common civility and natural obligation. For those who are sons of God, the way of perfection is in the things that exceed the natural moralities of men, and the common civilities of polite society. It is the extras that make the Christian. The world looks for them. Mr. John Morley, in his Life of Gladstone, after speaking of certain phases of his life which sprang from his Christian convictions, says, There was no worldly wisdom in it. But, then, what are people Christians for?
Now, we are asked, did Jesus mean what He said? If He did, where are the Christians? If He did not, then what did He mean?
I. The Interpretation of the Christian Extra
There is no doubt that the literal interpretation is the easiest and simplest. There is no real difficulty about turning the other cheek, giving your cloak to the man who steals your coat, going a second mile with the man who compels you to go the first. For the most part, the occasions for obedience in these things are exceedingly rare. Face-slapping, robbery, and compulsion are not common in a free country. Most people would go through life without ever being required to turn the other cheek. Even in giving and lending, literal obedience to the letter would not be difficult. Christian people would gladly surrender every possession if assured it was the will of God; but when they had given all, they would have placed themselves beyond the possibility of obedience. Men would still ask, and they would have nothing left to give. It is not the desire to shirk a difficult task that has led to the rejection of a literal interpretation of these words. The Master has just been insisting upon obedience, not to the letter, but to the spirit of the law. Does He take away one letter to establish another? Is it not still an insistence upon the true spirit, beyond the region of law in the realm of social duty? Just as obedience to law must go beyond the letter to motive, affection, and desire, so our recognition of social duty must go beyond the exactions of society, the compulsions of necessity, and the civilities of custom. The Christian must be peaceable, inoffensive, meek, benevolent, trustful.
The difficulty of a literal interpretation is its inconsistency with Christ’s other teaching, and His own example. He gave explicit directions to His disciples concerning their duty to people who wronged them, “And if thy brother sin against thee, go, shew him his fault between thee and him alone: if he hear thee, thou hast gained thy brother. But if he hear thee not, take with thee one or two more, that at the mouth of two witnesses or three every word may be established. And if he refuse to hear them, tell it unto the Church: and if he refuse to hear the Church also, let him be unto thee as the Gentile and the publican.” Obedience to these instructions would save the Church much heart-burning and strife: but such obedience is very definite resistance of evil. It challenges the wrong-doer, examines the offence, and punishes the offender. There are more ways of resistance than by force; and in these directions of Christ the whole weight of the influence and authority of the Church is brought to bear upon the wrong-doer.
It is contrary to Christ’s own example. He resisted evil, attacked wrong-doers, and when smitten did not turn the other cheek. When He went up to Jerusalem, He found the House of Prayer turned into a house of merchandise and a den of thieves. He made a scourge of small cords, and cast all out of the Temple, both sheep and oxen. He scattered the money of the traffickers, and overthrew their tables. On another occasion He drove them out, stopped the service, and refused to let any man carry a vessel through the Temple. That is more than passive resistance; it is a vigorous aggression. In the Judgement Hall of Caiaphas one of the officers “struck Jesus with his hand, saying, “Answerest Thou the High Priest so?” Jesus did not turn the other cheek. He challenged the smiter. “If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil; but if well, why smitest thou Me?” He did not answer force with force, blow with blow, but He exposed and rebuked the wrong, and certainly did not fulfil the letter of His own sayings.
The true interpretation is found in Christ’s method of teaching. He taught by metaphor, allegory, parable, and proverb; and each of these methods has its own law of interpretation. The command to cut off the right hand and pluck out the offending eye is manifestly metaphorical. It is a strong figure of speech, by which He teaches that nothing is to be spared to bring misused faculties into subjection to righteousness and holiness. When surgery is essential to life, there must be no hesitation. From metaphor He passes to proverb, and gives short proverbial directions on the Christian’s manner of life, in the presence of the wrongs and needs of the world. Resist not evil is the general principle, and it is followed by specific occasions which illustrate its application.
Proverbs have a province and method all their own. “They embody,” says Bishop Gore, “a principle of common, but not universal, application, in an absolute and extreme form.” Consequently they have an appearance of mutual contradiction. Every proverb may be challenged by another proverb that flatly contradicts it, and yet both are true. Look at one or two. “Take care of the pence, and the pounds will take care of themselves.” Be mindful of the trifles, and the great things will not need much attention. But in caring for pence men lose the capacity for dealing with pounds. They become pettifogging, absorbed in trifles, and ingenious in things of no value. So there come such proverbs as: “Penny wise, pound foolish,” and “Spoiling a ship for a pen’orth of paint.” Settle the great fundamentals and broad principles, and leave details to fall naturally into place. Take another proverb: “Look before you leap,” which means, Never try to jump a ditch till you have measured it; never undertake anything till you have calculated all the forces, and counted all the difficulties. Very good advice; but the people who are always measuring ditches never jump any. It is wonderful what critics they become, but they lose their capacity for initiative and enterprise. They can discover impossibilities but they never accomplish anything. So the proverb “Nothing venture, nothing have” goes right in the teeth of this prudent wisdom. Instead of stopping to measure the ditch, shut your eyes and jump. Better miss your jump than lose the capacity for daring. Take another: “Absence makes the heart grow fonder.” It is delightful to think that through all the days of absence the heart’s fires are kindling; but if that were the whole truth, the longer the absence the greater would be the love, and return would probably remind us of another proverb: “Out of sight, out of mind.” This contradictoriness of proverbs is due to their limitation of truth and absoluteness of form. They state a general but not universal principle, as if it were the whole truth. Each speaks with authority, making no allowance for limitation or exception.
Christ’s proverbs are no exception to this peculiarity. What does He say? “Resist not evil.” That is simple, absolute, complete. It recognises no limitations and makes no allowance for exceptions. Yet Christ’s own teaching and example show us that there are both limitations and exceptions. It is a principle of general but not universal application; and it is necessary to determine the extent of its obligation. To deduct from it a doctrine of absolute and universal non-resistance is to pervert its teaching, and to exalt the letter above the spirit. So long as the wrong is personal and private, it is a Christian’s duty to bear it in the spirit of meekness; but when it is wrong done to others for whom we are responsible, resistance becomes a duty. If a man’s child is in peril through the mad freak of human fiends, is he to stand by with placid patience and see it outraged and murdered? Is it not his duty to strike for his child? If non-resistance were absolute, there would be an end of discipline, civilisation, and organised life: anarchy would be rampant and destruction inevitable.
The prohibition against going to law is a sound rule of life. It is a man’s wisdom, generally speaking, to keep clear of litigation. S. Paul condemns the Corinthians because they took their contentions before the civil court. But is a man never to resort to law? Can we live and enjoy the social and civic privileges of a community, and ignore its obligations? Even though we may forgive an offence against our own property, have we no responsibility to our neighbours? Are we at liberty to turn loose upon society men who will plunder its property and imperil its security? There are times when the plain duty of a Christian is to hand a law-breaker over to law. Does the command to give and to lend impose indiscriminate charity as a Christian duty? Ought we to give to every one that asks, and lend to every man that would borrow? One of the curses of the land is the indiscriminate charity of good people. The Scriptural rule is, “If any will not work, neither let him eat,” and it is no part of a Christian’s duty to provide for men too lazy to work. What it does mean is that possessions are to be held in stewardship for God, and at the disposal of a brother’s need. “Whoso hath the world’s goods, and beholdeth his brother in need, and shutteth up his compassion from him, how doth the love of God abide in him?”
Exceptions do not excuse a rule, but prove it. Care must be taken lest in turning from the letter we lose also the spirit. These commands are binding. The follower of Christ must be a man of peace, meekly enduring wrong, suffering loss, enduring hardship, full of compassion and simple faith. A contentious spirit, full of wrangling, always on the defence, is not Christian. Going to law as a rule is neither seemly nor wise. Good must be returned for evil, for only by good can evil be overcome, and our business is not the punishment of sinners but their salvation. Our service must not be grudgingly rendered, but cheerfully and in excess of necessity. Our stewardship must be a reality, and the needs of the unfortunate supplied, hoping for all, and despairing of none. Such was the life of our Lord, and such also must be ours.
II. The Example of the Extra Mile
Let us look at the command concerning the extra mile as an example of the spirit of the Christian life. “Whosoever shall compel thee to go one mile, go with him twain.” The reference is to public transport service. Roman troops had power to requisition able-bodied men. Marching through a district, they could compel a man to act as porter or guide within a certain area or limit. Such service was not popular. The Government was alien and hated. Often the demand was inconvenient as well as laborious, and was apt to be rendered in a reluctant and complaining spirit. Christ’s command is that even when service is compulsory and unreasonable it should not be rendered in a sullen and slavish spirit, but readily, cheerfully, and in excess of the demand. Such compulsions are happily far removed from the modern conditions of life. There remain but few occasions when we can be impressed into unwilling service in the interests of the State. But compulsory service is still with us. In every life there are circumstances that force to unwelcome tasks. Every man has duties that are undertaken not of choice but of necessity. They are the measured mile we are compelled to travel, and the Master says they are not to be undertaken in a spirit of angry rebellion or sullen repining, to be growled at and groaned under, but in a spirit of cheerfulness that is ready to give double the demand. Compulsions are to be regarded as opportunities, and the drudgeries of life as elect angels whose compulsion is of God. Thus life is to be stripped of its irksomeness, its sullen spirit is to be lost in cheerfulness, and its hardships in the spirit of enthusiasm. The bitterness of the first mile is to be cured by adding a second.
The Christian religion is not the religion of the measured mile
It was the religion of the Pharisee. With him everything was measured, and with scrupulous care he sought to meet its exact demands. It was a religion of law expressed in hard and fast regulations, to which he gave a cold and calculating obedience down to the utmost minutiae of life. Jesus hated the Pharisee’s religion. He abhorred its slavish spirit, its mechanical exactness, its measured precision, and said of it: “Except your righteousness shall exceed the righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees, ye shall in no wise enter into the Kingdom of Heaven.” The measured mile made the Pharisee; it is the extra mile that makes the Christian. The yardstick is broken in the Kingdom of Heaven; its religion is that which revels in excess of legal demands, and delights in obedience without measure.
All virtue begins with the excess of necessity
There can be no virtue in compulsory obedience. If a thing is done because it cannot be helped, what reward is there? If obedience is yielded only to force, what merit is there in obedience? If the march is at the point of a bayonet, there is no room to boast over the marching. If we trot only to escape the prod, it is hardly reasonable to speak of the necessity as a virtue. The value and preciousness of virtue are in its voluntariness. There is no virtue in necessity, no religion in compulsion, no credit in obedience that has no choice. That principle underlies all the relationships of life. There is nothing precious anywhere till the region beyond necessity and compulsion has been reached. In service it is the extra that tells. So long as service scrupulously measures its mile its wages are its reward. At the stroke of the clock the hireling fleeth because he is a hireling. He may be conscientious, exact, and scrupulous in the discharge of his duty, but the day you can dispense with him you will dismiss him. It is the service not in the contract that makes it precious; service rendered not for pay, but under the inspiration of love. The sacredness of toil begins where the compulsion of wages ends.
It is the same in friendship. There is a measured mile of propriety, self-respect, and social obligation. It is regulated by the demands of society for civility, courtesy, and etiquette. The less real the friendliness, the more frigid and careful is the observance of its rules. We never take liberties with strangers. Friendship that is always exact and under constraint has neither worth nor soul. True friendship begins where the compulsion of propriety ends, and conventionalities are lost in the freedom of mutual enthusiasm and affection. Second-mile friendship is the most precious thing in the world. It does not consider exactions, but leaps with joy to every opportunity of service. Must is lost in may, and sacrifice is its highest joy.
If this be true in things human, how much more must it be true in things divine? In religion, above all, it is true that its value and preciousness are in its freedom and spontaneity. So long as ought and must are the forces behind our worship and service, it is profitless to us and an abomination to God. While God is regarded as a hard Master, exacting His due with merciless precision, we shall find in religion neither joy nor power. The test is in the extra mile. Many keep their religion at the irreducible minimum. They pray as much as they must to escape being lost, go to worship as much as they are obliged for the maintenance of their religious respectability, and give no more than is necessary to save their reputation. God hates the irreducible minimum, and scorns the gift brought out of necessity, and for the sake of reputation. He keeps His eye on the extra. He loves hilarity in worship and service. The grudging spirit and compulsory service He will not have. Temple-treading, studied attitudes, and polished platitudes He abominates as mockery and hypocrisy. He seeks soul, not machinery; the love of sons, not the cringing obedience of slaves.
There is no way of reaching the Second Mile except over the first
We cannot begin at the second; it is a continuation of the first, and the first must be done before the second can be begun. Spontaneity and delight are reached through fidelity to the compulsions and necessities of duty. The servants in the Parable of the Talents did not enter into the joy of their Lord until they had proved their faithfulness to the obligations of their trust. They had toiled with no other incentive than a good conscience, and the hope of commendation when their Lord should return. The way to the paradise of joy is by the rugged path of duty. It is the reward of discipline and perseverance. It is so in everything. There is often a toilsome stage of drudgery about half way across the measured mile. When Joash, King of Israel, came to see the dying prophet, he was commanded to take bow and arrows and shoot out of the window facing eastwards; then he was commanded to take the arrows and smite upon the ground. He smote thrice, and stayed. The dying Elisha was wroth with him for stopping at the third stroke instead of going on to the sixth. We are not told how many strokes are necessary for complete conquest, but we usually manage to stop half way. One, is struck with enthusiasm; two, from a sense of duty; three, of necessity; and then we seek an excuse to stop. Most people fail about half way; they stop short of mastery, and never find the ease and joy of efficiency sustained by enthusiasm. Who does not know the drudgery stage in music, where unmusical scales have to be practised by the hour? In languages there is the dreary toil of irregular forms and the technique of idioms. The artist and the nurse, the tradesman and the professor, the soldier and the scholar, have all to go over the measurements, regulations, and compulsions of the initiatory mile. The religion of the Pharisee was good as far as it went; its fault was that it did not go far enough. “Ye tithe mint and anise and cummin, and have left undone the weightier matters of the law, judgment, and mercy, and faith: but these ye ought to have done, and not to have left the other undone.”
Never shirk an irksome task. “The surest way to escape a difficulty is to face it plump.” The man who will not master the things that are hard to him, can never come to skill and delight in his task. It is through the compulsions of the first mile we reach the joys of the second. We must learn to obey law if we would be free, and to serve if we would be fit to rule. Duty is the first word, though it is not the last.
The spirit in which the first mile is travelled will decide whether we ever walk the second. If the mile of necessity is accomplished at the point of the bayonet, the moment the point is withdrawn the march will end. The traveller that is rebellious and reluctant will never go an extra yard.
The Second Mile is reached by doubling the first. Whatever the exaction of a difficult or irksome task, double it. If it demands an hour as a minimum, give it two; if; three strokes will just do it, give it six. One day I sat reading in the corner of a room where a girl was brought, pouting, for her music practice. She was compelled to play for an hour every day. The piano was opened, after much trouble the stool was adjusted, and, limp and listless, she began her task. Every few minutes she stopped to look at the clock, and twice went to see if it had not stopped. The moment the hour struck, bang went the piano and away she scampered. Clerks and workmen leave their tasks often with a similar sigh of relief. Such never get to the Second Mile. They spend all their days in the incompetence and joyless drudgery of the first.
The same rule holds in religion and morals. Perfection, power, and joy are found in the voluntary excess of legal exaction. The man who doubles what [is generally acknowledged to be sufficient is the man who discovers the secret of holy and happy religion. If for prayer and meditation an hour is necessary, add a second and you shall have power with God and prevail. If giving a tenth is duty that taxes the generous instincts of the soul, double it, and giving will become a delight. By exceeding the measure the sense of exaction is lost. Adding the voluntary to the compulsory delivers the soul from the necessity for compulsion. That is the way to lose the duty in the joy.
In this way the spirit of the Second Mile is anticipated in the first. Hard work done for pleasure is never a burden. Recreation would be toil if it were compulsory. By the same law compulsion may become delight, and drudgery a pleasure, if undertaken in a free spirit, and inspired by a great motive. The spirit of consecration that accepts all duties as in the Father’s will, all drudgery as opportunity, and all exaction as privilege, will turn repining into gladness, and set the Decalogue to music.
This is the spirit of the Children of God. Not a resentful, contentious spirit, striving for its rights, and repining over its wrongs; not a mechanical or grudging obedience to the exactions of unwelcome duty, without exhilaration, graciousness, or power; not a hard, unsympathetic, unbelieving greed in the presence of misfortune and want; but a spirit that suffer meekly, serves cheerfully, and ministers joyfully is the spirit of the Christian life. This is the only religion that either God or man believes in; and the only religion by which the world can be saved.