Do you remember seeing this story from NPR?

A teenager stuck up Julio Diaz at knife-point, demanding his wallet.  Apparently not in the mood for heroics, Diaz acquiesced.  He didn’t deem the contents of his wallet important enough to risk a bloody scuffle, so he handed over the billfold.  There’s nothing news-worthy here.  Knife-point muggings happen all of the time, and most of us probably would’ve responded similarly.

Then, the story takes an unusual turn.  As the kid is walking away, Diaz calls out, “Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you’re going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm.”

This is, at first blush and also after much consideration, totally crazy.  It is also an absolutely pure application of the sort of militant love ethic that Jesus espoused.

Those familiar with Christian Scriptures will immediately recognize this as a modern day re-enactment of Luke 6:29, “If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them.” (NIV)

This is the sort of sacred gem of spiritual wisdom that most Christians have never bothered to take seriously.  Surely the Lukan text is detailing an ideal system of ethics, something to be contemplated but never really applied.  Non-violence should be enough, right?  Extravagant enemy-love doesn’t seem to accomplish much other than leaving me shirtless and giving passers-by the impression that I might be a bit loony.

Our inability to understand Jesus’ ethical logic shouldn’t be surprising, as the great paradox of lived Christianity is that the most important ethical admonitions are also the most difficult to understand.  In what way is it spiritually edifying or socially efficacious to offer a knife-wielding mugger your coat?  “Do unto others” is all fine and good, but I don’t envision myself holding a rusty blade to strangers anytime soon, so where’s my point of moral reference?  The most logically straight-forward response, so far as I can tell, is to hand over your wallet and then call the cops.  No one gets hurt and maybe stern punishment from our criminal justice system will instill some morality in the kid.

And, from a baseline ethical point of view, that’s fine.  “Do no harm” is, after all, the first rule of ethics.  The trouble of a Christian system of ethics, though, is that it is so much more demanding than that.  Worse yet, principles like love of enemy fly in the face of comprehension; such an idea is almost intellectually offensive.

But it worked.

Of course, we have no way of telling whether or not this encounter left a lasting impression on Diaz’s mugger.  Maybe he’s still stalking the streets, maybe not.  We do get the impression, though, that Diaz’s extravagant act of kindness spurred at least a moment of critical self-reflection and contrition.  This lovey-dovey stuff can work.

If Julio Diaz’s story is any indication, then militant love is not only more ethically demanding than the logical ethical solution but also more efficacious.  Passive non-violence, I can only imagine, would not have resulted in Diaz sharing a meal with his attacker.  And what about some stern words of piety? How would’ve the kid responded if, as he was fleeing the seen of the crime, Diaz had called out “Thou shalt not steal!”  Probably he’s already heard that, but he had never experienced unquestioning human kindness.  No potential victim had ever responded to his threat of violence by waging militant love in return.

The logic of the love ethic, the reason that Diaz got his wallet back and claimed his muggers knife, is that unconditional love is capable of evoking conviction in a way that words of judgement are not.  For some people, when faced with dire circumstances, it seems ethically reasonable to hold up a stranger at knife-point.   But would they treat their mother that way?  What about someone who shows them the sort of unquestioning care that most of us reserve for our closest of kin? Excluding for a moment the most hardened sociopaths among us, the answer is no.

Sometimes we forget that strangers are people too.  The relational truths that seem so obvious when applied to family and close friends are tossed out as soon as anonymity enters the picture.  An ethic of militant love rejects that sort of selective humanity.  A disposition of kindness evokes moral concern from the recipient.  Whether that recipient is your son or a mugger may not be of much consequence.

Diaz won with kindness; he didn’t need to produce a codex of rules and ethical prescriptions to demonstrate that he was being wronged. As it relates to ethical conduct, the gold standard is love, apart from which any rules tend to lose their significance.

Maybe I’m reading too far into this, but I can’t help but think this is what Jesus was trying to get at when he said that the entire Law hangs on two commandments–to love God and love your neighbor (everyone).

I know some folks who are of the opinion that, in the absence of scriptural infallibility or dogmatized laundry-lists of behavioral recommendations, society is bound to degenerate into a filthy, no-holds-barred melee of unspeakable sin.  Doing something like affirming a gay couples committed, monogamous relationship could only lead to uncontrollable arson and rapine in the middle of Sunday’s service, or something like that.

As far as we know, Jesus rejected judgment in favor of an unquestioning love ethic.  This wasn’t a prescription for an “anything goes” ethical system; it was the most stringent moral demand imaginable.  And it works.  If there’s anything to be learned from Diaz’s story, it’s that ethical guidelines are meaningless outside of genuine, caring social interactions.

Unquestioning human kindness dis-armed a mugger for Julio Diaz.  What will it do for you?

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