COMPASSION
Matthew 25:37-40
Then the righteous will answer him, “Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38 And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39 And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?” 40 And the king will answer them, “Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”
Compassion literally means ‘suffering with’. It means walking in another’s shoes. It is living in their skin. It is a very deep noticing of another. It is at the very heart of our faith. When we see Jesus as the embodiment of love, the phrase, “The Word made Flesh’ takes on a deeper meaning. It is insufficient to say “God is Love ” without realizing what such love looks like in human form. It becomes insufficient to say “I love you.” Those words are necessary but without the deeper knowing compassion provides, our love is detached. It is a good idea, but it lacks depth, if not believability. It is one thing to express concern about the starving and the homeless in our world, it is quite another to feel the hunger and the isolation of poverty. Especially when we are comfortable, it is far more likely that we will be able to detach. It is more likely that we can observe, explain or sympathize—rather than ‘suffer with’ such people.
In our personal lives, it is one thing to know that our friends or partners are anxious, grieving or afraid. It is quite another to imagine what it is like to live that way. We are far more likely to explain why such anxiety is uncalled for—or to put ‘logical’ caps on how long people should grieve. Paying attention to what it is like for another is very expensive. It requires us to suspend our personal opinions, assumptions and even knowledge and insight to ‘feel with’ another human being. We are not only called to ‘suffer with’, which is hard enough, but that suffering will include the painful realization of our own limitations. All too frequently we are confronted with the overwhelming needs of the people around us and how little we can ‘do’.
Our scripture suggests that the Kingdom God wants for us is the ability to see and respond to the disparities of the world and the predicaments of our neighbors. It requires community mindfulness. It requires personal presence. Compassion requires generosity, humility, hospitality, service—and most difficult of all, discernment. Every one of our core values exposes us. No matter how inspirational such values might be, all of them expose our limitations. Deep compassion will totally exhaust you. If such compassion becomes an ‘ought’, the ideal will condemn you. Even a cursory reflection on such core values will teach us the truth of CS Lewis’ words: “If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.” Our faith does not make our lives less challenging as much as it expands our ability to be challenged.
Compassion is very expensive in real life. One of the images I use with couples is the idea that we all have a psychological broken rib. We all have an injury, a vulnerability that is not obvious, but which regularly affects how we live our lives. If I have a broken rib and you hug me, an ordinary act of affection will hurt me. You will not mean to hurt me, but you will, nonetheless. It is my responsibility to tell you about my broken rib and it is your responsibility to be respectful of that knowledge. Compassion is required on both sides of the equation. I must be compassionate enough with myself to identify ‘weaknesses’. I must own them without using them to control the relationship. On the other hand, you must be compassionate enough to be respectful without being governed by the pain of another. In real life, this is a very tricky balance, full of uncertainty and false starts. And perhaps, hardest of all, compassion has no clear end point. As often as not, our broken ribs (and the brokenness of those around us) never completely heal. The inconveniences of caring never end. It is hard to decide how much and how often we turn our compassion into service. Human needs far exceed our ability to respond.
Jesus knew a lot about this predicament. No matter how deeply he cared for the people he encountered, he did not heal everyone he met. In fact, he sometimes walked away from such pain. Luke 4 describes people lining up to be healed after he healed Peter’s mother-in-law. Jesus tended to them all night and finally went to a deserted place to rest. His disciples found him and tried to get him to return. Instead, he moved on. There were many more people in Capernaum needing Jesus—but he moved on. He had to make a choice. He prayed and the discernment was to move on. Other times, his prayer led him to engage further—even unto the cross.
This is precisely why we need the Word made flesh. The Word is an idea and an ideal. Once made flesh, living that Word is a never-ending set of choices. Our faith often requires us to do what we can when we can do very little. Our faith often requires us to make choices with insufficient information. We have directions for our lives, but we often cannot see the outcome. Even so, one of our core values is compassion. We and the world are better off when compassion is present.
There is a popular illustrative story of a beach full of hundreds of starfish. For whatever reason they are stranded and will slowly die in the hot sun. A man on the beach starts picking them up, one by one and throwing them back into the ocean. When questioned about the futility of his efforts, the man responds: “I cannot save them all but I can save this one.” He makes choices, based on God knows what, and a few starfish have a second chance. You will go crazy trying to explain those choices but it is real life. Why some and not others is unanswerable. And by the way, second chances do not necessarily mean the starfish are ‘saved’. Some will become tasty air-borne treats for the circling shark and some will swim in the wrong direction and end up back on the beach. Sometimes all we can do is give a few starfish a second chance. That does not mean it will work out as we wished or intended—but nor does it mean are efforts are wasted.
In our scripture, the ‘sheep’ did not know they were compassionate. They would say they were just doing ‘what was right’. They did not realize that compassion is a gift that is often in very short supply. Compassionate people are humble people. They rarely know their impact upon others. In FIRL, Mary Lynn offered us the quote: “Humility is a funny thing. Once you think you’ve got it, you’ve lost it.” In our scripture, the ‘righteous’ had no clue that by doing ‘what was right’ was the work of the Lord.
Finally, there are many reasons not to show compassion. It hurts to feel the pain of others. Feeling such pain often inspires avoidance as much as responsiveness. Most of us have had compassion fatigue. It is frustrating and sometimes hurtful to have our best efforts and intentions fail or worse, lead to outright rejection. But if that could happen to Jesus, there is no reason to think it won’t happen to us. God in Jesus said such rejection is survivable. We call that resurrection faith. Every human will experience ‘compassion fatigue.’ Even if we avoid the trap of turning compassion into an ‘ought’, there is no respite from the brokenness of this world.
Our broken world needs people who care. Our broken world needs people who will risk compassion. As a broken people, we need compassion in order to do the work of compassion. Let it be so.
