When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them,
because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he
said to his disciples, “The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask
the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest
field.” (Matthew 9:36-38)
“He who has compassion of soul has eyes, first of all,
to see the things which excite compassion. He who has no eyes to see the
exceeding sinfulness of sin, the wants and woes of humanity, will never have
compassion for humanity.” E. M. Bounds
We tend to think of compassion for others as a hygienic thing. You see a starving kid on desperate poverty on TV and you mail in a check once a month to help that kid have a better life. You read about the number of people in America who don’t have much and you campaign for the government to expand programs. You watch a video on social media about a dog that has been rescued from deplorable conditions, cleaned up, healed and waiting for a forever home, and you share the video hoping that someone will see it and adopt. Clean. Neat. Distant. Convenient.
Consider Jesus. God, the Son, born of a woman in a cave used for livestock, who ministered to the people for three years, and died on the cross for our sins. When He showed compassion, it wasn’t clean, neat, distant, or convenient. The furthest He got from the action was to send out His disciples to do miracles: one degree of separation.
Some may object that by building massive structures, we can do more to help others, and do so more efficiently and effectively. That may be, if efficiency and effectiveness measured in terms of numbers served is the goal. What if it’s not? What if love is the goal? What if compassion is the goal? How many of us can maintain love or compassion long distance for a long time at the same level as they do when they are personally involved? How many care enough to know precisely what their help is accomplishing, not once a month in a polite report, but day by day, decision by decision? Do we care enough to wrestle with God about sending out more workers into the harvest? Or to volunteer to be one of those workers, whether at home or abroad?
I’m not a people person. What I’m writing about is terrifying to me. I don’t believe I’d be any use to those folks out there who need so much, just in the physical realm, in order to survive. I have no doubt that many people feel as I do. I know people who love to go to the Dominican Republic, Haiti, or Africa to help the people who so desperately need help. I have no desire to do those things. It’s always bothered me that people think they have to cross the world to help people. I know people who go into inner cities. I can’t imagine being of use there, either. If I really cared enough, if I had enough compassion, would I still use my personal limits and failures as excuses?
I also know some people people, who live to connect with other people, often in terms of feelings and sentiments. Their goal is often also sentimental. They want the other person to feel better. That is compassion in their book. Mr. Bounds disagrees. “Feeling better” is a temporary, partial fix. It’s not that there is no value to that, but if that is as far as one’s compassion goes, it is too short-sighted. Alleviating the symptoms of misery is not the same as alleviating misery. Allowing others to feel good about themselves in a way that separates them from God isn’t kindness or compassion. It’s a band aid on gangrene. Compassion has the will to cut off the leg to save the life.
We tend to think of compassion for others as a hygienic thing. You see a starving kid on desperate poverty on TV and you mail in a check once a month to help that kid have a better life. You read about the number of people in America who don’t have much and you campaign for the government to expand programs. You watch a video on social media about a dog that has been rescued from deplorable conditions, cleaned up, healed and waiting for a forever home, and you share the video hoping that someone will see it and adopt. Clean. Neat. Distant. Convenient.
Consider Jesus. God, the Son, born of a woman in a cave used for livestock, who ministered to the people for three years, and died on the cross for our sins. When He showed compassion, it wasn’t clean, neat, distant, or convenient. The furthest He got from the action was to send out His disciples to do miracles: one degree of separation.
Some may object that by building massive structures, we can do more to help others, and do so more efficiently and effectively. That may be, if efficiency and effectiveness measured in terms of numbers served is the goal. What if it’s not? What if love is the goal? What if compassion is the goal? How many of us can maintain love or compassion long distance for a long time at the same level as they do when they are personally involved? How many care enough to know precisely what their help is accomplishing, not once a month in a polite report, but day by day, decision by decision? Do we care enough to wrestle with God about sending out more workers into the harvest? Or to volunteer to be one of those workers, whether at home or abroad?
I’m not a people person. What I’m writing about is terrifying to me. I don’t believe I’d be any use to those folks out there who need so much, just in the physical realm, in order to survive. I have no doubt that many people feel as I do. I know people who love to go to the Dominican Republic, Haiti, or Africa to help the people who so desperately need help. I have no desire to do those things. It’s always bothered me that people think they have to cross the world to help people. I know people who go into inner cities. I can’t imagine being of use there, either. If I really cared enough, if I had enough compassion, would I still use my personal limits and failures as excuses?
I also know some people people, who live to connect with other people, often in terms of feelings and sentiments. Their goal is often also sentimental. They want the other person to feel better. That is compassion in their book. Mr. Bounds disagrees. “Feeling better” is a temporary, partial fix. It’s not that there is no value to that, but if that is as far as one’s compassion goes, it is too short-sighted. Alleviating the symptoms of misery is not the same as alleviating misery. Allowing others to feel good about themselves in a way that separates them from God isn’t kindness or compassion. It’s a band aid on gangrene. Compassion has the will to cut off the leg to save the life.
Lord,
You are compassionate. I am fearful of compassion. Fearful of the price it may
cost me, the places it may require that I go, the things it may demand that I
do. I am too small, too weak, too stupid, too unskilled, too old, too flawed to
do what I might be called to do. Build compassion into me. Stoke its fires not
so that I can’t wait to go anywhere and do anything, but so that I see, and
respond, and do what I can where I am. Make me compassionate within my circle
of influence, so that You can then cause my circle of influence can grow.
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