Compassion - the Face of Grace

 

Compassion – The Face of Grace

Just then a lawyer stood up with a question to test Jesus. "Teacher, what do I need to do to get eternal life?" He answered, "What's written in God's Law? How do you interpret it?" He said, "That you love the Lord your God with all your passion and prayer and muscle and intelligence—and that you love your neighbor as well as you do yourself." "Good answer!" said Jesus. "Do it and you'll live." Looking for a loophole, he asked, "And just how would you define 'neighbor'?" Jesus answered by telling a story.

"There was once a man traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho. On the way he was attacked by robbers. They took his clothes, beat him up, and went off leaving him half-dead. Luckily, a priest was on his way down the same road, but when he saw him he angled across to the other side. Then a Levite religious man showed up; he also avoided the injured man. A Samaritan traveling the road came on him. When he saw the man's condition, his heart went out to him. He gave him first aid, disinfecting and bandaging his wounds. Then he lifted him onto his donkey, led him to an inn, and made him comfortable. In the morning, he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper, saying, 'Take good care of him. If it costs any more, put it on my bill—I'll pay you on my way back.'

"What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man attacked by robbers?" "The one who treated him kindly," the religious scholar responded. Jesus said, "Go and do the same." (Luke 10:25-37)

This is the well-known story of the “Good Samaritan,” and Jesus tells the story in response to a question from a smart aleck lawyer. Basically, the question was this: “What must I do to be saved?” And you can just see Jesus kind of grinning as he throws the question right back into the lawyer’s lap: "What’s written in God’s law? How do you interpret it?" Jesus asks the question, the man gives the answer and then Jesus responds by saying, “Good answer! Do it and you’ll live.” But the lawyer did what lawyers always do – he looked for a loophole. So, wanting to justify himself, the lawyer said, "How would you define ‘neighbor’?" He’d apparently measured himself against both commands and figured that he’d aced the first, but keeping the second would depend on how you defined “neighbor.” In other words, the lawyer was suggesting that his response would depend on what “is” is.

You don’t have to be a weisenheimer lawyer to distil God’s commands down to something with which you can live. We’d like to believe that loving our neighbor means loving people who love us back, or at least that are lovable, i.e., doing nice things for people who’ll probably do nice things back. But the lawyer’s original question was, “What do I have to do to get into Heaven?” Jesus’ answer to that question, however, didn’t tell him what he had to do to get “in” but, instead, described what a person who’s already “in” looks like. The lawyer knew the right answers but was unprepared to face what compassion looks like in real life because this wasn’t a mere hypothetical.

The 15-mile journey from Jericho to Jerusalem was infamous. It’s about an eight (8) hour walk and rises 3,750 vertical feet, or about the same as the North Backbone Trail in Wrightwood, California. Not only was it a steep climb, but there were numerous places along the way where highwaymen would lie in wait for their next, unsuspecting victim. In fact, the route was so treacherous it was referred to as the “Way of Blood.” And, since Jesus didn’t call it a parable, it would have been a very believable story to those who were listening, and it’s a primer on compassion, or grace with a face.

Jesus starts the story by referring to the victim as “a man…;” we’d probably say, “Some guy….” The man, likely a Jewish male, had been robbed, wounded and left for dead. He needed help in the worst possible way. And as the anonymous victim lay half-dead on the side of the road, three different men cross his path. The first is introduced as a priest, luckily so, but when he saw the man he crossed to the other side and kept on going. Now some have offered excuses for the priest by suggesting that he didn’t want to touch the man because he might have been dead. And had that been true, it would have rendered the priest ceremonially unclean and unable to carry out his duties for seven (7) days. But notice that it says that he “was on his way down the same road.” In other words, he was leaving church. And if anyone were going to reflect the character of God, you’d think it would have been a priest.

The second passerby was a Levite, a member of the tribe of Levi that performed certain religious duties for the Israelites, including taking on some political responsibilities as well. Now, at least the Levite went over and looked at the victim, but he was just rubber-necking. He’s the one who slows down and cranes his neck while driving by an accident and then says, “Whew, I’m glad that wasn’t me!”? And just like the preacher, he did nothing to help the wounded. Together, both men saw the victim but ignored his need. They were two religious professionals caught up in a lifeless religion – pious at church, but their religion had no effect on the way they actually lived. And it would have been shocking enough if Jesus had told his audience that some ordinary Joe came to the victim’s aid. But their jaws dropped once hearing that the guy was a Samaritan who’d come to the rescue of a Jewish man who’d been ignored by his own religious family – twice. Here’s a little background as to why.

When Israel and Judah divided, the ancient city of Shechem became the religious center of the Northern Kingdom. However, in about 883 B.C., the political capital of the nation was moved by King Omri to his newly-built city of Samaria where it remained until it fell to the Assyrians about 100 years later. The captives were promptly exiled to various parts of Assyria, and colonists were sent to fill the vacuum created by the ethnic cleansing. As a result, a mixed people with a mixed religion filled the void. They were considered unclean and to be avoided at all costs if you were a practicing Jew. Being called a “Samaritan” was not a compliment, since they were considered “half-breeds” and referred to as “dogs.”

So, it would have been easy to conclude that the Samaritan would’ve simply finished the guy off instead of coming to his rescue. In those days, the words “good” and “Samaritan” were never used in the same sentence because, from a Jewish perspective, there was nothing “good” about a “Samaritan.” But the passage says that “when he saw the man’s condition, his heart went out to him.” The Greek word is splagchnizomai, which means “compassion,” and refers to the intestines, or bowels. It’s that feeling that comes from the deepest part of you since, in those days, the bowels were thought to be the seat of love and pity; a “gut feeling,” so to speak.

So, the Samaritan saw the same victim lying in agony beside the road, but his heart couldn’t let him pass by without helping. And that’s the way compassion should affect us. It should stir us; trouble us; keep us awake at night until we do something. And when the Samaritan looked at that suffering man lying half-dead by the side of the road, something happened in his gut; something made it impossible for him to simply walk away and do nothing. He didn’t decide to help this guy on the basis of how worthy the victim was because, remember, this is a Samaritan helping a Jewish casualty. He helped him because of how needy he was. Frankly, there’s no logical reason the Samaritan should have rearranged his plans or spent his money to help the enemy. Of all the people who passed the injured man, the Samaritan had the least reason to help. The Samaritan was despised by society, and a good deed wouldn’t do anything to change the Samaritan’s social status.

He helped because the victim needed assistance. But not only was the Samaritan’s compassion based upon the need, rather than the worth of the victim, it also caused the Samaritan to feel something so deeply that it had to be expressed in action. He didn’t pass by on the other side feeling all compassionate and then say “Godspeed!” He moved toward the injured man instead and acted in relation to the man’s need. Compassion is not something that just magically happens. It takes effort. But only by moving toward people can we express the compassion of which Jesus spoke.

Frankly, being compassionate can be inconvenient because had the victim been conscious and aware of who was helping him, he probably would have refused the help. And, had the sandal been on the other foot, the victim probably wouldn’t have returned the favor. But Jesus, in six simple verbs, details the Samaritan’s compassion-in-action: (1) he went to him; (2) he gave him aid; (3) he bandaged his wounds; (4) he lifted him onto his donkey; (5) he led him to an inn; and (6) he took care of him. In every one of these acts, he demonstrated compassion by responding in a practical, timely and unselfish way. In fact, putting the injured man on his own donkey meant that the Samaritan had to walk uphill to the inn to help a stranger with whom he had strong, long-standing cultural and religious differences.

This season, we can’t help everywhere, and we can’t help everyone. But we can help someone somewhere by providing physical or spiritual aid to a hurting soul. We can’t do it all, but we can do our all for some. And you’ve got to give it to the Samaritan – he went the extra mile, literally. He took this man to an inn and ensured that the innkeeper would care for the victim during his absence. He also promised that he would return and reimburse the innkeeper for any additional expense that he incurred while caring for the victim. And, to top it all off, he left two days’ wages to take care of the man’s needs and didn’t put a limit on how much he would be willing to spend to see the wounded man made better. There’s nothing more the Samaritan could have done to show his compassion.

At the conclusion of the story, Jesus asks the lawyer one last question: “What do you think? Which of the three became a neighbor to the man…?”  The lawyer almost chokes on his reply. In fact, he can’t even bring himself to say the word, “Samaritan,” so he responds by saying, “(t)he one who treated him kindly.” In other words, “that guy.” Then, for the second time, Jesus tells the lawyer to "Go and do the same.” But why does Jesus say that? Because Jesus knows that the slick lawyer won’t turn to him for salvation until he turns from his dependence on “doing” something to earn it. Isn’t it funny how the initial question asked by the lawyer, “How would you define ‘neighbor’?” became, “What kind of a neighbor are you?”

Compassion is the face of grace. It’s the misery that we make our own that we can comfort; the want we make our own that we can satisfy. It’s the sin we make our own from which we can save another; and the gauge by which we can measure the sincerity and genuineness of our faith – even toward people with whom we may disagree.

Happy Thanksgiving,

Randy

Dealing with Dis-appointment

 

Dealing with Dis-appointment

Dealing with Dis-appointment - Audio/Visual 

“For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.” (Jeremiah 29:11)

Dis changes everything. With dis, "obey" becomes "disobey,” and “respect" is changed to "disrespect." What was an "ability" becomes a "disability," and "grace" is transformed into "disgrace." All because of dis. You'd be hard-pressed to find a more potent trio of letters and pressed harder still to find a better example of their power than the word “appointment.” Most of us like appointments. Even the organizationally challenged like appointments. Appointments create a sense of predictability in an unpredictable world. We know we don’t actually control our future, but our calendars give us the illusion that we do. A disappointment, on the other hand, reminds us that we don't.

A disappointment is a missed appointment. What we hoped would happen, didn't. We wanted health; we got disease. We wanted retirement; we got reassignment. Dismissal instead of promotion. So, what do we do with our disappointments? We could do what Miss Haversham did. Remember her in Charles Dickens's Great Expectations? Jilted by her fiancé just prior to the wedding, her appointment became a missed appointment and a disappointment. She didn’t respond well. She closed all the blinds in the house, stopped every clock, left the wedding cake on the table to gather cobwebs, and continued to wear her wedding dress until it hung in yellow decay around her shrunken form. Her wounded heart consumed her life. We can follow the same course. Or we can follow the example of the apostle Paul.

His goal was to be a missionary in Spain. But rather than send Paul to Spain, God sent him to prison, instead. Sitting in a Roman jail, Paul could have made the same choice as Miss Haversham, but he didn't. Instead, he said, "As long as I'm here, I might as well write a few letters." Hence our Bible has the letters to Philemon, the Philippians, the Colossians and the Ephesians. No doubt Paul would have done a great work in Spain, but would it have compared with the work of those four letters?

You've sat where Paul sat. You were hotter than a firecracker on the trail to Spain, or college, or marriage, or independence. But then came the layoff, or the pregnancy, or the sick parent, sick child or sick spouse. And you ended up in prison. So long, Spain. Hello, Rome. So long, appointment. Hello, disappointment. Hello, pain. And how did you handle it? Better yet how are you handling it? Could you use some help? Six words in the fifth verse of the Twenty-third Psalm may help: "You anoint my head with oil." Now what does a verse about oil have to do with the hurts that come from the disappointments of life? A little primer on animal husbandry might help. Call it a sheep study.

In ancient Israel shepherds used oil for three purposes: to repel insects and snakes, to prevent conflicts and to heal wounds. Bugs bug people, but they can kill sheep. Flies, mosquitoes and gnats can turn the summer into a time of torture for the livestock. Consider nose flies, for example. If they succeed in depositing their eggs into the soft membrane of the sheep's nose, the eggs become wormlike larvae, which drive the sheep insane. One shepherd explained: "For relief from this agonizing annoyance sheep will deliberately beat their heads against trees, rocks, posts, or brush. . . . In extreme cases of intense infestation, a sheep may even kill itself in a frenzied endeavor to get relief from the aggravation."

In other words, when a swarm of nose flies appears, sheep panic. They run. They hide. They toss their heads up and down for hours. They forget to eat. They aren't able to sleep. Ewes stop milking, and lambs stop growing. The entire flock can be disrupted, even destroyed by the presence of a few flies. For this reason, then, the shepherd anoints the sheep. He covers their heads with an oil-like repellent. The fragrance keeps the insects at bay and the flock at peace. At peace, that is, until mating season.

Most of the year, sheep are calm, passive animals. But during mating season, everything changes. The rams put the "ram" in rambunctious. They strut around the pasture and flex their necks, trying to win the attention of the new gal on the block. When a ram catches her eye, he tosses his head back and says, "I want ewe, baby" and about that time her boyfriend shows up and tells her to go someplace safe. "Ewe better move, baby. This could get ugly." The two rams then lower their heads and POW! – an old-fashioned head butt breaks out. To prevent injury in these circumstances, the shepherd anoints the rams. He smears a slippery, greasy substance over their nose and head. This lubricant causes them to glance off rather than crash directly into one another, but they still tend to get hurt, even with the added protection. And these wounds are the third reason the shepherd anoints the sheep.

Most of the wounds the shepherd treats are the result of simply living in a pasture. Thorns prick, or rocks cut, or a sheep rubs its head too hard against a tree. Sheep get hurt. As a result, the shepherd regularly, often daily, inspects the sheep, searching for cuts and abrasions because he doesn't want the cut to worsen. He doesn't want today's wound to become tomorrow's infection. And neither does God.

Just like sheep, we have wounds, too, but ours are wounds of the heart that come from disappointment after disappointment. If we're not careful, these wounds lead to bitterness and jealousy. “Let us not become conceited, provoking one another, being jealous of one another.” (Gal. 5:26) And so just like sheep, we need to be treated. "He made us, and we belong to him; we are his people, the sheep he tends." (Ps. 100:3) You see, sheep aren't the only ones who need preventive care, and sheep aren't the only ones who need a healing touch.

We also get irritated with each other, butt heads, and then get wounded. Many of our disappointments in life begin as relatively simple irritations. Generally speaking, our problems are not lion-sized attacks, but rather the day-to-day swarm of frustrations, mishaps, and heartaches. You don't get invited to the dinner party; you don't make the team; you don't get the scholarship; your boss doesn't notice your hard work; your husband doesn’t notice your new dress; your neighbor doesn’t notice the mess in his yard. You find yourself more irritable, more gloomy, more … well, hurt. Like the sheep, you don’t sleep well. You don’t eat well. You may even hit your head against the wall a few times. Or you may hit your head against a person. It's amazing how hardheaded we can be to one another.

Some of our deepest hurts come from butting heads with people. Like the sheep, the rest of our wounds come from just simply living in the pasture of our world. The sheep have to face wounds from thorns and thistles. We have to face aging, loss and illness. Some of us face betrayal and injustice. Live long enough in this world and most of us will face deep, deep hurts of one kind or another. So, we, like the sheep, get wounded. And we, like the sheep, have a shepherd. Remember the words of the Psalm? "We belong to him; we are his people, the sheep he tends." (Ps. 100:3)

He will do for you what the shepherd does for the sheep. He will tend to you. If the Gospels teach us anything, they teach us that Jesus is a Good Shepherd. "I am the good shepherd," Jesus announces. "The good shepherd gives his life for the sheep." (John 10:11) Didn't Jesus spread the oil of prevention on his disciples? He prayed for them. He equipped them before he sent them out. He revealed to them the secrets of the parables. He interrupted their arguments and calmed their fears. Because he was a good shepherd, he protected them against disappointments. But not only did Jesus prevent wounds, he healed them. He touched the eyes of the blind man. He touched the disease of the leper. He touched the body of the dead girl. He touched the searching heart of Nicodemus. He touched the open heart of Zacchaeus. He touched the broken heart of Mary Magdalene. He touched the confused heart of Cleopas. He touched the stubborn heart of Paul, and the repentant heart of Peter. Jesus tends to his sheep. And he will tend to you if you let him. But how?

First, go to him. David would trust his wounds to no other person than God. He said, "You anoint my head with oil." Not, "your prophets," "your teachers," or "your counselors." Others may guide us to God. Others may help us understand God. But no one does the work of God, for only God can heal. God "heals the brokenhearted." (Ps. 147:3) You've likely shared your disappointments with your neighbor, your relatives or your friends, but have you taken them to God? James says, "Anyone who is having troubles should pray." (James 5:13) Before you go anywhere else with your disappointments, go to God.

But maybe you don't want to trouble God with your hurts. After all, he's got famines, pestilence, and wars; he won't care about my little problems, you think. Why don't you let him decide that? He cared enough about a wedding to provide the wine. He cared enough about Peter's tax obligation to give him a coin. He cared enough about the woman at the well to give her answers. "He cares about you." (1 Pet. 5:7) Your first step is to go to the right person. Go to God.

Your second step is to assume the right posture. Bow before God. In order to be anointed, the sheep must stand still, lower their heads and let the shepherd do his work. Peter urges us to "be humble under God's powerful hand so he will lift you up when the right time comes." (1 Pet. 5:6) When we come to God, we make requests; we don't make demands. We come with high hopes and a humble heart. We state what we want, but we pray for what’s right. And if God gives us the prison of Rome instead of the mission of Spain, we accept it because we know "God will always give what is right to his people who cry to him night and day, and he will not be slow to answer them." (Luke 18:7)

We go to him. We bow before him, and we trust him. A sheep doesn't understand why the oil repels the flies. A sheep doesn't understand how the oil heals the wounds. In fact, all the sheep know is that something happens in the presence of the shepherd. And that's all we need to know, too. "LORD, I give myself to you; my God, I trust you." (Ps. 25:1-2). Go to the Shepherd. He knows how to treat dis-appointment. “You have an anointing from the Holy One, and all of you know the truth.” (1 John 2:20)

Grace,

Randy