Posts Tagged ‘compassion’

(Com)passion

I’ve been thinking a lot about compassion lately. What is compassion, anyway? How is it any different from mercy, or a bunch of other words?

 

I did some digging, and confirmed my hunch. I went back to the etymology of the English word compassion, and this is what I found.

 

“Compassion” comes from Latin roots, com-, meaning “with” or “together with”, and pati, meaning, interestingly enough, “suffering”. That’s the same word we get our related English word, passion, from.

 

We know a little bit about passion. Passion is strong feeling, a drive, a hunger. Passion consumes us, makes us act, makes us do things we wouldn’t do from an impartial, rational stance. Passion is what we feel for those we love, it’s emotion, deep and powerful. Passion is what motivates someone like William Wilberforce to give years of his life to fight against the evils of slavery. Passion is what motivates thousands upon millions of people to do all they can to prevent the slaughter of one more unborn baby. Passion is what motivates someone like Mother Teresa to give of herself, years of her life, and many earthly comforts to help the poor of Calcutta. Passion is what turns my stomach when I see people with ridiculous and unnessecary luxuries and remember that a child won’t eat today, and that many children will die. Passion is what makes me angry at the cavalier attitude we have toward the horrid working conditions endured by the workers who make our clothing, our housewares and many of our other purchases–workers who are, in fact, often enslaved.

 

But there’s another angle on the word passion. When capitalised, Passion takes on the connotation of Jesus’ sacrifice for us, His suffering. Deep feeling. Great love. Great passion.

 

Now we come back to compassion. Feeling together. To feel strongly right along with someone else. To identify with someone else’s hurt.

 

Compassion is when we see someone’s pain and feel our heart breaking, too. It’s a passion, a drive to do whatever we can to help them. It’s a creative, imaginative thing, as we dream up new ways to alleviate their suffering. It consumes us and motivates us to do whatever we can for them.

 

Compassion is what prompts us to fix injustice, to do right and reconcile wrong, to offer a smile, a hug, and a Kleenex. It’s essential to Christianity, and it is beautiful. And, at its heart, it’s another way to show love.

Home Tonight

A child gone missing is one of the most heart breaking of tragedies. It goes into the news, up on the bulletin boards at WalMart, it’s a “Code Adam” in a retail store (named for Adam Walsh, son of John Walsh of America’s Most Wanted, who went missing from a Sears store when he was just six). In the US and Canada, May 25th is Missing Children’s Day, and there is a program called Light the Way Home. Light the Way Home asks that each family committed to finding missing children leave their porch light on the night of May 25th.

Chris Rice sings a song called “Home Tonight”, from the point of view of a prodigal son who’s decided to return home to his father. These lines from the chorus stuck out to me:

Burn Your fire on the altar,

Leave a candle on the porch,

I’m still too far away to see it but I’m aching for its warmth

A candle on the porch. For a missing child. Even if the child has chosen to leave, still a missing child who’s out there somewhere, cold, tired, hungry, and in danger. The prodigal son is asking the father to light his way home. All of which got me thinking.

When we see the missing children of this world: the homosexuals, the drug addicts, the prostitutes, devil worshippers, chronic drunks, runaways, theives, cons or murderers, do we see “things”, or do we see missing children who need a light left on for them? Are we looking past the dirt, the language and substances and lies to see the beloved child of God underneath? Or are we passing them by callously, ignoring the fact that they’re being dragged lower and lower into sin? Ignoring the fact that they need help?

Are we so afraid that we’ll end up sick that we refuse first aid? Or do we not realise that we’re sick, too?

We can’t stay blind. There are missing children out there.

Home Tonight

Chris Rice

I’ve come to my senses
How did I get so far from home
The lies dissipating
Revealing I’m so alone
And I remember now how strong love can be
And I wonder how did I ever leave

Burn your fire on the altar
Leave a candle on the porch
I’m still too far away to see it
But I’m aching for its warmth
And I’m so tired and cold and dark and lonesome
But still I hear your song inside
So sing it louder if you want me home tonight
Sing it loud now, ‘cause I’m comin’ home tonight

This isn’t the first time
I’ve wandered away from home before
You’d have every reason
To slam and dead-bolt the door
But I remember now how strong your love can be
And I wonder how you might welcome me

Burn your fire on the altar
Leave a candle on the porch
I’m still too far away to see it
But I’m aching for its warmth
And I’m so tired and cold and dark and lonesome
But still I hear your song inside
So sing it louder if you want me home tonight
Sing it loud now, ‘cause I’m comin’ home tonight

Into your arms, to my back yard
Where I used to play
How I miss the days…

So burn your fire on the altar
Leave a candle on the porch
I’m still too far away to see it
But I’m aching for its warmth
And I’m so tired and cold and dark and lonesome
But still I hear your song inside
So sing it louder if you want me home tonight
Sing it loud now, ‘cause I’m comin’ home tonight