THE DISCIPLINE OF COMPASSION

All of us who are honest desire something more than we currently experience out of life. We’re by nature driven by hope that life has more to offer than we currently experience. Our darkest moments are those days in which hope is removed from our life. Yet our spirits return to their best when we can stare at the suffering and uncertainty of both the past and the present, and conclude the story is not yet over. More to life remains. We continue on believing a new day will start with a new opportunity.

Hope is the reason we arise each morning. We hurry to get our children to school believing education will give them an opportunity to go beyond our own experience. We go to work, stay late, and try to save just a little from our pay in the hope that disciplined work and savings habits will prepare us for a better future. Hope is the reason that I arise each day and exercise. I know at my age, my body has begun its gradual decline; but I hope that exercise will prevent another surgery and my remaining years on this earth will be ones full of earthly joy. I hope to see my grandchildren marry and raise children, and I run for their future as much as for the relief of my physical pain.

Hope takes us to the place of discipline. A few pseudo-Christian nut cakes will tell us that all we have to do is pray and trust God for the results; but I just don’t think those were the words of Jesus of Nazareth. His path was one of personal discipline. He clearly stated that we’d have to see that our failings could only be overcome with help from a power beyond ourselves. However, he also spoke over and over again about our character being formed by our habits. We literally become what we do.

One of humanity’s most intriguing character traits is compassion. The Greek language uses the word “Splaxna” for compassion. The fortunate few who saw Jesus walk this earth used splaxna to describe his motivation as he physically touched humanity and healed bodies and spirits with both words and deeds. Our borrowed English language turns Splaxna to spleen. It refers to what is inside us. I think the best English translations for splaxna is “shaky guts.” True compassion is that moment when our human flesh literally hurts for another. Compassion brings out our emotions from grief to joy, and indignation to forgiveness. We can’t be what we were created to be and not have shaky guts inside us.

Though we all like pastors, doctors, and teachers noted for compassion; I can’t help but reflect that the “hard” professions like soldiers, policeman, and lawyers are also driven by shaky guts. Justice is driven by that shaky gut moment when we realize our concern for the humanity gathered around us calls us to act.

I think our shaky gut nature is part of us from the start of life. It’s the reason that small children need more than just food to be content. Human touch is healing and comforting. My three-year-old son, Timothy states it best when he says, “I can’t snuggle alone.” Our children show us that our nature is to eat, rest, live in community, and be physically active until death. They also show us the discipline of compassion is part of our truest humanity. Maybe, the disciplines of life are really just continuing our childhood habits that somehow are ignored in the sophistication of adulthood?

It’s tempting to believe that if we just had more Mother Theresa’s in this world all of the suffering of humanity would be solved. I’m willing to believe some are born with exceptional abilities to feel compassion. However, hero worship can breed personal irresponsibility in which we conclude, “I just don’t have what it takes.” If you have human skin on your body, you were born to be compassionate.

Compassion becomes our character when it becomes our habit. However, the sophistication of adulthood gives us moments to say “I’m too busy.” In reality, we’re too weary. Our bodies, minds, time, emotions, and finances have reached their limit. We just don’t think we have another compassionate bone in our bodies. I imagine that a nation such as Rwanda takes us all to that point. Can we listen to another story from a genocide survivor? How many people can we help financially without taking care of ourselves? We close our eyes to the beggar on the street, and secretly hope their next round-up will come soon.

However, the discipline of compassion calls for more. This week I’ve had 2 painful runs and one full of joy. I got a blister on one run. Something I ate got the best of another. Then something remarkable happened on my third run. I don’t know what went right. But it only went right because I chose to run on a morning when I would have rather slept a little later.

Compassion is like that. Sometimes it only happens because we choose to try. We receive a phone call or a visit. We’d rather ignore it. But something says, “Try.” We go to help with nothing in either our spirit or hand to give. Then we extend a physical touch. The mystical happens in both the heart of the giver and receiver. Our guts shake and humanity heals.

Come run with me.