Thinking since Sunday school about the Good Samaritan story from Luke 10, I’ve been reminded that compassion is a central focus of the biblical record. A lawyer asks Jesus, “What must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus tells a story about a Samaritan, a person from a group the Jews loathed and shunned. This Samaritan apparently saves the life of a robbery victim when a priest and a Levite avoid any contact. Jesus says, “Who was a neighbor to this man?” The lawyer responds: “The one who showed mercy to him.” His use of the word mercy makes it a synonym for compassion, which also describes the actions of the Samaritan.
Mercy is an attribute of God. The holy of holies, the innermost holy place of the temple in Jerusalem, contained as its focal point, the Mercy Seat. It seems the earthly throne of the invisible God. Though the Shema can arguably be labeled the confession of faith of Israel from ancient times, the words, “Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, for his mercy endures forever” serves a similar purpose. In litany style, Psalm 136 includes these words as the second half of every one of its twenty-six stanzas. The declaration appears many other times in the Bible, sometimes as the first line of a psalm, sometimes as the final line.
In fact, the mercy of God is emphatically repeated throughout the Bible. James declares, “Mercy triumphs over judgment” (James 2:13).
Whether we think of mercy or compassion as central to God’s character, one thing is clear. These words describe action more than feelings. They are related to empathy, but go beyond sharing the feelings of another. Mercy and compassion involve deeds—the expenditure of resources, the sacrifice of time, an actual involvement in the plight of the sufferer. When we think of the ministry of Jesus, nothing seems more descriptive of his activities, the things he taught, or the focus of his life and death. Consider some examples.
Jesus was compassionate to the despised. That he intentionally made his journey through, not around, Samaria on his way from Judea to Galilee is clear in the Greek text, and the Bible tells us that he spent two days with these scorned and shunned people, the neighbors of the Jews, who lived all around them. This was not superficial contact.
Jesus touched lepers, a group feared and avoided more energetically than any social distancing we know of—and in a similar hazard. Lepers had to cry out, “Unclean, unclean” to warn those nearby of their disease. They had to live in isolated areas, but Jesus didn’t drive them away. When they approached, asking to be healed, he not only spoke with these sick people, he responded to their pleas by laying his hands on them. Our medical heroes are merciful, often exhibiting Christlike compassion, making us think of Jesus.
Jesus also didn’t withdraw from that well when the Samaritan woman came for water. She could expect to be avoided—as a Samaritan, as a female, as one of notorious reputation who has chosen the hottest hour of the day to draw water and carry it home. Apparently, she dreads human contact, having experienced scorn, perhaps, and mistreatment. Jesus had a long conversation with this woman, an encounter he initiated by asking her for a drink.
When Jesus’ disciples chased off some pushy mothers who brought their noisy children to be blessed, he sharply rebuked his men. Weren’t they protecting his time? Weren’t they using their newly-acquired crowd control skills? But Jesus was having none of it! “Let the little children come to me,” he said, declaring that the kingdom of heaven is made of “such as these.” Jesus was siding with the children, just as he sided with Mary when Martha would have preferred that he tell her neglectful sister, “Get to work!”
A merciful Jesus ministered to the grieving. At the funeral, Jesus raised to life the son of a widow. Jesus called Lazarus out of the grave and provided his sisters, Mary and Martha, a degree of comfort beyond imagining. He extends compassion and mercy to every one of us, exchanging his life for our death. Paul speaks of Jesus as “the Lord of glory” (1 Cor 2:8). We catch a glimpse of the great King, known for his mercy and compassion, the same mighty Redeemer, who astonishingly declared: “I am meek and lowly of heart” (Matt 11: 29).
from The Edgefield Advertiser, oldest newspaper in South Carolina
April 14, 2021
With thanks to brett-jordan-oXjvbhXxm4w-unsplash
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