The Consequences of Careless Compassion

8/9/2019 The Consequences of Careless Compassion

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The Consequences of CarelessCompassion

I asked you what was wrong with me"Nothing," you said, that you could see."Just be what you were meant to be."And that's supposed to set me free?

"But this feels wrong," I answered back."Somehow I just seem off track.""You're fine," you said, with gentle tact"Your feelings are just out of whack."

"Don't carry 'round your guilt that way."We're living in a brand new day."There's no more need to self betray,"Don't give self-judgment so much sway.

But what of God? He sees insideSurely He won't just let me hide,With self and pride so justified

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And truth and grace so well denied?

You answered back with a practiced glow"Just drop this sadness, discard that woe,"Accept yourself, just bloom and grow."After all, God loves you too, you know."

And a bit of truth slipped from you to me,"God's love is what will see me free!"From what I was to what I'll be.For God's compassion won't lie to me. -- Thom Hunter

Outside my window this morning, life is fluttering by. Literally. In the pastfew moments, a graceful, floating butterfly and a determined and focusedred wasp have been gliding about just beyond the window screen. Both of them on a mission. Pollination, sweet nectar, a bitter sting. A mix of beauty and a bit of bite.

Some mornings we want a butterfly to lull us into peaceful bliss. Somedays we deserve -- and need -- a sting to bring us directly into contactwith the reality of pain. Sometimes when we want to follow the lazybutterfly down the garden path, we should be dashing down a trailswatting away at a yellowjacket, confronting the reality that life bitesmore often than hope floats.

I have come to the conclusion that at this point in my life I have beenfavored by a rationing of compassion, resulting in a reasonable rationalityof reality. For the most part, my problems indeed turned out to be real

problems for me and many others . . . which in the long run leads me toseek real solutions. Of course, that "long run" has been much longer thanI would have ever thought my mind and heart and soul could survive, andit surpassed the limits of others. But guess what? The perilous points of rest along the way were punctuated with real compassion . . . the lovethat God provides for the endurance of those who run the race instead of forsaking the pace.

Truly I have experienced the mean-ness of compassion. That borderlinecompassion that feels so hateful at the time, like the sting of a waywardwasp, who sits for a second on your bare arm, inflicts his pain and flitsaway leaving heat and swelling, redness and itching. That's wrong . . .

and it's why aerosol sprays were invented, so you can respond in justifiedwrath. Sometimes, when those who claim to represent God inflict"compassion" in ways of pain and flitting, they need to be shot down sothey don't just fly around stinging others.

I have also experienced what seems to be the coldness of compassion.Zapped by truth in its most freezing and paralyzing form, left to drift and

die on an iceberg in view of those who sip their drinks on the balcony of



passing ships and point at me as I become smaller and smaller as thedistance between us grows. They may be cruising on their own Titanic,but no one may know 'till the iceberg comes to view.

Lest this be seen as merely a meandering of woe is me, I have alsoexperienced the compassion that is real and warm to the touch. Acompassion that does not depend on determined distance but onintended closeness. Not on separation, but on walking with. I am amazedat the beauty and grace that some exhibit, pouring out in animmeasurable and constant flow the compassion that comes from anunlimited source. They heard and learned of God's truth and refuse to letthe world's definition of it divide it into meaningless portions.

Maybe it takes a mix of compassion. Even the bitterness of detachmentcan be motivating. Perhaps the experiences we have of being cast asideand tossed away by those who discriminate not between sin and sinner,teaches us great things not only about consequence and condemnation,

but also builds our own commitment to convey compassion that is notcontorted. I find myself feeling compassion for those who have abused it;those who banged people about the head with love in the name of holycorrection. I pity them because they share this world and when they fall,they will want to sample a compassion that rises far above what theythemselves have shared.

But who do I really feel sorry for? I feel sorry for those whohave suffered and cried and were not told that Christ had suffered anddied so they could be freed from that. I feel sorry for those who havebeen drowned in the gushing carelessness of a compassion that tells them

that they don't have to change, they don't have to address sin so they canswim in the cleansing lake of grace and emerge on the banks of freedomto walk free of the weight of who they were.

The harshness of "hate the sin, love the sinner," has, in thecompassionate minds of the misguided, dissolved into a hollow "I love you just the way you are." No . . . you don't. If you really love them the waythey are, you'll help them be what God intended them to be. I am sosaddened for the young men and women whose parents, in selfishness,embrace their giving in to temptation so they can still have Sunday lunchand smile and pass the peas. Careless compassion causes us to placehappiness above healing . . . and we have not because we ask not. The

carelessly compassionate Christian prays for a perverted peace anddiscovers turmoil; proclaims acceptance and smothers a deeper andhonest desire for change in the ones we love. This is not happiness; this isnot healing; this is not helping.

Does it sound like I am not compassionate? Should we pick up a drunk onthe sidewalk and help him back into the bar so he won't think we are judging him? Should we pause to tell a prostitute she might look prettier



in a brighter shade of pink? Should we stock a few essentials in thecabinet for the visiting addict to cook his meth? Should we give a list of topics for the local church gossip to make her job easier? Look the otherway when cheaters get a little careless so they won't get uncomfortablewhen revealed? We may as well paint a bull’s-eye on our shoulder tomake it easier for the wasp to zero in.

Careless compassion can be as dangerous as not caring at all. I neverwanted anyone to tell me that my sexual brokenness was just a cause forcelebration. Unfaithfulness is unfaithfulness. Sin is sin. Lust is lust.Betrayal is betrayal. Deception is lying. Knowing God's Word and doing

one's own will is willfully defying.

Wandering is wandering. If we're lost in a desert and we have a choicebetween a determined guide who knows his way out or a jovial, smilingand funny "it'll be okay, we'll find our way" sympathetic soul to walk withus until we drop in thirst upon the barren sand . . . who should we choose?

I don't know about you, but I wanted out.

Some have not gone with me. Some may never believe I found an oasisand drank. Some are still back there at the edge of the desert telling theslowly-dehydrating that they'll be fine. "Just keep putting one foot in frontof the other." Others are standing at the same edge and saying "youdeserve it. The buzzards will be here soon."

Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in theirsynagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healingevery disease and sickness. When He saw the crowds, He had

compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless,like sheep without a shepherd. -- Matthew 9:35-36

Don't mislead me; don't leave me.

Compassion is a gift from God that we can corrupt like everything else Hegives us. Oh . . . but when it is presented in its perfect form, what healingtakes place, what joy abounds, what grace flows and what beauty springsforth from the dry desert, shocking those who view it, like a brilliant andseemingly fragile butterfly that pauses on a morning glory. Imagine, thatlittle fluttering thing that looks like tissue paper in flight can cross thecontinent and return again. It looks weak, but it is strong because it has

learned to manage the currents and soar.

This past week at the Southern Baptist Convention, I looked into the eyesof Christian parents seeking direction on how to love their children whoare falling prey to the lies Satan is spinning at an ever-more-furious paceand which the world is reproducing and portraying in an ever-more-attractive display. How do we love those who are drowning in prouddeception? How do we keep them close and yet speak a truth that often



makes them want to expand the distance?

With compassion.

To love them less with this sin is a betrayal. We all sin in one form oranother from the day we enter this world. Self-centeredness can takesome nasty forms, but it is still that: seeking the satisfaction of the self.Our response is to be compassionate and giving of self.

In retrospect, reviewing the years of dog-paddling in my pool of sin, Irealize I would only reach out to take the hand of ones who could see meas I am -- created like them in the image of God -- and accept me therewith the compassion not of "love the sinner, hate the sin," but of "I lovewho you are as a child of God." These are the ones who went beyondtossing a vinyl ring with verses printed on it so I could ponder as I tooledaround in the pool. They had no fear of the water . These are the oneswho helped me out and showed me a stroke that does more than just

keep your head above water, but actually moves you toward the side. They put more value on me than they did my sin. By showing me thevalue of me, they helped diminish the value of the sin onto which I held inmy distress and it became less and less of a lifesaver as it became lessand less of my life.

Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of theLORD's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions neverfail. -- Lamentations 3:21-22

True compassion is not compromised. Compassion, God's truth, love and

hope are intertwined like a strong and trusty rope. Remove one and weare in danger of descending back into the mire. Of being re-consumed.

Practice "true" compassion. It's a life-saving skill.

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The Consequences of Careless Compassion