The Continuous Consequences of Careless Compassion

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The Continuous Consequences of Careless Compassion

By Thom Hunter

http://thom-signsofastruggle.blogspot.com/

(Note: I'm posting here a chapter from my book, Surviving Sexual

Brokenness: What Grace Can Do. If you would like to order an

autographed copy of my book, please click this link: http://thom-

signsofastruggle.blogspot.com/2010/11/new-surviving-sexual-brokenness-what.html.

The book is also available on Amazon.com in soft-cover, hardback or

Kindle. It’s also available through your bookstore. Thanks!)

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Careless Compassion

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 way off track.


http://thom-signsofastruggle.blogspot.com/2010/11/new-surviving-sexual-brokenness-what.html







"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 inside.

Surely He won't just let me hide.

With self and pride so justified,

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."

Still, a bit of truth slipped from you to me.

God does love me . . . and set 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 past

few moments, a graceful, floating butterfly and a determined and focused

red 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. Some

days we deserve -- and need -- a sting to bring us directly into contact

with the reality of pain. Sometimes when we want to follow the lazy

butterfly down the garden path, we should be dashing down a trail

swatting away at a yellowjacket, confronting the reality that life bites

more often than hope floats.



I have come to the conclusion that at this point in my life I have been

favored by a rationing of compassion, resulting in a reasonable rationality

of 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 to

seek real solutions. Of course, that "long run" has been much longer thanI would have ever thought my mind and heart and soul could survive, and

it surpassed the limits of others. But guess what? The perilous points of

rest along the way were punctuated with real compassion . . . the love

that 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 borderline

compassion that feels so hateful at the time, like the sting of a wayward

wasp, 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 justified

wrath. Sometimes, when those who claim to represent God inflict

"compassion" in ways of pain and flitting, they need to be shot down so

they 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 the

distance 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 also

experienced the compassion that is real and warm to the touch. A

compassion that does not depend on determined distance but on

intended closeness. Not on separation, but on walking with. I am amazed

at the beauty and grace that some exhibit, pouring out in an

immeasurable and constant flow the compassion that comes from an

unlimited source. They heard and learned of God's truth and refuse to let

the world's definition of it divide it into meaningless portions.

Maybe it takes a mix of compassion. Even the bitterness of detachment

can be motivating. Perhaps the experiences we have of being cast aside



and 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 not

contorted. 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 they

themselves have shared.

But who do I really feel sorry for? I feel sorry for those who

have suffered and cried and were not told that Christ had suffered and

died so they could be freed from that. I feel sorry for those who have

been 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 freedom

to walk free of the weight of who they were.

The harshness of "hate the sin, love the sinner," has, in the

compassionate 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 way

they are, you'll help them be what God intended them to be. I am so

saddened for the young men and women whose parents, in selfishness,

embrace their giving in to temptation so they can still have Sunday lunch

and smile and pass the peas. Careless compassion causes us to place

happiness above healing . . . and we have not because we ask not. The

carelessly compassionate Christian prays for a perverted peace and

discovers turmoil; proclaims acceptance and smothers a deeper and

honest desire for change in the ones we love. This is not happiness; this is

not healing; this is not helping.

Does it sound like I am not compassionate? Should we pick up a drunk on

the 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 the

cabinet 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 other

way when cheaters get a little careless so they won't get uncomfortable

when revealed? We may as well paint a bull’s-eye on our shoulder to



make it easier for the wasp to zero in.

Careless compassion can be as dangerous as not caring at all. I never

wanted anyone to tell me that my sexual brokenness was just a cause for

celebration. 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 choice

between a determined guide who knows his way out or a jovial, smiling

and funny "it'll be okay, we'll find our way" sympathetic soul to walk with

us 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 oasis

and drank. Some are still back there at the edge of the desert telling the

slowly-dehydrating that they'll be fine. "Just keep putting one foot in front

of the other." Others are standing at the same edge and saying "you

deserve it. The buzzards will be here soon."

Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their

synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healing every

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 He

gives us. Oh . . . but when it is presented in its perfect form, what healing

takes place, what joy abounds, what grace flows and what beauty springs

forth from the dry desert, shocking those who view it, like a brilliant and

seemingly fragile butterfly that pauses on a morning glory. Imagine, that

little fluttering thing that looks like tissue paper in flight can cross the

continent 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 eyes



of Christian parents seeking direction on how to love their children who

are falling prey to the lies Satan is spinning at an ever-more-furious pace

and which the world is reproducing and portraying in an ever-more-

attractive display. How do we love those who are drowning in proud

deception? How do we keep them close and yet speak a truth that oftenmakes them want to expand the distance?

With compassion.

To love them less with this sin is a betrayal. We all sin in one form or

another from the day we enter this world. Self-centeredness can take

some 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, I

realize I would only reach out to take the hand of ones who could see me

as I am -- created like them in the image of God -- and accept me there

with the compassion not of "love the sinner, hate the sin," but of "I love

who you are as a child of God." These are the ones who went beyond

tossing a vinyl ring with verses printed on it so I could ponder as I tooled

around in the pool. They had no fear of the water . These are the ones

who 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 the

value of me, they helped diminish the value of the sin onto which I held in

my distress and it became less and less of a lifesaver as it became less

and less of my life.

Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope: Because of the LORD's

great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. --

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 we

are in danger of descending back into the mire. Of being re-consumed.

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

God Bless,



Thom

( Surviving Sexual Brokenness: What Grace Can Do was written to

provide encouragement and support for the struggler and insight for those who are willing to love the struggler through, including family

members and church family.)

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The Continuous Consequences of Careless Compassion