Reorienting Myself

As our church’s missions conference ended this past week, I became more appreciative of the efforts of the pastor that leads our congregations in mission vision and his invitation to a array of men and women representing countries from all over the world. I'm sure, given the time, each one could have gone on for hours concerning the needs of the fields in which they serve. I'm also convinced that each one signified a life that said yes to a call of service and no to things of which most will never know the extent. Seeing them, I could not overlook the hard realities of humanitarian work, nor could I fail to see the expectant reality of God at work in communities I fail daily to see. At this conference with international aide workers, local humanitarian groups, and missionaries, I was reminded how serious is the connection between seeing and compassion.

The gospel writers are quick to confirm the correlation. Matthew and Mark repeatedly draw attention to the relationship between the sight and empathy. Frequently, it is recorded that upon seeing the multitudes, Jesus had compassion on them. I don't believe for a moment that either disciple is suggesting that Jesus needed to see the crowds in order to know their deepest misconceptions or expressions of pain. Unlike my own vision, for Jesus, there is no "out of sight" or "out of mind." And yet, these two distinct functions—sight and compassion—are spelled out again and again as simultaneously coinciding in the heart of Christ. "When Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion on them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd" Matthew 9:36. "When Jesus went ashore, he saw a large crowd, and he felt compassion for them and healed their sick" Matthew 14:14. It is a correlation that calls an unseeing world out of its apathy and into the divine work ethic. The sight of an omniscient God is indivisible from the work of his sovereign hands.

As it is described throughout Scripture, the major anguish and challenge of God exists not in one isolated moral issue, the scheme of the enemy, or the dealings of wicked nations, but in the aligning his people with his own heart. I startle myself at how easy it is to forget the faces and desperation of those who are not out of God’s sight and out of mind. I am ashamed that so many of the Oscar Romeros, Corrie Tenbooms, and mentor of mine, Morris Plotts, have fought not only jungles but injustices largely unknown and served missions grossly unaided by those who follow the same Christ. For such men and women there was no alternative: the invitation to follow the heart of God came with the liability of sight. Likewise, the apostle Paul urged the church in Rome, "The hour has come for you to wake up from your slumber" Romans 13:11.

But, I ask myself, as an elder of 71 years, is waking to the world around me as simple as learning to see? If the awfulness were plainly in front of me and I could see the great needs of a lost crowd would I then respond in compassion without delay? Even today, as I am reading my subscriptions of World Magazine and Plough, scenes of the crumbling, confounded nations are inescapable. Has it led me to action?

In the parable of the Good Samaritan, Jesus makes it a point to note that all three men saw with their own eyes the need of the one wounded alongside the road. "A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him" Luke 10:31-33. Sight only led one to compassion.

Like my reaction among the sights and scenes of a missions conference, there may be times when I simply need to be reoriented as to my place within the journey. The harvest is plentiful, the workers are few, and whether I see it or not God is surely on the move. Perhaps other times, it is a recognition of my lack of sight that must wake me. When it is my schedule that I am consumed with, my heart I am looking to protect, my time alone that I am guarding, is there room even in my peripheral vision for a neighbor? Like the two who saw but were not moved, it is all too easy to employ the gift of sight as my own, all too reasonable to warrant apathy. Yet the one who saw the crowds and had compassion requires me to wake to the world around me.  Seeing humanity in all its brokenness, a world groaning for redemption, devastation I cannot rectify, somehow I have to move my heart closer to God’s own.

Father, God, awaken me to Christ, and see what He sees;  sheep without a shepherd, the sick without a doctor, or as mockers at the foot of the Cross and convict me of my lack of compassion. Amen