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
