My Dear Shepherds,
Compassion is a gateway grace. It is often someone’s first taste of Jesus. We tell them something good and true. We give them a glimpse into the kingdom where God reigns. We offer something healing—a balm of kindness or listening. We offer to pray for someone who has never had anyone pray for them before.
Matthew summarized the earthly phase of Jesus’ ministry this way:
Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, proclaiming 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. (Matt. 9:35–36)
Those people whom Jesus taught and healed were not born again then and there. Even his compassion sometimes bore no fruit. That’s the risk of mercy; no guarantees. But his teaching and healing were the first ways Jesus stood at their doors and knocked. Christlike ministry is the gateway to saving grace.
Through Jesus’ teaching and miracles, the gathered crowds were learning to trust him, learning that the law laid bare their hearts but also that God would bless the poor in spirit with entrance to his kingdom. They were getting their first inkling that this man who could make the blind see and the deaf hear might heal their hearts.
Once in the middle of a sermon on Matthew 5:13 (“You are the salt of the earth”), I broke out a bag of potato chips and started down the center aisle, offering them to anyone who wanted one. After my brief feeding of the 15, I said, “I can tell you one thing for sure about everyone who just got a potato chip . . . they want another.” Compassion makes Christians salty. It gives people a taste for Jesus, a taste for his grace.
I used to require my pastoral counseling classes to memorize, “Be kind, for every person you meet is fighting a great battle.” But there is a caveat: not everyone we meet knows or cares about the great battle they’re in. For them, compassion can be like water off a duck’s back. But when God draws people to you who are sick and tired of wandering through life like sheep without a shepherd, whisper a prayer for compassion.
It’s tough to teach compassion in seminary. It’s not learned in a classroom. We gradually learn its heartbeat, skills, and nuances from Scripture, experience, and the examples of others. God’s comfort in our own sorrows trains us. Hopefully, we learn the marvelous grace of listening. Haven’t you found that God tenderizes and quiets your heart when engaging hurting people? Compassion taught me to preach, not just about grace, but with grace. I learned that good counseling isn’t just telling people what to do.
Compassion is meant to be every pastor’s calling card, our secret password opening harassed and helpless hearts. We’ve all probably wished that we could pastor a church of untroubled and utterly competent people. Just imagine how much we could get done! But as Jesus said, “It is not the healthy who need a doctor, but the sick.”
Compassion never goes out of fashion and our people never outgrow their need of it. But, as you’ve seen for yourselves, the saints do settle into the peace of Christ. Their souls are healed. They pray and worship and serve. They become loving brothers and sisters in the household of God, and agents of his grace in the world. And it all starts with Jesus’ compassion.
Be ye glad!
