Everyday compassion

This last month my thoughts have been on compassion. How do we foster compassion? How do we grow in our ability to show compassion? Do we look at more pictures of starving children? Read more stats? Go on more mission trips?  Where does it begin? For me it began at a BBQ … 

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We emerged from the food line, our plates piled high with BBQ fare, and scanned the crowd, deciding where to sit. There were hundreds and hundreds of people at the NE Portland Barn Bash Parkrose fundraiser and we didn’t know a soul. The band was blaring and cowboy boots abounded, and everyone had their Widmer and seemed to know each other.

We’d just prayed, before we arrived, that God would lead us to sit with just the right people. But since no one was wearing an “I want to hear about Jesus” t-shirt, I wasn’t sure where to sit. But I did see that amid the loud laughter and full tables, there was one table, on the edge, where only 3 people sat, eating, with their heads down, not saying a word. They were all Asian. We made a beeline for them.

They looked a little surprised (alarmed?) that we sat down. The two men nodded briefly and went back to eating. The woman smiled politely, then continued eating. After a few quiet bites, Jeff introduced us and asked their names. I couldn’t understand a single one between the thick accents and the deafening music blaring. I called David “Kevin” for the entire meal until he finally corrected me, and I thought Andrew was ‘Tony” and I have no idea what the woman’s name was. I tried, I really did. She was equally challenged by own name (“Like SORRY except with a K…” but we all did our best then they went back to eating silently.

Jeff persevered. 

To make a long story short, it was clear all of them were not born in America. They all three worked at a hospital and their 4th friend–also from the hospital–worked a 2nd job as a photographer for fundraising events. He was working there that night, and had given them tickets.

Though it took some time, they slowly warmed, and truly as our dinner time came to an end, their eyes danced with real smiles. The dear woman shared how she worked in hospice, and opened up about the challenges and gift of working with those who are dying. As they each shared tidbits of their life, I realized, All they have is each other. They didn’t have family or roots here. Their English was difficult to understand. Their social cues and mannerisms were different from what I’m accustomed to. No wonder they were sitting alone. No wonder that photographer, when given three free tickets to an event, gave them to his closest family: three co-workers.

Do I know what it’s like to feel alone all the time? To be surrounded by different. To know that when I open my mouth it will be difficult for anyone to understand me.  Or, worse, to always wonder, Will anyone even want to understand me?

Compassion simply means to suffer with. It means to enter into the feeling of another. To show empathy. Yes, it helps to look at pictures, read stories and hear statistics, but I’m learning that compassion really comes when we just begin making daily, ordinary choices, to sit down, look in the eyes, and really listen to those who are different from us. Those who are struggling. Suffering. Those who are alone. Those who are labeled “different” or “difficult.” When we forget about “trying to be compassionate” and we just put ourselves aside to listen a little longer and think a little harder about what it must be like to be that person.

Maybe growing in compassion is easier than we think. I tend to think that I grow in compassion by trying to make my circumstances like those who are suffering. And there’s something to be said for that, to be sure. Going without helps us identify with those who go without by necessity every day. But compassion also comes when we simply sit long enough to listen, really listen, and do our very best to understand.

Father, give us grace to grow in Compassion. Help us to listen long and seek to understand. Help us to forget about ourselves and our pursuit of compassion or virtue, but to suspend self long enough to care, feel, empathize. Teach us how to love. For Your name and Your glory, in Jesus’ name. Amen. 

{Thanks for reading.}