Compassion is real
Some days the headlines are just too big to put our emotional arms (and heart) around. And when it happens, my heart is heavy. And sadly, I do my best to ignore it, and close my eyes, to my detriment.
So. What can we do?
“All we’re asked to do is to be in the world who God is,” Fr. Gregory Boyle reminds us. “Certainly, compassion was the wallpaper of Jesus’ soul, the contour of his heart, it was who he was. I heard someone say once, ‘just assume the answer to every question is compassion.’”
Okay. Count me in. But I wonder, how do we assume (choose) compassion in a world on edge, distracted, and cynical? What does that look like?
Boyle (“G” to the young men and women in the neighborhood) tells the story about a particularly exasperating homie named Sharkey. “I switch my strategy and decide to catch him in the act of doing the right thing. I can see I have been too harsh and exacting with him, and he is, after all trying the best he can. I tell him how heroic he is and how the courage he now exhibits in transforming his life far surpasses the hollow bravery of his barrio past. I tell him that he is a giant among men. I mean it. Sharky seems to be thrown off balance by all this and silently stares at me. Then he says, ‘Damn, G… I’m gonna tattoo that on my heart.'”
The streets of Los Angeles are not a world I know. Far removed from my childhood and the cornfields of southern Michigan. Even so… more than ever, I need to tattoo these truths on my own heart.
“Our common human hospitality longs to find room for those who are left out. It’s just who we are if allowed to foster something different, something more greatly resembling what God had in mind. Perhaps, together, we can teach each other how to bear the beams of love, persons becoming persons, right before our eyes. Returned to ourselves.” (Tattoos on the Heart, Fr. Gregory Boyle’s stories from Los Angeles, CA about his ministry, Homeboy Industries, and presence in the “gang world,” hoping that we “recognize our own wounds in the broken lives and daunting struggles of the men and women in these parables.”)
I confess that we preachers find it seductive to sermonize. Depending on the crowd size. But today, we don’t need a sermon. We do need stories to settle our spirit. And yes, to tattoo these truths on our heart.
Growing up, Christianity was about creed. About professing. (It’s similar to wanting the right answers to test questions.) And we were eager to point out those who stood on the outside, meaning the wrong side.
In a national magazine, an ad for the Humane Society minced no words. Above an adorable puppy and kitten, the ad read, “It’s who owns them that makes them important.”
Yes. Returned to ourselves.
In other words, to assume the “answer to every question is compassion”, is not about creed. This is about who or what owns us.
Mother Teresa once told a roomful of lepers how much God loved them. She told them that they are “a gift to the rest of us.”
Interrupting her, an old leper raises his hand, and she calls on him. “Could you repeat that again?” he asks. “It did me good. So, would you mind; just saying it again.”
Yes please. Just say it again.
We easily forget, don’t we… the cathartic power of grace?
The power to shine the light on shame and fear and paranoia.
To invite us to bear the beams of love.
To invite us to be the kind of person we want to be.
We forget the power and life-giving restoration and repair from simple gestures of compassion.
Here’s the deal: Today, let us remember who we are.
And let us remember, compassion is real.
“Compassion is at the heart of every little thing we do. It is the dearest quality we possess. Yet all too often it can be cast aside with consequences too tragic to speak of. To lose our compassion, we lose what it is to be human.” (Anon)
So, yes, compassion makes a difference.
Yes, much of the heaviness was triggered by the war in Israel and Palestine. This morning, sitting at my computer looking at the photos, I cry. Tears are called for. And I hear a voice in my head, to my shame, “Don’t talk about it, it’s too political.”
If you mean Jesus’ passion for a transformed world, yes, it is. “Love does no harm to a neighbor,” the Bible tells us. “Therefore, love is the fulfillment of the law.”
But more than political, this is personal. Because every death is a member of our human family. I am grateful for Pope Francis’ words, “Let the attacks and weapons cease, please, because it must be understood that terrorism and war bring no solutions, but only to the death and suffering of many innocent lives. War is a defeat, every war is a defeat. Let us pray for peace in Israel and Palestine.”
Today, Indigenous Peoples day. And I want to take to heart Chief Seattle’s reminder, “Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.”
Speaking of not running from wounds and wreckage. And embracing healing, dignity and inclusion.
I want to thank you for being a part of our Sabbath Moment community. This past week in Sabbath Moment, we were reminded that joy and sorrow are sisters (Thank you Joyce Rupp). No, this is not easy to believe. However, let us be unafraid to choose compassion, even in sorrow… where we do not shut down, and we find ways to give and receive gentle doses of grace.
Quote for our week…
What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. This is the whole Torah: all the rest is commentary. Hillel (Talmud, Shabath 31a)
BULLETIN BOARD
Some days the headlines are just too big to put our emotional arms (and heart) around. And when it happens, my heart is heavy. And sadly, I do my best to ignore it, and close my eyes, to my detriment.
So. What can we do?
“All we’re asked to do is to be in the world who God is,” Fr. Gregory Boyle reminds us. “Certainly, compassion was the wallpaper of Jesus’ soul, the contour of his heart, it was who he was. I heard someone say once, ‘just assume the answer to every question is compassion.’”
Okay. Count me in. But I wonder, how do we assume (choose) compassion in a world on edge, distracted, and cynical? What does that look like?
Boyle (“G” to the young men and women in the neighborhood) tells the story about a particularly exasperating homie named Sharkey. “I switch my strategy and decide to catch him in the act of doing the right thing. I can see I have been too harsh and exacting with him, and he is, after all trying the best he can. I tell him how heroic he is and how the courage he now exhibits in transforming his life far surpasses the hollow bravery of his barrio past. I tell him that he is a giant among men. I mean it. Sharky seems to be thrown off balance by all this and silently stares at me. Then he says, ‘Damn, G… I’m gonna tattoo that on my heart.'”
The streets of Los Angeles are not a world I know. Far removed from my childhood and the cornfields of southern Michigan. Even so… more than ever, I need to tattoo these truths on my own heart.
“Our common human hospitality longs to find room for those who are left out. It’s just who we are if allowed to foster something different, something more greatly resembling what God had in mind. Perhaps, together, we can teach each other how to bear the beams of love, persons becoming persons, right before our eyes. Returned to ourselves.” (Tattoos on the Heart, Fr. Gregory Boyle’s stories from Los Angeles, CA about his ministry, Homeboy Industries, and presence in the “gang world,” hoping that we “recognize our own wounds in the broken lives and daunting struggles of the men and women in these parables.”)
I confess that we preachers find it seductive to sermonize. Depending on the crowd size. But today, we don’t need a sermon. We do need stories to settle our spirit. And yes, to tattoo these truths on our heart.
Growing up, Christianity was about creed. About professing. (It’s similar to wanting the right answers to test questions.) And we were eager to point out those who stood on the outside, meaning the wrong side.
In a national magazine, an ad for the Humane Society minced no words. Above an adorable puppy and kitten, the ad read, “It’s who owns them that makes them important.”
Yes. Returned to ourselves.
In other words, to assume the “answer to every question is compassion”, is not about creed. This is about who or what owns us.
Mother Teresa once told a roomful of lepers how much God loved them. She told them that they are “a gift to the rest of us.”
Interrupting her, an old leper raises his hand, and she calls on him. “Could you repeat that again?” he asks. “It did me good. So, would you mind; just saying it again.”
Yes please. Just say it again.
We easily forget, don’t we… the cathartic power of grace?
The power to shine the light on shame and fear and paranoia.
To invite us to bear the beams of love.
To invite us to be the kind of person we want to be.
We forget the power and life-giving restoration and repair from simple gestures of compassion.
Here’s the deal: Today, let us remember who we are.
And let us remember, compassion is real.
“Compassion is at the heart of every little thing we do. It is the dearest quality we possess. Yet all too often it can be cast aside with consequences too tragic to speak of. To lose our compassion, we lose what it is to be human.” (Anon)
So, yes, compassion makes a difference.
Yes, much of the heaviness was triggered by the war in Israel and Palestine. This morning, sitting at my computer looking at the photos, I cry. Tears are called for. And I hear a voice in my head, to my shame, “Don’t talk about it, it’s too political.”
If you mean Jesus’ passion for a transformed world, yes, it is. “Love does no harm to a neighbor,” the Bible tells us. “Therefore, love is the fulfillment of the law.”
But more than political, this is personal. Because every death is a member of our human family. I am grateful for Pope Francis’ words, “Let the attacks and weapons cease, please, because it must be understood that terrorism and war bring no solutions, but only to the death and suffering of many innocent lives. War is a defeat, every war is a defeat. Let us pray for peace in Israel and Palestine.”
Today, Indigenous Peoples day. And I want to take to heart Chief Seattle’s reminder, “Humankind has not woven the web of life. We are but one thread within it. Whatever we do to the web, we do to ourselves. All things are bound together. All things connect.”
Speaking of not running from wounds and wreckage. And embracing healing, dignity and inclusion.
I want to thank you for being a part of our Sabbath Moment community. This past week in Sabbath Moment, we were reminded that joy and sorrow are sisters (Thank you Joyce Rupp). No, this is not easy to believe. However, let us be unafraid to choose compassion, even in sorrow… where we do not shut down, and we find ways to give and receive gentle doses of grace.
Quote for our week…
What is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. This is the whole Torah: all the rest is commentary. Hillel (Talmud, Shabath 31a)
BULLETIN BOARD
Today’s Photo Credit: “Hi Terry, Here is a photo of one of many falls at Sweet Creek Falls in Oregon. The week of rain a couple of weeks ago made these falls very lively–and lovely.” Jan Scott… Thank you Jan… And thank you to all, I love your photos… please keep sending them… send to terryhershey.com
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Letters that do my heart good…
–Hi Terry, I savor my walks (Lake Chabot in Castro Valley, California) and like you say “pause” and take the beauty in of this precious gift. Thank you for your Sabbath Moments they make my day and I love your memes on Facebook, too. Pat
–Dear Terry: Thank You. I just had to write you and say how much I loved the “Joy and Sorrow are sisters”… perfect timing for I had just watched the movie “Inside Out”… with the emotional characters Joy and Sadness. We do need both of these emotions. I also felt great hope as you spoke about the healing of nature. If we pay attention, Nature really is one of our best teachers. Peace to you. Kim
–Your thoughts are so heartfelt and beautifully written, it’s like a retreat just to sit and reflect with all you’ve shared. Janet
–Happy Saturday, Terry. My interest was piqued by the story of the Native American practice of leaving an empty space in a needlepoint piece. It reminded me of what my (Iranian Muslim) ex told me as we were tiling the shower wall in my bathroom. Many of those artists who created the incredible mosaics found in mosques would purposely leave an imperfection to remind them that only God is perfect. This explains why there’s one oddly hued tile in my bathroom shower. That was my decision in that moment. Truth be told, that tile sometimes gets on my nerves, as does my perfectionism. But it also serves as a reminder for me to slow down and to let go, let go, let go. Here’s to a ‘letting go’ kind of day…. especially here as the temperature will soar unseasonably again. Warm regards, Mary
–Good morning Terry – I look forward to reading you every morning with my 1st cup of coffee. You are a real blessing to me. Thanks, Marge
POEMS AND PRAYERS
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
for a hundred miles through the desert repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile, the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Mary Oliver
Gracious God,
Thank you for the gift of today.
Refresh me. Invite me to discover your presence
In each person that I meet
And every event that I encounter.
Teach me when to speak and when to listen
When to ponder and when to share.
In moments of challenge and decision
Attune my heart to the whisperings of your Wisdom.
As I undertake ordinary and unnoticed tasks,
Gift me with simple joy.
When my day goes well, may I rejoice.
When it grows difficult, surprise me with
New possibilities.
When life is overwhelming, call me to
Sabbath moments
To restore your Peace and Harmony.
May my living today reveal your Goodness.
Pat Bergen, C.S.J.
