Are You Choosing Compassion?

Choosing compassion is sometimes easier said than done. At least, it is for me.

As an editor, I sometimes find myself critical of a published book I know was edited. I wonder why, in my opinion, it wasn’t edited better. Didn’t the editors care?

Then I remember that the raw manuscript might have been rougher than most, with too little time allotted to resolve all its issues. Or the author might have resisted editing that could have improved the work. No matter what, the editors most likely did everything they could to make the writing better.

Who am I to criticize them, to withhold any measure of compassion, when I don’t know where they started or how far they’ve come?

What We Don’t Know Matters

I’ve come to realize the idea that I don’t know where they started and how far they’ve come should, but doesn’t always, guide my attitudes and actions toward others. I’ve never forgotten a story—although I don’t remember where I heard or read it or every detail—that drove this truth home for me. It went something like this:

Late one night on a city bus, a man’s three young children were popping back and forth over empty seats as he stared out a window. A lone woman rider fumed. She didn’t understand how he could sit there doing so little about their behavior, nor why he’d have mere toddlers out so late. A couple of times he turned and asked the kids to sit down, but when was he going to be firm with them? They could be hurt. What kind of father was he?

Finally, she marched up the aisle and confronted him about his inattention. Startled by her angry tone, he apologized, gathered his children around him, and blurted out that they were on their way home from the hospital, where his wife had just died.

Now the woman could see it had taken all his strength just to get on the bus. Her ire morphed into sympathy, but she’d already berated a father so distraught he could hardly think. He had already done the best he could under crushing circumstances. She hadn’t considered that she didn’t know where he had started or how far he might have already come.

Assuming We Know Does Matter

How often do we judge someone, if not confrontationally, then inwardly, when we don’t know anything about them but what we observe and assume?

Does the mom in the grocery store not care that her children are whining loud enough for everyone in her aisle to hear? Or has their tendency to throw outright tantrums improved since she’s been taking parenting classes?

Is a new coworker distant because he’s a snob? Or did he finally eat in the lunchroom instead of in his office today (albeit alone) because he’s trying to overcome debilitating shyness?

Was that young teenager who wore tight jeans to a soccer game trying to be sexy? Or did she choose the best option she had, given that her out-of-work parents can’t afford to replace the clothes she’s outgrown?

What about the homeless man who lost his job because of drinking, but is attending AA meetings you don’t know about? The incarcerated woman who made a huge mistake but, though you don’t know it, is teaching other inmates to read?

The neighbor who keeps to herself but, though you don’t know it, wakes up each day to an invisible but chronic illness and uses all her energy to care for her family? The person with limited financial resources who, though you don’t know it, is making the best spending choices possible?

The disillusioned lost who, though you don’t know it, are asking someone to tell them about God for the first time?

Any tendency to judge others’ behavior without knowing where they started, and especially without knowing how far they might have already come, makes the encouragement in Colossians 3:12 to “clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience” (NIV) crucial to embrace. It’s impossible to know what’s going on with everyone around us—even in our own families. Who are we to withhold compassion because we don’t understand or like someone’s behavior or lifestyle?

Jesus Taught Compassion Matters

In his parable about the prodigal, Jesus taught us about not only forgiveness but about compassion. The son dishonored his father by asking for his inheritance early, and then he left home. After depleting his resources and making a mess of his life, he decided to return, if only as a servant. Imagine how the father could have reacted when the son came back. He could have been angry, judgmental, unforgiving. He could have turned his back.

Yet Jesus said, “‘While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him’” (Luke 15:20 NIV, emphasis mine).

I doubt the loving father ever understood why his son felt compelled to dishonor him and leave home, and he didn’t know what had happened to him while he was away. He didn’t know where he had started (in a state of desperation) nor how far he’d come (from a far country). He just showed him compassion, and that reception made all the difference for his son.

What if I consistently showed compassion to all the people I encounter who puzzle me, frustrate me, or anger me, even though I don’t know where they started, and I don’t know how far they might have come? I might never know, and maybe I’m not supposed to know. But I do know my Father wants me to outwardly and inwardly show them compassion, for “the Lord is compassionate” (James 5:11 ESV), and he wants me to be like him, choosing compassion.

Jean Kavich Bloom is a champion coffee drinker and a freelance editor and writer for Christian publishers and ministries. She doesn’t garden, bake, or knit, but insists playing Scrabble is exactly the same thing. Jean and her husband, Cal, live in central Indiana. They have three children (plus two who married in) and five grandchildren. She blogs at bloominwordstoo.blogspot.com.

Photograph © Nadya Glo, used with permission