Build a Bridge of Compassion
You, then, why do you judge your brother or sister? Or why do you treat them with contempt? . . . They are zealous for God, but their zeal is not based on knowledge. Since they did not know the righteousness of God and sought to establish their own, they did not submit to God’s righteousness. Christ is the culmination of the law so that there may be righteousness for everyone who believes. (Rom 14:10, 10:2-4 NIV)
On my way to visit a lighthouse this morning, I passed a home with a couple of flags waving. Not unusual, except these weren’t American flags. They were a Trump 2024 and a Confederate flag.
I was not in the South. I was almost to Canada, in fact. My reaction, though, was one I haven’t usually experienced when confronted by that particular combination (not uncommon on the backroads of our various trips).
I felt pity. A tinge of compassion. The scene didn’t elicit the anger or any of the myriad emotions I’ve felt over the last few years. I thought as I drove on—What would drive that belligerent stand well into 2021? Why would a person cling to what hadn’t served them well, by the looks of the area, in a bid of pride that looked like hopelessness?
What were they afraid of?
I guess teaching through Romans this summer had the effect on me that Paul intended for his audience as well.
Let’s set the stage for this long letter of Paul’s. He’s writing to the Christians in Rome, some Jewish and some Greek/Roman. The Jewish Christians struggle with the feeling that they’ve been left behind, somehow. When God chose to envelop the Gentiles in love (which God had always done—it just hadn’t exploded like this before Jesus), those who had been the chosen, elect people felt . . . well, jealous.
Their anger rose up, because they had kept the Law for so long, and now others were getting a “get into them kingdom free” card. They still performed certain regulations and others did not, which confused them, since the law was supposed to get people into God’s good graces. Mainly, they were afraid that their place was being taken, and God didn’t love them best or even at all anymore. Did they still matter at all?
They were living Jesus’ parable about the workers hired at the eleventh hour, and they did not like it one little bit. (Matt 20:1-16)
They had issues to deal with—not the least of which was being highly judgmental of their siblings in the church.
Paul looks at the Roman believers and targets their behavior on this in a way I, and maybe others, need to hear.
Paul says to the Roman Christians, in essence, Stop thinking you’re better than these weaker siblings of yours. They’re frightened and confused, and you’re treating them with contempt for it. Yes—they’re 100 percent wrong. But you being right doesn’t make being a jerk acceptable. Jesus also had some harsh words for those who spoke contemptuously of their fellow Christians:
“Anyone who says to a brother or sister, ‘Raca,’ is answerable to the court. And anyone who says, ‘You fool!’ will be in danger of the fire of hell.” (Matt. 5:22 NIV )
Now, this is complex when it comes to my flag-waving neighbors. I have no idea if people who fly Confederate flags are fellow Christians. I find it quite difficult to believe, honestly. Yet if I can dig down to see what fears in their hearts make them feel this angry and hateful, can I not do that with just about anyone, especially my fellow believers?
It seems a lot of the struggle is similar. People feel displaced—no longer the backbone of their country’s workforce or even important to anyone any longer. They feel looked down upon, angry that others have moved on without them, proud of what they once were but frightened of the future. It’s an emotional and cultural hurricane. It feels a lot like Romans 9.
Could it be I am the stronger person, and—again, they are 100 percent wrong, but—the burden is on me to refuse contempt and choose compassion instead? Notice I’m not advocating for acceptance or even coexistence with the ideas represented, but compassion for the feelings of loss. A heart that seeks to uncover those feelings and point them in a redemptive path for everyone rather than a destructive one.
Osheta Moore, in her new book, Dear White Peacemakers, says, “If there’s one thing white supremacy reinforces, it’s a scarcity mindset of identity and worth. That is our work together, White peacemakers, to reclaim humanity for both of us.”
Can I find it in me to lavish the truth on those I like least that they have not been forgotten by God—that they are beloved, and God’s love is not scarce at all?
I recognize that I can say this as a white American, and I have the privilege of forgiveness and compassion that a person of color might choose not to exercise for good reason. I admit it’s far easier said than done.
Like Paul writing to the fledgling church in Rome, though, I also wonder if the time is critical for creating that bridge of compassion. I suspect God would be on the side of a hoped-for breakthrough into a better shared future. I know only God can orchestrate such a miracle. God, however, is good at that.
Dear Lord, we feel helpless at times to combat the hate and anger we see around us. We don’t typically use love as our weapon of choice. Give us hearts that repent of contempt and long to seek understanding. Create peacemakers of us. Amen.
is a writer, speaker, pastor, mom of three, and author of five books. She likes to travel, grow flowers, read Tolkien, and research her next project. She believes in Jesus, grace, restoration, kindness, justice, and dark chocolate. Her passion is partnering with the next generation of faith. Jill blogs at jillmrichardson.com.
Photograph © Lampos Aritonang, used with permission
