Turns Out, Compassion Has a Job Description
"How Are You?" and Other Questions We Don't Really Mean
There is a habit, especially here in the South, where we ask a question without really expecting an honest answer.
"How are you?"
"Fine."
"Good."
And just like that, the conversation is over.
Most of the time, we aren't being dishonest. We are simply busy. We have places to go, things to do, and schedules to keep. We ask the question because it is polite. But we often do not slow down long enough to truly hear the answer.
Perhaps that is why one small detail in Matthew's Gospel stands out to me.
Jesus saw the crowds.
Not glanced at them.
Not counted them.
Not categorized them.
He saw them.
He saw beyond appearances. He saw wounds that could not be seen with the eye. He saw grief that had no visible scars. He saw burdens people had carried for so long that everyone else had stopped noticing them.
There is a difference between looking and seeing.
And perhaps one of the greatest spiritual questions we can ask ourselves is this:
Who are we not seeing?
The People We Walk Past
Most of us do not intentionally ignore people.
But we are busy.
We hurry through stores. We scroll through social media. We race from one responsibility to another. And in the process, people can become background scenery.
Meanwhile, all around us are people carrying invisible burdens.
The exhausted caregiver.
The grieving spouse.
The teenager who feels alone.
The person living with depression.
The immigrant wondering whether anyone wants them here.
The older adult whose phone rarely rings.
The person with a disability who has grown accustomed to being overlooked.
The LGBTQ+ person who has learned to expect rejection before they even walk through the church doors.
People are often fighting battles we know nothing about.
And perhaps that is why compassion begins with seeing.
Not fixing.
Not having all the answers.
Simply seeing.
Sometimes the holiest thing we can do is notice.
When Churches Stop Seeing People
Churches are supposed to be places of healing.
Unfortunately, they do not always live up to that calling.
Sometimes churches become so focused on preserving traditions, protecting institutions, or maintaining influence that they lose sight of the people standing right in front of them.
History is full of examples.
Churches have defended slavery.
Churches have remained silent during segregation.
Churches have used Scripture to justify prejudice and exclusion.
Churches have often been more comfortable sitting near power than standing beside those who suffer.
Whenever that happens, something important has been lost.
Because Jesus consistently moved toward the wounded, the forgotten, and the marginalized.
He noticed the people everyone else ignored.
And perhaps the Church is most faithful not when it has the most influence, but when it reflects the compassion of Christ.
Perhaps our greatest calling is not to impress the world.
Perhaps our greatest calling is simply to love it.
Compassion Has a Job Description
Compassion is not merely feeling sorry for someone.
It is not pity from a safe distance.
Biblical compassion moves.
Biblical compassion acts.
Compassion listens.
Compassion welcomes.
Compassion feeds.
Compassion visits.
Compassion advocates.
Compassion speaks.
Compassion shows up.
That is why Jesus did not merely feel compassion for the crowds.
He sent disciples into the world.
Because compassion was never meant to remain an emotion.
It becomes a vocation.
It becomes a way of life.
And, inconveniently enough, followers of Jesus are the ones who have been handed the assignment.
Turns out, compassion has a job description.
The Prayer God Answers With a Mirror
We pray for the hungry.
And sometimes God points to our own hands.
We pray for peace.
And sometimes God points to our own voices.
We pray for justice.
And sometimes God points to our own feet.
Perhaps one of the surprising ways God answers prayer is by sending the people doing the praying.
The disciples asked for laborers.
Then Jesus said, "Wonderful. Now go."
I suspect God still works that way.
Which means that the answer to many of our prayers may not be found in waiting for someone else.
It may be found when we look in the mirror.
Because compassion has hands.
Compassion has feet.
Compassion shows up.
And the same compassion that moved the heart of Christ is meant to move ours.
After all, we have a job to do.
