Making Compassion Our Passion

I hold my granddaughter, two months old, and gaze into her eyes.  From deep in my stomach, warmth and tenderness rise up within me.  I am flooded with love. My ribcage swells. I do not know where this marvel comes from. But at this moment, this tiny child is precious to me.  

Preciousness—that is what ties today’s three parables together.  A shepherd has lost one sheep. That sheep is precious in his eyes.  He is willing to leave ninety-nine others to go look for the lost one.  A woman searches for her lost coin—it may not be the money she loves but the food that it will buy for her precious children. 

And the father of the prodigal son? He once also held that babe in his arms. He once gazed into his newborn eyes. Now this boy has grown and gone. The father waits. When he sees him again, tender affection rises from the bowels of his being. Compassion, warmth,  inner yearning—he is flooded with joy. His precious child is home. 

Compassion is defined as an inner flooding of love, a tenderness in the bowels of our being. Have you felt that? And yet, the compassion that you and I may feel—it is only a drop compared to the flood of warmth that the living God has for you and for me. We are God’s beloved children. 

But . . . how much do we absorb that care? Like the prodigal son,  we may roam through life looking for love. We may squander our days to confirm that we matter. We may wrangle with others for power to prove our worth. It happens in nations, in businesses, in institutions, in churches, in families. We want to be treasured. We strive to matter. We seek to be loved. 

Yet . . . at the same time . . . precious . . . treasured . . . wanted . . .  While we wander, Love awaits. 

Love waits, with open arms, for us to come home. 

Consider/Discuss 

• While I was pondering the preciousness of the prodigal son, I looked at the brokenness of our world. Why is it as it is? What happens to children?  Where does their innocence go? At what point do we get so broken? What if . . . what if . . . what if . . . we could somehow internalize how precious we are in God’s eyes, as newborns in the arms of a loving parent, allowing ourselves to be held? How would that sense of preciousness enable us to  enter into life differently? 
• The Greek word for compassion means to be moved from one’s innards,  a tender affection that arises from the bowels of our being. Jesus is often described as having compassion. What if you and I could see the world as  Jesus does—see how very treasured is the “other”? How would that sense of the preciousness of the “other” affect how we treat one another, whether  spouse or child or student or neighbor or immigrant or . . . ? Today, in what  concrete way could you say to another, “You are precious to me”? 

Living and Praying with the Word 

Lord, you created each of us. As babies we started life so innocently. What happened? Do you weep as you watch the traumas  that change us as we grow? Does it pain you to see the bitterness and  discouragement and hardness that we pick up? You treasure us. You  want us. You see us as precious. But we do not always internalize that. This moment, send your Spirit upon us. Help us come to our  senses, to come home to you. We have wandered far, looking for validation in other places. Open our hearts to the flood of your compassion. Help us to feel your pleasure and your joy as we come home to you. Come, Holy Spirit, come! Lead us home.