Have you heard the term “compassion fatigue?” In the 1990s, the term was often used to describe public reactions against the homeless. When you saw the same homeless person at the same corner, day after day, you became tired of putting a bill in his hat. You may not have known why he was homeless, but it just seemed frustrating to see this unsolvable problem. So, cities passed anti-loitering laws: out of sight out of mind. Today, the increasing numbers of homeless around us hide out in the woods. But those like Linda Henry of Marshall Christian Services will tell you they’re out there. School officials who have to educate children whose parents have no homes will tell you they’re out there.
In 2005, the term “compassion fatigue” was used to describe the falloff in charitable giving during the hurricane season. In less than a year, the world had witnessed not just one, but two catastrophes: The Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami, followed by Katrina. Lesser disasters did not receive as much help as relief officials had expected given previous circumstances. People who study these things prefer to use the term “secondary traumatic stress.” Rather than use a judgmental term like “compassion fatigue,” it’s probably better to recognize that those who witness disasters, in person or the constant barrage of news media, are themselves victims, shocked by what they see, burdened by the thought that there seems to be far too little they can do to help, and needing to hide themselves from the suffering to protect their own breaking hearts.
God understands that, in the gut. There is “compassion fatigue” in today’s Gospel. There is “secondary traumatic stress” in today's Gospel. Jesus had “compassion,” we hear. The ancient Jews understood something about emotions that we more sentimental moderns too often miss. They didn’t see the heart as the place from which emotions came, but the bowels. So the Greek word translated as “compassion” meant, “To be moved in the bowels.” Politicians may say, “I feel your pain.” But those with secondary traumatic stress do feel the pain of others.
But Jesus felt “compassion” in his bowels. Jesus felt the pain of those thousands, each and every one. He felt their grief over the murder of John the Baptist by King Herod. He felt their oppression by the Roman occupiers and the Jewish collaborators. He felt their poverty and fear for their children’s futures. He felt their anger at God for not keeping his promise to his chosen people. He felt their hopelessness. No human being has ever suffered secondary traumatic stress like Jesus the Christ, the anointed King. And because Jesus was God in human form; if Jesus felt secondary traumatic stress, then so did God, and so does God.
Our God feels our pain in the bowels this very day. Our God has given this world freedom. And so we are free, to be compassionate, or cold; to ease suffering, or to cause more suffering. God in Jesus felt in his bowels the pain of his people mourning John the Baptist. And God feels in the bowels the pain of those who mourn over their loved ones murdered in Aurora Colorado last Friday.
Our God has felt the effects of “compassion fatigue.” But God’s compassion is infinite, without limit. It will never be withdrawn from those in pain and anger, even when directed at him. Later will come understanding about the tragedy in Aurora. But don’t reach for understanding too soon. For now, stay with the God who is staying with the grieving and feeling their pain in the bowels. Stay with this compassionate God who is as close to us as our breath. As our Presiding Bishop says, our God breathes with us, around us, and in us. Our God breathes with us in our pain. And when we reach the painful limit of our compassion, our God still sighs deep within us. When you reach that limit, do not feel shame in stepping back. Slow down your anxious and hurried breathing. Take the time for that Spirit to breathe more deeply through you, calming your anxious soul and giving you peace in letting it be.
But then, wet your finger and stick it up to feel the breath outside of you. Feel what direction that gentle breeze is whispering to you to go in, to what people in pain you are being called to go to. They may be people you know, or people you don’t know but will soon. And if, sometimes, that breath becomes a whirlwind, know that our Lord himself felt that wind, in a boat on the stormy sea, and trusted that he would land safely. We need not try to be as compassionate as Jesus. That way lies arrogance followed by despair. The Spirit that comes from Jesus and the Father can be compassionate for us.
But don’t underestimate what compassion you can feel in His Body and Blood. Don't underestimate what compassion Jesus can feel in you and you in him. Don't underestimate the compassion that Jesus can feel for you through others. Don't let “compassion fatigue” have the last word. Our Lord and Savior certainly didn’t.
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