Ruth said, “Do not press me to leave
you or turn back from following you! Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge,
I will lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God.” (Ruth 1.16)
The Compassion Principle
Not long ago I heard an illuminating talk about compassion.
The speaker began by breaking down the word’s Latin roots, pointing out that it
literally means, “shared suffering.” Then she said the best definition of
compassion she’d ever heard came from a Benedictine nun, who told her to be
compassionate is to walk beside people in trouble—actively
participating in their journey, meeting them where they are, and supporting
their efforts to move ahead. Thus, compassion is an intentional work of grace that collapses the distance and differences
between those in need and us. It is not sympathy, which attempts to provide
solace from a polite remove. Nor is it empathy, which professes to know and
understand another’s situation. Compassion surpasses feeling and transpires in
the doing. Our sorrow for others
means nothing if it stops short of investing our all to alleviate it. Without committing
to walk with them in their distress—to make their suffering our own—we’re
merely well-wishers, sympathetic viewers from the sidelines.
The more we study God’s Word, the more we mature in our
faith, the more convinced we are that compassion is the core Christian value. This belief is inherited from our Jewish
forebears, who filled Hebrew scripture with texts extolling compassion as one
of God’s defining traits. Numerous times the writers link God’s compassion with
divine faithfulness, as we see in Nehemiah 9.17: “You are a forgiving God,
gracious and compassionate, slow to anger and abounding in love. Therefore You
did not desert them.” Compassion becomes the central theme in Jesus’s message
as well, not only in His depiction of God, but also in the expectations He sets
for us. Most famously, Jesus marries compassion for others to love for God in
the Great Commandment, which we hear in Sunday’s Gospel: “You shall love the
Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your
mind, and with all your strength,” followed by, “You shall love your neighbor
as yourself.” (Mark 12.30-31) Then, in Galatians 6.2, Paul underscores
compassion’s centrality to our faith when he writes, “Bear one another’s
burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ.” Bearing the
burdens of others, sharing in their suffering, walking beside them, meeting
them in their need—we cannot misconstrue the compassion principle as a call for
kindness that keeps its distance. It is the law of Christ that places very
specific demands on our attitudes and behaviors toward one another. Compassion,
first and foremost, is an act of obedience.
Relentless
There’s a relentless aspect of compassion that we all too
often—and easily—overlook. Compassion is an act of faith we carry out by faith, ignoring conventional wisdom,
social mores and taboos, and political expediencies that would advise against
walking with others. We see the full extent of compassion in God’s unyielding
covenant to love and accept us despite our failures and deficits. But we also
observe its relentless nature in dozens of biblical characters who are moved to
bear the burdens of people around them. None of these examples is more vivid
than Ruth’s. Here is a woman dealing with extraordinary loss, whose future is
anything but certain, and who stands to lose everything she treasures if she
embraces another’s sufferings as her own. Yet that’s precisely what Ruth does.
She’s relentless in her compassion for Naomi, the mother of her recently
deceased husband, and commits herself—despite her mother-in-law’s protests—to
walk with Naomi, to bear her burdens, and to face life’s uncertainties
alongside her.
Ruth’s story is familiar to most of us. Yet we risk
undervaluing its gravity by underestimating its complexity. Sunday’s Old
Testament text (Ruth 1.1-18) introduces her saga with a detailed background
that brings Ruth’s dilemma into sharp focus. Ruth and Orpah are two Moabite
women who marry the sons of a Jewish couple who relocate to Moab after famine
descends on their home in Bethlehem. Despite ethnic, religious, and cultural
differences, both marriages prosper. Then the father-in-law dies, as do both
sons, leaving three widows with no viable means of support. With no blood
relatives to provide for her, Naomi has no choice but to return to her extended
family in Bethlehem. Going home is no guarantee she’ll be accepted. Her sons’
marriages to pagan women casts shadows over her and her return no doubt will
give rise to resentments about having to care for a woman who’s not contributed
to the family coffers for many years. Ruth and Orpah do have a way out, however. They can return to their
families and resume the lives they knew before marriage. It won’t be easy. They
too will confront prejudices and disdain for marrying outsiders. But they’ll
have a safe home and provisions to ensure they won’t starve.
Reluctantly, Orpah assents to Naomi’s wishes. Ruth refuses.
It’s inconceivable to her that Naomi should return to Bethlehem alone. So profound
is her compassion that she voluntarily
severs family, cultural, and religious ties to walk beside Naomi into a strange
world, to live among strangers who despise her, to adopt strange customs, to
speak a strange language, to worship a strange God. Ruth has absolutely nothing
to gain by bearing Naomi’s burdens. That’s why the compassion conveyed in her
resolve takes our breath away. “Do not press me to leave you or turn back from
following you!” she insists. “Where you go, I will go; Where you lodge, I will
lodge; your people shall be my people, and your God my God. Where you die, I
will die—there I will be buried. May the LORD do thus and so to me, and more as
well, if even death parts me from you.” (Ruth 1.16-17) There’s no pause to
consider what’s “appropriate” or “feasible.” There’s no lengthy hug, followed
by a tender fare-thee-well and reminders to “call if you need anything.” Ruth
doesn’t promise, “I’ll be there for you.” Ruth is there and refuses to be anywhere but there. Ruth is relentless.
Admonishments and Promises
Stripped of relentlessness, compassion is reduced to
sentiment—an affect that has little
effect in a harsh world. As believers who seek to reflect God’s nature in all
we do and followers of Christ compelled to honor Christ’s commands, we are wise
to take Ruth’s example to heart. And that begins by removing the filter of self
from our eyes. Especially for American Christians participating in our national
elections, this passage comes at a critical time. We cannot of good conscience
enter the voting booth alone. We must take those we walk beside with us—those
presently struggling with poverty, hunger, homelessness, violence, broken
families, and every other form of social neglect. Beyond what may be best for
us, we must consider what’s best for them and, if necessary, place their needs
above our wants. We must subvert conventional wisdom, social mores and taboos,
and political expediencies—many of them endorsed by religious leaders—to
demonstrate true compassion in all of its relentless glory.
In Psalm 112.1-5 we read, “Blessed are those who fear the
LORD, who find great delight in God’s commands. Their children will be mighty
in the land; the generation of the upright will be blessed. Wealth and riches
are in their houses, and their righteousness endures forever. Even in darkness
light dawns for the upright, for those who are gracious and compassionate and
righteous. Good will come to those who are generous and lend freely, who
conduct their affairs with justice.” (NIV) May we listen closely to these
admonishments and promises, and like Ruth, trust God above all else in our commitment
to walk beside those in need.
Compassion goes beyond
promising to be there. It is there and refuses to be anywhere but there,
walking beside those in need, bearing their burdens, and sharing in their
suffering.
