I’ve been re-reading the story of Ruth in the Old Testament, and have been reacquainting myself with the power of compassion to change lives.
Most of us need compassion, but very few of us have ever really experienced it to the depths of our being. Instead of being received at our worst, we’ve received our worst wounds and deepest rejections in that place.
And we’ve done the same to others. Compassion, in other words, is a rare commodity in this life. It is not natural to fallen human beings.
What masquerades for compassion is enabling, where we help someone else to sin or erase the consequences of their sins so we can feel special and important and needed. We use their problem to validate ourselves and play the hero.
Then they become dependent on our rescuing as we become dependent on their praise and ongoing dependency on us. It’s crack cocaine for the ego.
But it’s not true compassion. Dependency and its twin, perpetual childhood, is not kindness. It’s a very cruel type of bondage–one that gets lots of applause.
What we see in Ruth is something different. We see a young woman who, at personal risk, goes into the field to gather up leftover grain. She’s taking responsibility and working hard. She’s caring for an aged mother-in-law. And she left everything behind to do it.
But all that would have been in vain had not a powerful local man, Boaz, noticed her and favored her with protection and provision.
Ruth keenly feels her status as a foreigner, an outsider, and an intruder. In that society, her people the Moabites were excluded from the civic life of Israel and were never permitted to marry into Israel. Children of that marriage were excluded for several generations.
All this was to protect God’s people from corruption, from being tempted to follow other gods. But it left Ruth in a very difficult position. She really was at the mercy of the locals.
Up stepped Boaz who favored her over and over again.
In such a place of lowliness and exclusion, the power of Boaz’s compassion was amplified.
She desperately needed food–and lots of it. All she could do was hope the reapers made mistakes so she could forage behind them. And once the barley and wheat harvests were over–there would be little else to eat.
She desperately needed protection–a young foreign woman, outside the clan system, could be raped with impunity in one of many isolated settings and there’d be nobody to rise up and avenge her. She really was on her own.
Boaz noticed Ruth’s deepest needs and freely gave out of his excess to provide both sustenance and security. And it deeply touched her and brought up that inevitable question, “Why are you doing this?”
We’re not used to be so undeservedly and freely loved. So we tend to ask, “What’s the catch?” With true compassion, there isn’t one. But the joy of bringing joy and peace to someone oppressed and afraid is huge.
Grace, in other words, is its own reward!
What do we need most when we are at our worst and incapable of meeting our own greatest of needs? It’s compassion. A compassion that empowers us with undeserved love to take risks again, to take responsibility again, and to trust again.
Compassion is the cure for rejection. It breaks the cycle of condemnation and punishment, freeing us to notice others with the same need we had and motivating us to meet it.
For some reason, we have a hard time believing God is a God of compassion. We see Him as a stern, unforgiving, remote and punishing Person.
Then, in the name of religion, we practice these ungracious things to one another and call it godliness. Church becomes the last place one goes to for compassion, instead of the first place.
Jesus enabled nobody, but He had compassion on everybody–even the nastiest of Pharisees. Therefore, we are not beyond the reach of God’s compassion nor are we beyond our utter need for it.
Our great task, each and every day, is to receive the compassion of Christ every single day where we need it most–and then spend the excess compassion on others.