Christ-like compassion
Matthew 14.13-21
So, today (August 2nd) we return to church. And how do you feel about that? Excited, nervous, sad, anxious, intrigued, cautious? I can imagine all kinds of emotions will be experienced in our church buildings and at home as people prepare to come – or to stay away. This has been – and still is - the most extraordinary time in my life and, I guess, in most of yours, unless you have lived through war. We will each have our stories to tell about 2020 and, in our churches, we must find ways of telling those stories, speaking and being heard. Contact me with any ideas you may have of how we might listen to one another – the more creative the better!
Our reading from Matthew suggests that Jesus experienced a range of emotions. Bereavement, which some of us have suffered in recent months, comes accompanied with a raft full of feelings. Sadness is mixed with anger, apathy can swing into furious action, happy memories can be enjoyed whilst guilty feelings are endured. Here, Jesus has just lost his cousin, his colleague in ministry – we can imagine they were friends, affection softening their different approaches to ministry. John had made way for Jesus – but now his death foreshadows the violence that Jesus, too, will suffer.
Unless we imagine Jesus to be less than human, or some kind of super-human with no emotions to faze him, we might think that he will have some work to do, to process this loss, this death. And so it seems, from Matthew’s account. The news of John’s death causes Jesus to withdraw – “to a deserted place”, Matthew emphasises, “by himself”. His desire for down-time could not be more evident. To the caring professions, our key workers, we have been saying during this time, “look after yourselves”, make sure you don’t get so depleted that you can no longer function. An exhausted doctor is no use to the patients she tries to help; nurses struggling with depression will not be as effective as they could be, they need support themselves. Self-care and looking out for our colleagues and family members at this time is really important. It continues to be, because many of us are exhausted. Grief and trauma do that to people.
But like a busy frontline worker, delivering essential supplies to hospitals and supermarkets, Jesus finds that he cannot get away from work. The crowds follow him, the Palestinian paparazzi in tow, facebook accounts at the ready – or the equivalent gossip mongers. And he is furious! It’s my day off, my cousin has just died, I’m overworked and definitely underpaid.
Matthew, of course, does not say that. He says that Jesus saw the great crowd, “and he had compassion for them and cured their sick.”
Somehow, Jesus finds the resources within himself to really care. This is not professional ministry, but God’s love in action. This is the touchstone to which we must all return – the compassion of Christ – to test our own motivations. This is not ‘ought’ and ‘should’ pastoral care, but inspired, loving, compassionate care. This is not activity for the sake of it, even if it appears to be provoked by the demands of others, the great crowd, the pressing need. Somehow, Jesus offers his care because he feels it, because he wants to do it, and because, despite all the evidence to the contrary, he has the resources to do it.
Sometimes, many times, we can’t be like Jesus. We won’t feel his depth of compassion, we won’t have his energy and we certainly don’t have his divine spark. And at those times, we need to stop trying to be Jesus, to stop mimicking him, and we need to start receiving from Jesus. We are in the crowd, we are the ones pursuing him, we are maybe the confused disciples alongside him, and we need him. We need his compassion, his care, his healing for us and for our friends, his touch. We need Jesus.
Later, maybe, we will find that the compassion we have received from Christ, the comfort with which we have been comforted, will overflow to others. We will be called to ministry and to pastoral care. We will even feel compassionate and be motivated to love. But all of that will come, not in our own strength and because a preacher has told us that we must be like Jesus, but because we have been ministered to by Jesus and now have the resources within us to care. One of the abiding fears that people have about electric cars is that they will just run out; they need recharging. So do we, or we will run out of energy too.
I wonder how you have been topping up during lockdown, if you have? Online church has opened up huge resources for us – we don’t have to stick with our own church minister, we can trawl the net and find all kinds of encouraging words and the worship we prefer. Maybe you have also had more time to read, to reflect, to dig deep into the riches of our faith. Or perhaps for you the re-opening of churches is your opportunity to plug in again, to be refreshed and resourced, to renew your vision for what God is calling you to do. There is no right answer to any of this – but it is good to reflect on what the reality has been of our lockdown experience. My diesel engine car went 3 months on one tank of fuel, but now needs refuelling more often again. Are you looking at your fuel gauge and do you know what you need in the days ahead?
Jesus invited his friends, his disciples, to engage in ministry. He asked them to reflect on the resources that they had – “you give them something”, he said, when they noticed how hungry the people were. The disciples seemed to be scared – they wanted people to leave before the crowd turned into a hungry mob. Easing lockdown means that we have to look at our communities in a new way. Fear may drive us to keep people out, and necessity has led some churches to take up a ticketing system. But what about the hungry people in our communities, where is our compassion for them? What does Jesus feel about them?
Like the disciples, we may feel that we have nothing to offer, just a few loaves and a couple of fish, completely inadequate for the task ahead. The good thing is, that drives us back to Jesus. When we feel strong, capable, well-resourced and visionary, we may forget to bring the little we have to him. “Bring them here to me,” Jesus says. Bring everything you have got – your talents, your skills, your time, your money, your love, your commitment – and give them to Jesus, as an offering. You may not think it’s much, but…
You know the story. That picnic lunch just went on and on and on. Jesus’s blessing caused a miracle and there was more than enough for everyone – the twelve baskets that were left over were far more themselves than the original bread and fish. And 5000 men, along with women and children, were fed.
You know the story. But do you live the story? As we re-enter church, our resources are low, our spirits depressed, our energy depleted. We have nothing here. But if we turn to Jesus and offer him the little that’s left, who knows what miraculous feeding might take place? Our responsibility is not to feed thousands of people, but the two, three, four whom Jesus shows us this week. And our compassion for the few will lead to a blessing of the many, in Jesus’ name.
Amen.