From Compassion to Hope-- His Heart

Today, I stayed a few extra minutes after class to help some girls, who were very worried about their upcoming book presentations, with their PowerPoints . . . But it was my last class of the week, and I was ready for the weekend!!

I made my way to Sprout’s to pick up some ingredients to make lunch. As I parked, I did a double-take at a boy standing outside the store. For a moment, he almost looked like he could have been my youngest brother. Around the same age and build, same coloring, and same East county clothes. But he wasn’t.

I parked my car and began walking quickly into the store, imagining all the things I would buy . . . fresh fruits and vegetables, some fish, and some pasta, bread, cheese, and meats, some yogurt, and almond milk, and eggs . . . I was starving!!

At the entrance, the very same boy, took a step as he spoke up: “Do you have any change so I can get something to eat?” . . . I’ve visited some fairly poor countries, where there was poverty that made me cry . . . and also some fakers that took advantage of American pity. I’ve heard my Russian students exclaim that Americans don’t know what homelessness is. I’ve heard the arguments of enabling bad behavior, and supporting junkies and laziness. . . So, in many cases, I walk right past those who ask for money . . .

But I looked in his eyes. They were my brother’s eyes. Bright, blue, piercing, and partially squinted, from over-exposure to sun . . . or, from my guess today, a sense of shame.

I had come bouncing up to the store’s entrance, still energized from my often-hilarious class, and also looking forward to a fun rest of my day. Wearing a black skirt and nylons, Macy’s shoes, and a bright turtleneck sweater, I felt professional and a part of the producing society. I wasn’t thinking of how to save money in the store, but rather of what might satisfy my appetite and of what I would cook!!

I looked at his tattered shorts and old jacket. I noticed scabs all over his body, and a slight shake when he moved. He wasn’t begging and he wasn’t pushing . . . I don’t think his eyes really wanted to meet mine. But they did. My heart overwhelmed. “Where do you want to eat?” I asked. He spoke up with a type of quickness and politeness that seemed to imply he was talking to someone above him: “Um, Mexican, or anything, would be fine.”

We walked to a nearby café and his story came out. His dad was in jail again, so he was on the streets. “But only for four more months,” he assured me. I could sense his pride in his father and a sense of anticipation when they would be reunited. He was living in a tent near a river I knew was known for drug activity.

 “And, your mom?” I probed. “Oh, she’s in a mental institution on the East coast . . . I don’t talk with her.” “I see,” I said, without expression. But my heart sank.

After he ordered his carne asada burrito, asking to substitute guacamole for salsa, we talked about churches he had visited. I wanted, that moment, to ask him to move into our house. I felt deeply for him.

My compassion and pity can be aroused, but I would say it’s my mom who has the gift of mercy. She ends up being the hands and feet of Christ to the most crazy (literally), needy people. She would have welcomed him with open arms, I’m sure.

But I didn’t. I didn’t even ask his name. Or tell him I would pray for him. I didn’t say a blessing, or that God loves him. I had nothing to give him. I had simply said: “I wish you the best,” when I left him to eat his burrito.

The best??

Could I imagine anything good happening to him? With his family background and addictions, was it likely that he’d ever go to school, or get a job, let alone be a creative, productive, inspiring contribution to society? Was it possible that the light of Christ could transform him and his mind, to a place where he could get out of what seemed a hopeless situation?

If I were honest, I didn’t have much hope for him at all. I couldn’t really imagine the breaking of deep generational bondages. Of compulsions. Of a stuck lifestyle, trying to survive the day.

I had a sense of pity, of compassion, for sure . . . but not a sense of hope. I deeply want to be a better person.

Spiritually, I seek growing in knowledge and in love. Mentally, I actually intentionally surround myself with things that are beautiful and challenging. I read old books, and listen to classical music, practice instruments and languages, and go to places of beautiful nature or stunning art. I enjoy people that inspire and encourage me to see outside of myself, to think, and to grow.

If I’m honest, I often choose to be around someone whose conversation sparks, who has thought-out ideas and ingenuity, who is competent and involved in making the world a better place . . . rather than with someone who isn’t.

At times, I’ve even considered it mentally and spiritually healthy to be around people that actively pursue growth . . . thinking that those who don’t may somehow bring me down.

But, I don’t know if this is the mind of Christ, or the heart of God. Certainly, growth and inspiration is good! And sanctification is God’s desire for my life!

But today my heart was broken. What about the people who are too broken to better themselves? What about the people who don’t know to look for something better?

Perhaps it is none of my business. Perhaps, this is again where I must let go of a Messiah-complex—trying to fix the world . . . taking responsibility for what Jesus alone can do.

But a part of my conscience pricks. Maybe not all the time. But can I . . . sometimes . . . choose to go to that dirty house, of that woman on welfare with all the cats, whose mind is in a fantasy from watching too many TV dramas, whose heart is closed because of past sins she’ll never admit to . . . can I sit on her flee-infested couch, and hear her cranky voice talk about an estranged daughter . . . and can I have hope for her?

Not just pity, or compassion. But hope. Hope, that change is possible. That bondages can break.

Do I believe the Gospel that much? I do!! There have been some things in my background, and a specific low in my life, that put me in a place where I had nothing to offer anyone, a time where I was barely able to hope for anything.

 But THIS is the Gospel. That there is hope, when there seems to be no hope.

 Jesus, Himself, left the pure beauty and delight of relationship with God the Father to come sit among hopeless men. But HE had hope. He, Himself IS the hope!

 “The Spirit of the Lord is upon Me, Because He has anointed Me To preach the gospel to the poor; He has sent Me to heal the brokenhearted, To proclaim liberty to the captives And recovery of sight to the blind, To set at liberty those who are oppressed” (Luke 4: 18)

Jesus, give me the mind of Christ. Let me understand Your heart for the nations, for the weak, the blind, the brokenhearted, the obsessed, the addicted, the captives, the sinners, the ugly, the stuck.

May I never grow a cold heart. May I always remember what You have done, and know the power of the Gospel and hope it for others!!! May I have the heart of Jesus Himself!