176 Sermon Illustrations on Compassion

If I knew you and you knew me-- If both of us could clearly see, And with an inner sight divine The meaning of your heart and mine, I’m sure that we would differ less And clasp our hands in friendliness; Our thoughts would pleasantly agree If I knew you and you knew me.

--NIXON WALTERMAN, _Epworth Herald_.

Immigrants generally excel, because they know they can only gain.

Wayne Elpus and story of his immigrant grandfather.

They were dirt-poor and coming from Poland. Grandpa knew only one English phrase - "Help us." When the government official on Ellis Island asked for his name, grandpa responded, "Help us." The official wrote down Elpus, and that's what it's been ever since. Grandpa never even told the family what their real name was. He never looked back.

Poor Brooklyn preacher does funeral for AIDS victim. 25-30 homosexuals watched frozenly. Gave generic sermon, went to graveside. No one spoke. When he was done they didn't move. He turned to ask if there was anything further he could do for them, and one asked him to read the 23rd Psalm. A second asked for Romans 8. 'When I read to those men that nothing could separate them from the love of God, I saw some signs of emotion on their faces for the first time. Then, one after the other, they made special requests for me to read favorite passages of Scripture. I stood there for an hour reading Scripture to those homosexual men before we went to our cars.'

Homosexuals feel Christians despise them. But we must love neighbors. They need justice and non-discrimination.

Orientation must be distinguished from behavior. God does not expect them to be converted into heterosexuals. Not all prayers are answered. Tension led one Christian gay to commit suicide.

Homosexual orientation is inborn, not acquired. Biological factors cause it. Horomones may be a key. Most homosexuals do not choose it. Condition is due to fallen condition of Nature.

Romans 1 is not against "unnatural gays" but against all gay behavior. 1 Cor 6:9 and 1 Tim 1:10 may be against pedastery. Much preaching against homosexuality is due to homophobia and twists Scripture.

Covenants of love are possible among Christian homosexuals as long as there is no sex. It is not the same as marriage. Communities with this commitment are also possible. Cure for their loneliness.

The gospel is good news for homosexuals.

(Bibliography)

In-depth presentation on animal rights and experimentation. Benefits and costs outlined. Militant Fran Stephanie Trutt planted a radio-controlled pipe bomb near the Untied States Surgical Corp. Chairman's parking place. The Animal Liberation Front is a militant group.

Examples of abuse of animals: baby monkeys were stabbed by mechanical mothers and killed by psychotic real ones, to study human child abuse. Benefits: smallpox and polio vaccines. Jane McCabe (p55) argues for research because her 9 year old daughter Clair has cystic fibrosis.

"What is the relevant difference between a human subject and an animal subject? ... [A] possible answer is that we humans enjoy certain God-given prerogatives. We are, after all, the only creatures the Bible says were made in God's image. 'Most Judeo-Christian religions make distinctions about the special nature of man,' says Frederick Goodwin, director of the Alcohol, Drug Abuse and Mental Health Administration. 'To me, that is a distinct, qualitative difference between our primate relatives and man.' It may be a difference, but it's not an empirical, observable one. It has to be taken on faith."

[Above verses speak of compassion toward animals, and man's superiority over them.]

Beidler served in Vietnam and was able to work in a small mission church in Saigon. He grew to love the people and led several of them to the Lord.

What the Bible teaches about children. They teach us about humanity.

Christian love is not just duty but compassion and affection. Children make

good spiritual teachers.

#1103

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When Edgar Guest, the American poet and writer, was a young man, his first child died. Writes Guest:

"There came a tragic night when our first baby was taken from us. I was lonely and defeated. There didn’t seen to be anything in life ahead of me that mattered very much.

"I had to go to my neighbor’s drugstore the next morning for something, and he motioned for me to step behind the counter with him. I followed him into his little office at the back of the store. He put both hands on my shoulders and said, ‘Eddie, I can’t really express what I want to say, the sympathy I have in my heart for you. All I can say is that I’m sorry, and I want you to know that if you need anything at all, come to me. What is mine is yours.'"

Years later Guest reminisced upon that incident. He said, "Just a neighbor across the way - a passing acquaintance. Jim Potter (the druggist) may long since have forgotten that moment when he gave me his hand and his sympathy, but I shall never forget it - never in all my life. To me it stands out like the silhouette of a lonely tree against a crimson sunset."

When we show others compassion, it will never be forgotten.

#1925

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Rev. Brett Blair adds this conclusion:

I have wondered how it is that I want people to remember me when I come to end of my life's journey.

[name some accomplishments followed by] But I really don't care if someone remembers me for that. I really don't.

I do hope that people are able to say of me at the end of my life's pilgrimage: When we were sick he came to us; when we needed help, he was there; when I was down, he lifted me up. In short, I hope that my ministry is remembered for simple acts of kindness. For if that is the case, then my life would have been worth it and I might have come close to fulfilling the greatest commandment in life: Love God and love your neighbor. And I might hear Christ say, "You are not far from the Kingdom of God."

*

Your ability to be bothered shows your faith.

Speaker at Christian conference: If you had an urgent need at 2:00 am, do you know someone in your church who would help you? Not one person raised their hand!

I mentioned it to Celeste, and we both agreed there are people in this church we could go to. More than a few. But we would call them in a certain order!

#2645

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America had successful anti-poverty programs a century ago — successful because they embodied personal, material, and spiritual involvement and challenge.

This vital story has generally been ignored by liberal historians, but the documented history goes like this: During the nineteenth century, a successful war on poverty was waged by tens of thousands of local, private charitable agencies and religious groups around the country. The platoons of the greatest charity army in American history often were small. They were made up of volunteers led by poorly paid but deeply dedicated professional managers. And they were highly effective.

Thousands of eyewitness accounts and journalistic assessments show that poverty fighters of the nineteenth century did not abolish poverty, but they enabled millions of people to escape it. They saw springs of fresh water flowing among the poor, not just blocks of ice sitting in a perpetual winter of multi-generational welfare dependency. And the optimism prevalent then contrasts sharply with the demoralization among the poor and the cynicism among the better-off that is so common now.

What was their secret? It was not neglect. It was their understanding of the literal and biblical meaning of compassion, which comes from two Latin words — “com,” which means “with,” and “pati,” which means “to suffer.” The word points to personal involvement with the needy, suffering with them, not just giving to them. “Suffering with” means adopting hard-to-place babies, providing shelter to women undergoing crisis pregnancies, becoming a big brother to a fatherless child, working one-on-one with a young single mother. It is not easy — but it works.

Jayne Fisher watched anxiously as her 17-year-old daughter Katie pulled her unruly lamb into the arena of the Madison County Junior Livestock sale. With luck, Katie wouldn’t collapse, as she had during a livestock show the day before.

Katie was battling cancer. This was her first chance in months to be outdoors having fun, away from hospitals and chemotherapy treatments, and she had come with high hopes for earning some sizable spending money. She had wavered a little on her decision to part with the lamb, but with lamb averaging two dollars a pound, Katie was looking forward to a lot more than pin money. So she centered the lamb for viewing, and the bidding began.

That’s when Roger Wilson, the auctioneer, had a sudden inspiration that brought some unexpected results. “We sort of let folks know that Katie had a situation that wasn’t too pleasant,” is how he tells it. He hoped that his introduction would push the bidding up, at least a little bit.

Well, the lamb sold for $11.50 a pound, but things didn’t stop there. The buyer paid up, then decided to give the lamb back so that it could be sold again.

That started a chain reaction, with families buying the animal and giving it back, over and over again. When local businesses started buying and returning, the earnings really began to pile up. The first sale is the only one Katie’s mom remembers. After that, she was crying too hard as the crowd kept shouting, “Resell! Resell!”

Katie’s lamb was sold 36 times that day, and the last buyer gave it back for good. Katie ended up with more than $16,000 for a fund to pay her medical expenses - and she still got to keep her famous lamb.

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By Rita Price, from A 4th Course of Chicken Soup for the Soul, Copyright 1997 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Hanoch McCarty & Meladee McCarty

In the winter of 1988, nuns of the Missionaries of Charity, an order led by Nobel laureate Mother Teresa, were walking through the snow in the South Bronx in their saris and sandals to look for an abandoned building that they might convert into a homeless shelter. They came to 2 fire-gutted buildings on 148th Street and, finding a Madonna among the rubble thought that perhaps Providence itself had ordained the mission. New York City offered the abandoned buildings at one dollar each, and the Missionaries of Charity raised $500,000 for the reconstruction. For a year and a half, the nuns traveled from hearing room to hearing room, presenting the details of the project to city government officials. Finally, in the fall of 1989, the project won approval.

Providence, however, was no match for the law. After they had begun reconstruction, the nuns were informed that the building code required an elevator in every new or renovated multiple-story building. It would add $100,000 to the cost, and the law could not be waived even if an elevator didn't make sense. Mother Teresa and the nuns gave up. They didn't devote that much extra money to something that wouldn't really help the poor.

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Version in Rev. Brett Blair's "Illustrations by e-mail," September 26, 1999:

In the winter of 1988, nuns of the Missionaries of Charity were walking through the snow in the South Bronx in their Saris and sandals looking for an abandoned building that they might convert into a homeless shelter. Mother Teresa, the Nobel Prize winner and head of the order, had agreed on a plan with Mayor Ed Koch after visiting him in the hospital several years earlier. The nuns found two fire-gutted buildings on 148th Street, and the city of New York offered the buildings to the mission at one dollar each. The Missionaries of Charity set aside 500,000 for reconstruction. The plan was to create a facility that would provide temporary care for sixty-four homeless men. The buildings would provide a communal setting that included a dining room and kitchen on the first floor, a lounge on the second floor, and small dormitory rooms on the third and fourth floors. The members of the order, in addition to taking a vow of poverty, avoid the routine use of modern conveniences. As a result, the facility would have no dishwashers or other appliances, and laundry would be done by hand. For New York City, the proposed facility was a godsend. Then Mother Teresa's Missionaries of charity encountered the bureaucracy of New York City, For a year and a half, the nuns, wanting only to live lives of service, found themselves traveling from hearing room to hearing room, presenting the details of the project. In September 1989, the city finally approved the plan and the Missionaries of Charity began repairing the fire-damaged buildings.

Then, after almost two years, the nuns were told that according to New York's building code every new or renovated multistory building must have an elevator. The Missionaries of Charity explained that because of their beliefs they would never use the elevator, which would also add $100,000 to the cost of the project. The nuns were told that the law could not be waived even if the elevator would not be used.

Mother Teresa gave up. She did not want to devote that extra money to something that would not really help the poor. According to the representative, "The Sisters felt they could use the money much more usefully for soup and sandwiches." In a polite letter to the city expressing their regrets, the Missionaries of Charity noted that the episode "served to educate us about the law and its many complexities."

As Philip K. Howard observes, no one decided to spite Mother Teresa. It was just the law. Yet he argues that the story of the Missionaries of Charity in New York reflects how rules can replace thinking. The result? What Howard calls "the death of common sense."

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Philip K. Howard, The Death of Common Sense: How Law is Suffocating America, New York: Random House, 1994, 3-4. Adapted by James Emery White, Rethinking The Church, Baker Books, Grand Rapids: Baker, 1997, 92-93.

[see also #3089]

#4107

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"Little Annie" was hopelessly insane. As a young girl she was kept in a cage on the lowest level of a Boston asylum. The doctors saw no hope for her, so she was confined to a damp, dark basement. Here she lived in a world with little light and even less hope. "Little Annie" was like an unpredictable animal. At times, she would violently attack anyone who came near her. At other moments, she existed in a fugue state and was seemingly unaware of anyone's presence.

Into this dark dungeon of "Little Annie's" world came an elderly nurse. The nurse had a special compassion for this hopeless cause, and she began to eat her lunch just outside of Annie's cage. The child gave no indication that she even noticed the woman. One day, the nurse left some brownies just outside of "Little Annie's" cage. The girl didn't seem to care. The nurse left them for the girl anyway, and on her return, the brownies were gone. This became a regular appointment for these two women. Each week the nurse brought brownies for "Little Annie."

They began to eat lunch together, and the hopeless cause began to talk to the nurse. The doctors began to notice a change in the young girl, and soon she was moved to the main floor. She began to show great improvement, and after several years of treatment it was felt that she was well enough to return to her home. But this hopeless cause decided to stay at the asylum and help others who were without hope, as she had been. It was "Little Annie" who grew up to give help to Helen Keller and others like her. "Little Annie" was Anne Sullivan, the miracle worker.

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Another version by Roddy Chestnut:

A number of years ago, in a mental institution just outside Boston, Massachusetts, a young girl known as "Little Annie" was locked in the dungeon. This institution was one of the more enlightened ones for the treatment of the mentally disturbed. However, the doctors felt that a dungeon was the only place for those who were "hopelessly" insane. In Little Annie's case, they saw no hope for her, so she was confined to a living death in that small cage which received little light and even less hope.

About that time, an elderly nurse in the institution was nearing retirement. She felt there was hope for all of God's creatures, so she started taking her lunch into the dungeon and eating outside Little Annie's cage. She felt perhaps she could communicate some love and hope to that small girl.

In many ways, Little Annie was like an animal. On occasion, she would violently attack the person who came into her cage. At other times, she would completely ignore them. When the elderly nurse brought some brownies when she made her Thursday visit. Soon, the doctors in the institution noticed a change was taking place. After a period of time, they decided to move Little Annie upstairs. Finally, the day came when this "hopeless case" was told she could return home. But Little Annie did not wish to leave. The place had meant so much to her she felt she could make a contribution if she stayed and worked with the other patients. The elderly nurse had seen and brought out so much in her life that Little Annie felt she could see and help develop something in others.

Many years later, Queen Victoria of England, while pinning England's highest award on a foreigner, asked Helen Keller, "How do you account for your remarkable accomplishments in life? How do you explain the fact that even though you were both blind and deaf, you were able to accomplish so much?" Without a moment's hesitation, Helen Keller said that had it not been for Ann Sullivan (Little Annie), the name of Helen Keller would have been unknown.

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See also HolwickID #64615

An extended story from the National Storytelling Festival that applies to Matthew 25:

At the beginning of the sixteenth century, the Jews were expelled from Spain. Many went to France, Germany, Greece, and some went to the Holy Land. Among them was Jacoby, a shoemaker by trade.

Jacoby was a kind man; but most of all, Jacoby was a devout man. He went to the synagogue every Sabbath and listened to what the rabbi was saying, even though Jacoby spoke Spanish and the rabbi spoke Hebrew.

One Sabbath, the rabbi mentioned in his sermon how at one time twelve loaves of bread were offered to God. Jacoby heard and understood the words bread and God, and he got excited. He ran home and said to his wife, “Esperanza! Guess what? God eats bread! And you are the best baker in the whole country! This week make your best bread, and I’ll bring it to God.”

That week Esperanza kneaded in the best ingredients and braided the dough with such love. Jacoby later took twelve loaves of bread to the synagogue.

“Senor Dios,” Jacoby said to God. “I’ve got your bread. You will love it. My wife, Esperanza, she’s a wonderful baker! You’ll eat every crumb!” Then Jacoby took the bread and put it into the holy ark.

No sooner did Jacoby leave than in came the shammes, the man who cleans up the synagogue. “Lord, you know I want to be here in this holy place; that’s all I want to do. But for seven weeks now I haven’t been paid. Lord, I need for you to make me a miracle. I believe you’re going to; maybe you have done it already. Maybe I’ll open the holy ark, and there will be my miracle.”

He walked to the ark and opened it, and there was his miracle. Twelve loaves of bread! Enough for the whole week.

The next day, Jacoby and Esperanza opened the ark and saw the bread was gone. A look of joy passed between them.

The next week it was the same. And the week after. This went on for months. The shammes learned to have faith in God, but if he hung around the synagogue, or came too early, there was no miracle.

And so thirty years went by.

Now an old man, Jacoby came one day to the synagogue with his loaves of bread. “Senor Dios,” he prayed, “I know your bread’s been lumpy lately. Esperanza’s arthritis — maybe you could do something? You’ll eat better!”

He put the bread in the ark and started to leave when suddenly the rabbi grabbed him. “What are you doing?” the rabbi demanded.

“I’m bringing God his bread,” Jacoby replied.

“God doesn’t eat bread!” said the rabbi.

Jacoby said, “He’s been eating Esperanza’s bread for thirty years.”

Then the two men heard a noise, and they hid.

No sooner did they hide, than in came the shammes. “I hate to bring it up, Lord, but you know your bread’s been lumpy lately. Maybe you could talk to an angel.”

When the shammes reached into the ark for the loaf of bread, the rabbi jumped out and grabbed him.

The rabbi angrily told the two men that what they were doing was sinful, going on and on, and all three men began to cry. Jacoby cried because he only wanted to do good. The rabbi because all this happened because of his sermon thirty years ago. And the shammes because he realized there would be no more bread.

Suddenly they heard laughter from the corner. They turned and saw the great mystic, Rabbi Isaac. Shaking his head and laughing, Rabbi Isaac said, “No, Rabbi, these men, they were not sinful. These men are devout! God has never had more pleasure than watching what goes on in your synagogue. On the Sabbath, he sits with his angels, and they laugh, watching this man bring the bread and the other man take the bread, while God gets all the credit! You must beg forgiveness of these men, Rabbi.”

Rabbi Isaac looked at Jacoby and said, “Jacoby, you must do something even more difficult. You must now bring your bread directly to the shammes and when you do, you must believe with perfect faith that it is the same as giving it to God.”

At this point of the story, I paused and then repeated the last sentence, “You must now bring your bread directly to the shammed and when you do, you must believe with perfect faith that it is the same as giving it to God.”

I concluded: “This sounds a lot like the words of another Rabbi who lived many years earlier: ‘Whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me’ (Matt. 25:40).”

Several weeks after that sermon, a church member told me she now takes an extra lunch to work each day and gives it to a homeless person in the park.

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[see #3965 for originating article on preaching with stories.]

The gospel writers paint their portraits of Jesus using a kaleidoscope of brilliant “emotional” colors. Jesus felt COMPASSION; he was ANGRY, INDIGNANT, and CONSUMED WITH ZEAL; he was TROUBLED, GREATLY DISTRESSED, VERY SORROWFUL, DEPRESSED, DEEPLY MOVED, and GRIEVED; he SIGHED; he WEPT and SOBBED; he GROANED; he was IN AGONY; he was SURPRISED and AMAZED; he REJOICED VERY GREATLY and was FULL OF JOY; he GREATLY DESIRED, and he LOVED.

In our quest to be like Jesus we often overlook his emotions. Jesus reveals what it means to be fully human and made in the image of God. His emotions reflect the image of God without any deficiency or distortion. When we compare our own emotional lives to his, we become aware of our need for a transformation of our emotions so that we can be fully human, as he is.

Paul tells the Corinthians that as Christians gaze upon the glory of the Lord, “with unveiled faces,” we “are being transformed into his likeness with ever-increasing glory” (2 Cor. 3:18, NIV). The apostle is suggesting that looking intently on the Lord will bring about a metamorphosis into Christ’s image by the Spirit. Paul illustrated this kind of transformation in his own life when he told the Philippian Christians, “I long for you with the compassion of Christ” (Phil. 1:8). Paul embodied the emotions of Jesus.

Many theologians throughout history have argued strongly that God is not moved by emotions. This doctrine of the impassibility of God, developed by early Christian apologists such as Justin Martyr, sought to distinguish the God of the Bible from pagan gods whose passions led them into all kinds of scandalous behavior. It is not surprising that Christians responded to the myths of Zeus’s rapes and arbitrary vengeance with an absolute statement of divine impassibility. What they meant to emphasize was that God does not have mad, shameful passions like the gods of pagan mythology.

The question “What is God really like?” is answered during an exchange between Jesus and his disciple Philip. “Show us the Father,” Philip said. Jesus responded, “He who has seen me has seen the Father.” Not only do the emotions of Jesus reflect an essential component of the image of God, his emotions also reveal the NATURE of God. On the basis of our belief that the written Word and the Living Word give us a trustworthy revelation of God, we know that God is emotional.

If we are the body of Christ, created and redeemed to represent Jesus in our world, then we, like Paul, need to “gaze upon him” and learn to experience the emotions of Jesus. Then we can know him, and in knowing him know God, and know ourselves as we were created to be.

COMPASSION

The Gospels tell us that Jesus “felt COMPASSION.” The Greek word for “compassion” speaks literally of a sensation in the guts, but was used to speak metaphorically of an emotional sensation -- just as we speak of “heart- breaking,” “head-spinning,” or “gut-wrenching” feelings today.

For whom did Jesus feel compassion? For people in need: a leper (Mark 1:40- 41), a widow by the coffin of her only son (Luke 7:13), and two blind men (Matt. 20:34). He also felt compassion when he saw crowds starving for bread (Mark 8:2). His compassion was stirred by physical and spiritual needs. His heart broke when he saw people who were distressed and downcast, like sheep without a shepherd (Matt. 9:36).

Once, when I was living in the Philippines, one of my great mentors -- Phil Armstrong -- and I were watching small children scavenging for food on mountains of smoking garbage outside of Manila. The nauseating stench turned my stomach. When a little boy struggled to turn over a rotting dog to find something under it, Phil’s body convulsed with sobs. “O God! O God! Please, God, save these children!” Whenever I read of Jesus’ compassion for the crowds of starving people, I hear Phil’s heart-rending cry. His compassion ignited and fueled the mission movement he led, just as Jesus’ fueled his mission.

Jesus’ empathy flowed out from his intimacy with the Father. It was after a time of withdrawal to a lonely place by himself for prayer that Jesus saw the leper and felt compassion (Mark 1:35-42). It was when he was in a lonely place by himself that crowds of people came to him and he felt compassion for them (Matt. 14:13-14).

In times alone with God, Jesus gained emotional receptivity and energy. Out of these times, his vision was clear, his words were empowered, and his touch cured. He created bread, restored sight to the blind, cleansed a leper, and raised a widow’s dead son. His compassion was translated from feelings to actions. His empathy was the effective power behind them.

ANGER

Compassion moved Jesus not only to heal, but also to ANGER. In a dramatic scene, Mark portrays Jesus “looking around with anger” at religious leaders (3:5). They were concerned only to see if Jesus would break their rules by healing a man on the Sabbath. When Jesus did, they immediately plotted to kill him. But though Jesus was angry with these religious rulers, he was also “grieved by their hardness of heart.” While the cruelty of their callousness deserved his anger, the condition of their stony hearts caused him grief.

Aristotle saw clearly that “anyone can become angry -- that is easy. But to be angry with the right person, to the right degree, at the right time, for the right purpose, and in the right way -- that is not easy.” That is the challenge before us.

I look back with regret at most of my angry outbursts. But I do not regret an incident at the neighborhood pool when I was ten years old. Some teenagers were tormenting my brother Kenny, who had Down syndrome. I went ballistic -- screaming, scratching, gouging, biting. When the lifeguard pulled me off them, he told me to say I was sorry. I refused to apologize for defending my powerless brother against the “powerful” bullies. But only now is my anger mixed with grief over those who were so stunted emotionally that they were insensitive to the needs of precious people like my brother.

Jesus felt “indignant” (Mark 10:14) when his disciples did not allow mothers to bring their children to him for his blessing. The disciples’ self- importance irritated Jesus. Jesus slapped them with stinging rebukes: “Let the children come to me; stop preventing them.” Jesus then hugged the children, blessed them, and laid his hands on them (10:16). Jesus’ feeling of annoyance with the disciples quickly gave way to an outpouring of warm affection for the children.

In another instance, crass commercialism in the temple inflamed the zealous anger of Jesus and moved him to a violent action. The words of the prophet were like fire in his bones: “My house shall be called a house of prayer for all nations” (Mark 11:17, quoting Isa. 56:7). ...Though the terrified merchants running from the crack of his whip saw only the destruction of business as usual, Jesus’ anger was motivated by “zeal for your house” (John 2:17, quoting Ps. 69:9).

Recently in our town there was a discussion about building a shelter for hundreds of homeless women and children. A friend of mine said that selfish pursuits were blinding people to this desperate need. She was upset, as Jesus was, that needy people were not being given the opportunity to find and worship God. ... In both cases the origin of anger was meeting the needs of others, and the aim of anger was constructive.

Our anger is often sparked by a threat to our own self-interests and usually results in bitter hostility. We need to heed Paul’s warning: “Be angry, but do not sin; do not let the sun go down on your anger, and give no opportunity to the devil” (Eph. 4:26-27). The temple-cleansing story is too often used to justify incivility and unforgiving animosity.Paul knew of our propensity to legitimize our self-centeredness, and so his words on anger are full of warning. Anger is fire. When it burns destructively, it harms and destroys life. But the anger of Jesus kindles a flame within us that warms and restores life.

GRIEF

Take a moment and reread the story we call Jesus’ “triumphal entry” (Luke 19:41-44). In Roman tradition, a triumphal procession showcased a victorious general riding in a gold-covered chariot pulled by white chargers. His army marched in resplendent array behind him. Wagons loaded with spoils and slaves attested to his power.

But Jesus rode on the colt of a donkey. A motley parade of peasants and children cheered him on his way as their long-awaited king. And the emotion that best describes Jesus’ state as he rode was GRIEF.

Jesus predicted the destruction of Jerusalem as he rode down the Mount of Olives into the city. His words describing the impending catastrophe were hyphenated by sobs. He wept, he wailed with grief over the coming desolation of Jerusalem.

Jesus also wept at the tomb of Lazarus. Witnesses said, “See how he loved him” (John 11:36). When Jesus saw Mary weeping, “he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved” (11:33). When he stepped near to the tomb of his friend, “again he was greatly DISTURBED” (11:38). When the word “disturbed” was used for animal sounds, it denoted the loud, angry snorting of horses. When used for human emotions, it emphasized the mixture of anguish and rage. Jesus wept. His groans welled up from the depths of his spirit, racked his body, shook the tombs, and echoed back from them. He raged against death, that terrible enemy that had attacked this, and every, family. ...

Likewise, Jesus was “troubled in spirit” when he told his disciples that one of them would betray him (John 13:21). He grieved over this betrayal by his friend Judas. Jesus had lavishly given his love to Judas. He called Judas to be one of the inner circle with the Twelve, to be close to him, and to participate in his work. He gave Judas the moneybag. He washed his feet. He gave Judas the place of honor next to him at the table. He gave him the dipped bread, a sign of love. All the time he knew that Judas would betray him. But still Jesus did not withdraw to protect himself. He gave himself to Judas without measure, and so he set himself up to suffer the pain of betrayal. When Judas led the temple troops to arrest Jesus in the garden, Jesus called him “friend.”

The Gospels portray Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane as one who is crushed by a heavy load of grief. He did not shrink from disclosing his deepest and darkest emotions to his disciples: “I am deeply grieved, even to death” (Matt. 26:38). He begged them to stay awake and keep him company, but they “slept because of sorrow.” His emotions were too heavy for them to bear. They escaped into sleep, leaving Jesus alone. “Terror-stricken and in terrible anguish” (Mark 14:33), Jesus agonized over the awful choice to endure or to escape the cross. As he wrestled in prayer, he was drenched in his own sweat “which ran like blood to the ground” (Luke 22:44).

Jesus’ familiarity with grief should give us pause. Too often we hear Americanized versions of the gospel that offer quick fixes, easy solutions, and suffering-free discipleship. We need the reminder that the man who knew God most intimately and fulfilled his will most completely was described by Isaiah as a “suffering servant”: “Surely he has borne our grief and carried our sorrows” (53:4).

JOY

While Jesus was a “Man of Sorrows,” Luke also paints a scene where Jesus “rejoiced very greatly in the Spirit” (Luke 10:21) - which implies more than cracking a wry smile. The occasion for this outburst was the return of the 70 from their successful mission. They had been given spiritual authority over all the powers of the enemy and, like a crack swat team, had liberated hostages. There was good reason to celebrate.

But Jesus cautions them, “Do not rejoice at this, that the spirits submit to you, but rejoice that your names are written in heaven” (10:20). No matter how much power they exercised in their ministry, the ultimate source of their joy was to be rooted in their heavenly community: their names were written in heaven. Ministry is temporary. Life in the divine community is permanent. Then Jesus joyfully thanked the Father for opening the hearts of the disciples to see this and to enter into the fellowship of the Father and the Son (10:21-24). ...

On the eve of his execution, Jesus told his disciples that all he had revealed to them was so that “my joy may be in you and that your joy may be full” (John 15:11; 17:13). They should abide in his love as he always abides in the love of the Father (15:10), and they should be one as he and the Father are one (17:11). Here again joy is the mark of life within divine love relationships.

Jesus, the Man of Sorrows, was also the Man of Joy. He obeyed the will of the Father and endured the cross by focusing on the joy set before him-the joy of unshakable love relationships in the heavenly Jerusalem (Heb. 12:2, 22).

LOVE

Love permeated, guided, and empowered the spectrum of Jesus’ emotions. He felt compassion, was angry, grieved, and rejoiced because he LOVED. Love is an unshakable commitment of the will. Love transcends feelings and keeps on going when feelings falter or vanish. But love also involves and expresses emotions.

Jesus loved with strong desire. He told his friends, “I have desired with great desire to eat this Passover with you before I suffer” (Luke 22:15). The combination of the verb “desire” and the noun “desire” doubles the intensity in Jesus’ expression of his deep longing to be with his friends.

When a wealthy young man ran up to Jesus, knelt before him, and asked how he could inherit eternal life, “Jesus looked at him and loved him” (Mark 10:21). As soon as he saw him, affection welled up in his heart for him, just as sometimes when you meet someone, you get a strong feeling that this person could be your best friend.

Much is made about the difference between friendship (PHILIA) love and divine (AGAPE) love, but this is overdone. The words are used interchangeably for Jesus’ love. For example, the sisters of Lazarus sent a message to Jesus to tell him, “the one you love (PHILEO) is sick” (JOHN 11:3). Then the gospel writer tells us, “Jesus loved (AGAPAO) Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.” The point is that Jesus loved in many different ways. All the words for love in every language of the world together are still insufficient to describe the love of Jesus.

His love led him to suffer and die. Jesus pointed to his sacrificial death as the ultimate measure of his love. “Greater love has no one than this, that one lay down his life for his friends” (John 15:13). He asks his friends to live up to that standard of love. “This is my commandment, that you love one another, just as I have loved you.... You are my friends if you do what I command you” (John 15:12, 14). To live by that standard of love requires much more than emotions. It calls for total commitment to give up your life for someone else and to trust in the power of God to keep that commitment. But loving as Jesus loves also includes emotions -- intense, diverse, deep emotions. His kind of love will arouse emotions of compassion, anger, grief, and joy.

Sometimes we want insurance against the heartbreaks of love. The way of Stoic “apathy” seems safer than the emotional traumas that inevitably accompany the way of loving as Jesus loved. But hardening ourselves against the pains of love kills the capacity to love. As C. S. Lewis warns us in THE FOUR LOVES: “To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket -- safe, dark, motionless, airless -- it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

I am spellbound by the intensity of Jesus’ emotions: not a twinge of pity, but heartbroken compassion; not a passing irritation, but terrifying anger; not a silent tear, but groans of anguish; not a weak smile, but ecstatic celebration. Jesus’ emotions are like a mountain river, cascading with clear water. My emotions are more like a muddy foam or feeble trickle. Jesus invites us to come to him and drink. Whoever is thirsty and believes in him will have the river of his life flowing out from the innermost being (John 7:37-38). We are not to be merely spellbound by what we see in the emotional Jesus; we are to be unbound by his Spirit so that his life becomes our life, his emotions our emotions, to be “transformed into his likeness with ever- increasing glory.”

________

G. Walter Hansen is Associate Professor of New Testament and Director Of The Global Research Institute at Fuller Theological Seminary and the author of GALATIANS, part of the IVP New Testament Commentary Series.

Copyright(c) 1997 By Christianity Today, Inc/Christianity Today Magazine. February 3, 1997 Vol. 41, No. 2, Page 42 *

In the winter of 1990, I was asked to appear on a television talk show in Toronto, Ontario, Canada. At the end of our first day of taping I was on my way back to my plush, high-rise, cable-TV, twenty-four-hour room service hotel, when I saw something I’d never seen before.

Lying on the sidewalk against a building in four inches of snow was a man sleeping with only a cardboard blanket to keep him from being completely exposed to the freezing cold. What really broke my heart was when I realized that he wore no shoes or socks.

I thought to stop and help him but was not quite sure what to do. As the traffic light turned green, it seemed life was demanding that I move along. So I did. Back in the “anything I wanted was mine” environment of my hotel, I promptly forgot about the man on the street.

Several days later, prior to the morning taping, I was having coffee and Danish in the green room at the station. All of the “important” people had left the room and it was just me and the janitor remaining.

I had seen him quietly go about his business every day while I was there, and he never said a word except “Good morning” or “Can I get anything for you, sir?” He always had a smile to give to everyone. When I asked him how he was feeling today, he told me that he’d been having to ride his bike to work in the snow and that he’d been feeling rather sorry for himself … that is, until he saw a man sleeping down on the corner of Yonge Street and Bloor with just a piece of cardboard for covering from the cold and no shoes. I almost choked on my Danish as I heard him go on to relate how he was so moved with compassion for the man that he went around the corner to a store and bought the man a pair of socks and shoes.

As I heard his story, I saw in my mind a poster that used to be in an old friend’s bedroom when I was a teenager. It was a picture of a child handing someone a flower and the caption read: “THE SMALLEST DEED ALWAYS EXCEEDS THE GRANDEST OF INTENTIONS.”

I stood there wishing it was me who had bought the shoes and socks for the man, when they called my name to come to the set.

As I got to the studio, they were just concluding an interview with a social worker who specialized in benevolence for eastern Ontario. The social worker relayed a story about Mother Teresa, who when asked once how she had accomplished such great things in her life responded, “NONE OF US CAN DO ANYTHING GREAT ON OUR OWN, BUT WE CAN ALL DO A SMALL THING WITH GREAT LOVE.”

When I went home that day, I looked for the man on the street. He was gone, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before someone took his place.

–––––––––––-

By Michael Peterson from Chicken Soup for the Country Soul, Copyright 1998 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and Ron Camacho

#4436

*

THE LETTER

Ruth went to her mail box and there was only one letter. She picked it up and looked at it before opening, but then she looked at the envelope again.

There was no stamp, no postmark, only her name and address. She read the letter:

Dear Ruth,

I'm going to be in your neighborhood Saturday

afternoon and I'd like to stop by for a visit.

Love Always,

Jesus

Her hands were shaking as she placed the letter on the table. "Why would the Lord want to visit me? I'm nobody special. I don't have anything to offer." With that thought, Ruth remembered her empty kitchen cabinets.

"Oh my goodness, I really don't have anything to offer. I'll have to run down to the store and buy something for dinner." She reached for her purse and counted out its contents. Five dollars and forty cents.

"Well, I can get some bread and cold cuts, at least." She threw on her coat and hurried out the door. A loaf of french bread, a half-pound of sliced turkey, and a carton of milk...leaving Ruth with a grand total of twelve cents to last her until Monday.

Nonetheless, she felt good as she headed home, her meager offerings tucked under her arm.

"Hey lady, can you help us, lady?" Ruth had been so absorbed in her dinner plans, she hadn't even noticed two figures huddled in the alleyway. A man and a woman, both of them dressed in little more than rags.

"Look lady, I ain't got a job, ya know, and my wife and I have been living out here on the street, and, well, now it's getting cold and we're getting kinda hungry and, well, if you could help us, lady, we'd really appreciate it."

Ruth looked at them both. They were dirty, they smelled bad and, frankly, she was certain that they could get some kind of work if they really wanted to.

"Sir, I'd like to help you, but I'm a poor woman myself. All I have is a few cold cuts and some bread, and I'm having an important guest for dinner tonight and I was planning on serving that to Him."

"Yeah, well, okay lady, I understand. Thanks anyway." The man put his arm around the woman's shoulders, turned and headed back into the alley. As she watched them leave, Ruth felt a familiar twinge in her heart.

"Sir, wait!" The couple stopped and turned as she ran down the alley after them. "Look, why don't you take this food. I'll figure out something else to serve my guest." She handed the man her grocery bag.

"Thank you lady. Thank you very much!"

"Yes, thank you!" It was the man's wife, and Ruth could see now that she was shivering.

"You know, I've got another coat at home. Here, why don't you take this one." Ruth unbuttoned her jacket and slipped it over the woman's shoulders.

Then smiling, she turned and walked back to the street… without her coat and with nothing to serve her guest. "Thank you lady! Thank you very much!"

Ruth was chilled by the time she reached her front door, and worried too. The Lord was coming to visit and she didn't have anything to offer Him. She fumbled through her purse for the door key. But as she did, she noticed another envelope in her mailbox.

"That's odd. The mailman doesn't usually come twice in one day." She took the envelope out of the box and opened it.

Dear Ruth,

It was so good to see you again. Thank you for the lovely

meal And thank you, too, for the beautiful coat.

Love Always,

Jesus

The air was still cold, but even without her coat, Ruth no longer noticed.

#4469

*

A number of years ago (1983-1987), I had the opportunity to play the character of Ronald McDonald for the McDonald’s Corporation. My marketplace covered most of Arizona and a portion of Southern California.

One of our standard events was “Ronald Day.” One day each month, we visited as many of the community hospitals as possible, bringing a little happiness into a place where no one ever looks forward to going. I was very proud to be able to make a difference for children and adults who were experiencing some “down time.” The warmth and gratification I would receive stayed with me for weeks. I loved the project, McDonald’s loved the project, the kids and adults loved it and so did the nursing and hospital staffs.

There were two restrictions placed on me during a visit. First I could not go anywhere in the hospital without McDonald’s personnel (my handlers) as well as hospital personnel. That way, if I were to walk into a room and frighten a child, there was someone there to address the issue immediately. And second, I could not physically touch anyone within the hospital. They did not want me transferring germs from one patient to another. I understood why they had this “don’t touch” rule, but I didn’t like it. I believe that touching is the most honest form of communication we will ever know. Printed and spoken words can lie; it is impossible to lie with a warm hug.

Breaking either of these rules, I was told, meant I could lose my job.

Toward the end of my fourth year of “Ronald Days,” as I was heading down a hallway after a long day in grease paint and on my way home, I heard a little voice. “Ronald, Ronald.”

I stopped. The soft little voice was coming through a half-opened door. I pushed the door open and saw a young boy, about five years old, lying in his dad’s arms, hooked up to more medical equipment than I had ever seen. Mom was on the other side, along with Grandma, Grandpa and a nurse tending to the equipment.

I knew by the feeling in the room that the situation was grave. I asked the little boy his name - he told me it was Billy - and I did a few simple magic tricks for him. As I stepped back to say good-bye, I asked Billy if there was anything else I could do for him.

“Ronald, would you hold me?”

Such a simple request. But what ran through my mind was that if I touched him, I could lose my job. So I told Billy I could not do that right now, but I suggested that he and I color a picture. Upon completing a wonderful piece of art that we were both very proud of, Billy again asked me to hold him. By this time my heart was screaming “yes!” But my mind was screaming louder. “No! You are going to lose your job!”

This second time that Billy asked me, I had to ponder why I could not grant the simple request of a little boy who probably would not be going home. I asked myself why was I being logically and emotionally torn apart by someone I had never seen before and probably would never see again.

“Hold me.” It was such a simple request, and yet...

I searched for any reasonable response that would allow me to leave. I could not come up with a single one. It took me a moment to realize that in this situation, losing my job may not be the disaster I feared.

Was losing my job the worst thing in the world?

Did I have enough self-belief that if I did lost my job, I would be able to pick up and start again? The answer was a loud, bold, affirming “yes!” I could pick up and start again.

So what was the risk?

Just that if I lost my job, it probably would not be long before I would lost first my car, then my home...and to be honest with you, I really liked those things. But I realized that at the end of my life, the car would have no value and neither would the house. The only things that had steadfast value were experiences. Once I reminded myself that the real reason I was there was to bring a little happiness to an unhappy environment, I realized that I really faced no risk at all.

I sent Mom, Dad, Grandma and Grandpa out of the room, and my two McDonald’s escorts out to the van. The nurse tending the medical equipment stayed, but Billy asked her to stand and face the corner. Then I picked up this little wonder of a human being. He was so frail and so scared. We laughed and cried for 45 minutes, and talked about the things that worried him.

Billy was afraid that his little brother might get lost coming home from kindergarten next year, without Billy to show him the way. He worried that his dog wouldn’t get another bone because Billy had hidden the bones in the house before going back to the hospital, and now he couldn’t remember where he put them.

These are problems to a little boy who knows he is not going home.

On my way out of the room, with tear-streaked makeup running down my neck, I gave Mom and Dad my real name and phone number (another automatic dismissal for a Ronald McDonald, but I figured that I was gone and had nothing to lose), and said if there was anything the McDonald’s Corporation or I could do, to give me a call and consider it done. Less than 48 hours later, I received a phone call from Billy’s mom. She informed me that Billy had passed away. She and her husband simply wanted to thank me for making a difference in their little boy’s life.

Billy’s mom told me that shortly after I left the room, Billy looked at her and said, “Momma, I don’t care anymore if I see Santa this year because I was held by Ronald McDonald.”

Sometimes we must do what is right for the moment, regardless of the perceived risk. Only experiences have value, and the one biggest reason people limit their experiences is because of the risk involved.

For the record, McDonald’s did find out about Billy and me, but given the circumstances, permitted me to retain my job. I continued as Ronald for another year before leaving the corporation to share the story of Billy and how important it is to take risks.

________

Jeff McMullen, from Chicken Soup for the Soul at Work, Copyright 1996 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen, Maida Rogerson, Martin Rutte & Tim Clauss

I didn't cry when I learned that I was the parent of a mentally handicapped child. I just sat still and didn't say anything while my husband and I were informed that two-year-old Kristi was - as we suspected - retarded.

"Go ahead and cry," the doctor advised kindly. "Helps prevent serious emotional difficulties."

Serious difficulties not withstanding, I couldn't cry then nor during the months that followed.

When Kristi was old enough to attend school, we enrolled her in our neighborhood kindergarten at age seven.

It would have been comforting to cry that day I left her in that room full of self-assured, eager, alert five-year-olds. Kristi had spent hours upon hours playing by herself, but this moment, when she was the different child among twenty, was probably the loneliest she had ever known.

However, positive things began to happen to Kristi in her school and to her schoolmates too. When boasting of their own accomplishments, Kristi's classmates always took pains to praise her as well: "Kristi got all her spelling words right today." No one bothered to add that her spelling list was easier then anyone else's.

During Kristi's second year in school, she faced a very traumatic experience. The big public event of the term was a competition based on a culmination of the year's music and physical education activities. Kristi was way behind in both music and motor coordination. My husband and I dreaded the day as well.

On the day of the program, Kristi pretended to be sick. Desperately I wanted to keep her home. Why let Kristi fail in a gymnasium filled with parents, students and teachers? What a simple solution it would be just to let my child stay home. Surely missing one program couldn't matter. But my conscience wouldn't let me off that easily. So I practically shoved a pale, reluctant Kristi onto the school bus and proceeded to be sick myself.

Just as I had forced my daughter to go to school, now I forced myself to go to the program. It seemed that it would never be time for Kristi's group to perform. When at last they did, I knew why Kristi had been worried. Her class was divided into relay teams. With her limp and slow, clumsy reactions, she would surely hold up her team.

The performance went surprising well, though, until it was time for the gunnysack race. Now each child had to climb into the sack from a standing position, hop to a goal line, return and climb out of the sack.

I watched Kristi standing near the end of her line of players, looking frantic.

But as Kristi's turn to practice neared, a change took place in her team. The tallest boy in the line stepped behind Kristi and placed his hands on her waist. Two other boys stood a little ahead of her. The moment the player in front of Kristi stepped for the sack, those two boys grabbed the sack and held it open while the tall boy lifted Kristi and dropped her neatly into it. A girl in front of Kristi took her hand and supported her briefly until Kristi gained her balance. Then off she hopped, smiling and proud.

Amid the cheers of teachers, schoolmates and parents, I crept off by myself to thank God for the warm, understanding people in life who make it possible for my disabled daughter to be like her fellow human beings.

Then I finally cried.

________

By Meg Hill from Chicken Soup for the Unsinkable Soul, by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen and Heather McNamara, Copyright 1999 by Jack Canfield, Mark Victor Hansen

There's nothing secular elites enjoy more than calling Christians "hypocrites." They delight in pointing fingers at Christians whose conduct doesn't quite measure up to what they profess to believe.

Well, recently the tables were turned when a well-known secularist was caught failing to live up to HIS beliefs -- and thank God for that.

Peter Singer is a professor of ethics at Princeton, and he's the quintessential moral utilitarian. Singer believes that an action's morality cannot be judged by any transcendent standard. Instead, he suggests we ask whether a particular action will increase the sum total of happiness in the world.

For example, as George Will commented about Singer, "Should one spend a sum to ease the suffering of a family member or send the same sum to ease the sufferings of 10 Sudanese?" Singer's answer would be to send the money to Sudan, because doing so would increase the world's total amount of happiness. He also argues for allowing parents to kill their handicapped newborns, and favors euthanasia for the sick and the elderly -- people who can no longer enjoy their lives and who create a burden on others.

But Singer's beliefs were put to the test when his own mother became sick with Alzheimer's. You will be relieved to know that, instead of starving his mother to death and thus increasing the world's supply of happiness, Singer is behaving hypocritically. He spends thousands of dollars providing his mother with nursing home care.

Singer sheepishly acknowledges the hypocrisy of his actions. "It's not the best use you could make of my money, that's true," he admits. But he then rationalizes his inconsistency: "It does provide employment for a number of people who find something worthwhile in what they're doing," he says.

Hogwash. A better explanation is that Peter Singer the son trumps Peter Singer the philosopher.

Christians should rejoice at Singer's inconsistency, and not only because taking care of his mother is the right thing to do. The case demonstrates how unworkable secular humanist ideas about human life really are.

It's one thing to engage in intellectual parlor games within the safe confines of the academy. In that setting, denying the sanctity of human life or the existence of moral absolutes has little, if any, impact on people's lives.

But in the real world, it means the difference between life and death. The last thing people like Singer want is for people to act in accordance with their principles when it affects someone they care about.

The truth of any worldview is authenticated by how well it depicts reality. By doing the right thing by his mother, Singer himself has demonstrated that his philosophy does not produce a rational and just society. He would be hard pressed to cite a single example of a healthy, vibrant society that believes that there isn't anything special about human life. As Singer himself demonstrates, this belief produces societies that no one would want to live in -- not even him.

In short, Singer's worldview flunks the reality test.

So if you come across someone who tells you there's nothing special about human life, ask him which Peter Singer they hope their kids emulate when they're old and frail: Peter Singer the avant garde philosopher, or Peter Singer the hypocrite.

The one who admits, "It is different when it's your mother."

___________________________

Copyright (c) 1999 Prison Fellowship Ministries. Reprinted with permission. "BreakPoint with Chuck Colson" is a radio ministry of Prison Fellowship Ministries.

*

Police officer Matt Lima was called to a food store in Somerset, Massachusetts in December 2020. Two women were reported not to be scanning all of their groceries. When he questioned them, the family said they had fallen upon hard times and could not afford to pay for all the food. They had still wanted to give the children a Christmas dinner.

Officer Lima served them with a “no trespass” order, but did not press charges as all the items on the shopping receipt were for food, police said. Instead, he bought them gift cards worth $250 with his own money so the women and their two children would be able to buy food for their Christmas dinner at another shop of the same chain.

“The two children with the women reminded me of my kids, so I had to help them out,” Officer Lima said. “Obviously, this family was in need and I can’t imagine having to make the decision to go to Stop and Shop and just only pay for what I can afford - or do I go there and try to take things for Christmas dinner for the kids?” he told local TV.

“They were very thankful, they were kind of shocked. I’m sure a lot of people in that same situation would be thinking that there was going to be a different outcome, and maybe they would be arrested or have to go to court.

“I bought the gift card close in value to what would’ve been taken,” he added. “I just did what I felt was right. It’s not about me, I just tried to put myself in that family’s shoes and show a little bit of empathy.”

Where would civilization be today without Christian notions of compassion and solidarity?

Is there anyone who changed secular history more than Christ? Consider this: the followers of Jesus Christ introduced Gentiles to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Today, two out of five people in the world are Christians.

Likewise, where would civilization be today without Christian notions of compassion and solidarity? As atheists such as Bertrand Russell and Richard Rorty have noted, these ideas spring from the legacy of Christ. You do not have to be a Christian to appreciate parts of the legacy of Christ.

Five concepts worked out by Christian thinkers have especially affected modern ideas of politics and economics: human dignity, liberty and truth, conscience, and the notion of the person.

HUMAN DIGNITY: What is human dignity? The English word DIGNITY is rooted in a Latin word meaning "worthy of esteem and honor, due a certain respect, of weighty importance." Both Aristotle and Plato held that most humans are by nature slavish and suitable only for slavery. Most do not have natures worthy of freedom. The Greeks used "dignity" for only the few, rather than for all human beings. By contrast, Christianity insisted that every single human is loved by the Creator, made in the Creator’s image, and destined for eternal friendship and communion with him.

Among the figures of the Enlightenment, Immanuel Kant is probably the one who most clearly spoke to the concept of human dignity. He did so in the light of a categorical imperative that he discerned in the rational being, and he made famous this formulation of the principle of human dignity: "Act so that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in that of another, always as an end and never as a means only."

It is not difficult to see in Kant’s formula a statement in nonbiblical language of the essential humanistic aspect of Jewish and Christian teaching: "Thou shalt love they neighbor as thyself" (Lev. 19:18); "And this commandment have we from him, That he who loveth God love his brother also" (1 John 4:21).

From the view of modern history, of course, it seems absurd to say that humans are not means but only ends. In the twentieth century, more than a hundred million in Europe alone died by violence, often in a way they could not have foreseen even in their worst nightmares. In the twentieth century, history has been a butcher’s bench. In this century, the words HUMAN DIGNITY have often sounded empty.

LIBERTY AND TRUTH: Jews and Christians explain human dignity by pointing to human liberty. For Christianity and Judaism, human liberty is an absolutely fundamental fact of God’s revelation to humans.

Because the teaching of the Gospels is intended for Christians in every culture, political system, and time, Christian philosophers are first concerned with an understanding of the INTERIOR act of liberty -- and only secondarily as a political and economic act.

Confronted with any proposition -- of fact, principle, theory, or faith -- humans may choose to give assent or to dissent. They are responsible for gathering the evidence necessary to make judgments wisely, for struggling to understand the necessary materials, and for disposing themselves to judge such evidence soberly, calmly, and dispassionately. When they declare a proposition to be true or false, they in effect assert what is true and real. When human beings reach a judgment, they reveal a great deal about themselves. They are, in effect, under judgment by reality itself, as mediated by the community of inquirers who seek the truth of things, and nothing but the truth.

THE CONCEPT OF CONSCIENCE: CONSCIENCE is not a term of the ancient Greeks or Romans. Neither is it, exactly, a biblical concept, although many texts in the Bible show the inner conflicts that gave rise to the need for such a concept: "And it came to pass afterward, that David’s heart smote him, because he had cut off Saul’s skirt" (1 Sam. 24:5); "For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do" (Rom. 7:19).

After Kant, it has become common for modern people to think of the moral life as a matter of duties to be observed, a kind of obedience. But in earlier Christian ages, the moral life was thought of as a way of life to be lived, a set of paths to follow with Christ as model and the lives of the saints as pathbreakers. "Whosoever will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me" (Mark 8:34).

The first practical problem of the moral life is to find out what to do in the unique circumstances in which you (a unique, irrepeatable) person find yourself now. (Here I echo Thomas Aquinas.) The moral life taxes our capacities for practical knowing. Even when we know the model or ideal we are pursuing, the right thing to do now is not always clear. Besides, we sometimes wish to evade clear knowledge, or we prefer to let passion drive us. After we act from passion or evasion, we sometimes see clearly what we ought to have done, and feel the bite of remorse. This bite, too, comes from our faculty of practical knowing.

Conscience, then, is the practical habit of discerning the right thing to do in immediate circumstances, and by which we blame ourselves when we have turned away from this discernment -- that is, failed to use the light within us. By frequent failures to use it, and by deliberate abuse of it, we can dim this light and all but extinguish conscience. We can also deceive it. Some of the ways we deceive our own consciences are so classic that C. S. Lewis vividly described them in THE SCREWTAPE LETTERS.

THE PERSON: The concept of PERSON also entered Western thought by way of reflection on the Bible. They needed a way to name the special kind of spiritual being capable of acts of insight and choice. Theologians also needed a concept to express what it is in Jesus Christ, who had both a human and a divine nature, that remains the same. A person came to be understood as a being with a capacity for insight and choice, and an independent existence as a responsible agent.

Acquiring this concept of the person was a crucial step for the modern age, leading directly to the first declaration of human rights in history. The Spanish missionaries argued that the Indians encountered in the New World were people of full human dignity, not some inferior species. It was sinful before God, they maintained, and contrary to natural law to offend the dignity of the Indians, as many of their compatriots were obviously doing. They pressed their suit at the Spanish Court to urge the monarch to rule accordingly. The suit was argued successfully by theologians of Salamanca. Outside the United Nations building in New York stands a statue of one of the greatest of these theologians, Francesco de Vitoria (1486–1546), the founder of international law.

The public recognition that oppression of the Indians was sinful and that they should be granted human rights like anyone else did not prevent terrible abuses. Hence, James Madison argued that mere declarations of rights are not enough. Rights are never sufficiently defended by "parchment barriers," but only by internalized HABITS and INSTITUTIONS that incorporate CHECKS AND BALANCES.

THE WORLD IS ALREADY CELEBRATING the imminent arrival of the third millennium after the birth of Christ. The civilizing ideas of human dignity, liberty, truth, conscience, and person have been slowly developed over the two millennia since Christ’s birth. They come to global fruition at a crucial time.

Earlier economic development rested on Christian contributions: from the development of factory-like communities by monastic orders to the theological focus on the vocation or calling of every individual to be creative and inventive in a practical way.

Now, more recent economic thought has focussed attention, not on natural resources or wealth, but on the importance of HUMAN CAPITAL (which for Nobel laureate Gary Becker includes personal and social habits and institutions). Other recent writers (Francis Fukuyama and Lawrence Harrison) have emphasized human trust and the social habits built on trust. Still other current writers have focused on human action (liberty), the human person, and the importance of personal and public choice in economic life.

Without the Christian foundations laid for us in the high Middle Ages and again in the sixteenth century our economic and political life together would not only far poorer, but far more brutal as well.

_______________________

Michael Novak is the Jewett scholar in religion, philosophy, and public policy at the American Enterprise Institute.

*

You don't hear much anymore about Roberto DeVincenzo. He was once a tough but far from champion Argentine golfer. Some years back he surprised everybody by winning a tournament. As usual, they gave the winner his check on the eighteenth green. Roberto flashed a smile for the cameras and walked alone to the clubhouse. In back, where his car was parked, a sad-eyed young lady walked up to him. “It's a good day for you,” she said, “but I have a baby with an incurable disease. It's of the blood, and the doctors say she will die.” The golfer paused. In slow English, he said, “May I help your little girl?” The woman's face froze. He took out a pen, endorsed his winning check and pressed it into her hand. “Make some good days for the baby,” he said.

A week later, he was having lunch in a country club when a PGA official approached. “Some of the boys in the parking lot told me you met a young woman after you won the tournament.” DeVincenzo nodded. “Well,” said the official, “I have bad news for you. She's a phony. She has no sick baby. She's not even married. She fleeced you, my friend.” The golfer looked up. “You mean that there is no baby who is dying without hope?” he said. The PGA official said, “that's right.” DeVincenzo grinned and said, “That's the best news I've heard all week!”

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[Original illustration at this number was added to HolwickID #19164]

There is a need for each of us to develop what I like to call "moral imagination." By this, I mean the ability fully to think through the implications of our actions, particularly as to how they will affect others. Over the past century, society has made extraordinary technological advances because of the active imaginations of our scientists and researchers, but we have been slower to advance morally because of a general unwillingness to practice imagination in the moral sphere. So let me start now by offering an example of the harm that can ensue when we refuse to exercise moral imagination.

[Consider] the late Lee Atwater, the brilliant but highly aggressive campaign manager who directed George Bush's successful 1988 presidential bid. In 1980 Atwater was managing a congressional election campaign in South Carolina, during which his campaign released information that the Democratic candidate in the race, Tom Turnispeed, had years earlier suffered an episode of depression for which he had received electric shock treatment.

Turnispeed was mortified and outraged. None of us appreciates having his or her medical history made public, and particularly not our psychiatric history. He responded with an anguished attack on his opponent's campaign ethics. When Atwater was asked to respond to Turnispeed's attack, he answered that he had no intention of responding to charges made by a person "hooked up to a jumper cable."

What a grotesque violation of privacy and what a shameful humiliation of another! Atwater's cruel words put into the voters' heads a vicious, graphic image that potentially poisoned not only their perceptions of Turnispeed, but also of everyone else who had undergone electric shock therapy.

This story, however, has a postscript. Ten years later Atwater was in a hospital bed dying of an inoperable brain tumor. In the last weeks of his life, while he was lying in a room connected to all sorts of uncomfortable and invasive machines, he wrote a letter to Turnispeed begging his forgiveness. I am convinced this was no phony deathbed repentance. Finding himself in this horrible circumstance, Atwater finally realized the enormous cruelty he had committed and fully regretted it.

Had Atwater had the moral imagination to realize in 1980 what he realized in 1990, he never would have released information about Turnispeed's treatment or mocked his experience. Indeed, moral imagination involves "repenting" of evil acts before we commit them, by wielding our imagination in such a manner that we act rightly towards others even when we don't have the experience or knowledge to be fully empathetic.

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HOW THE GREAT GUEST CAME By Edwin Markham

Before the cathedral in grandeur rose

At Ingelburg where the Danube goes;

Before its forest of silver spire

Went airily up to the clouds and fires;

Before the oak had ready a beam,

While yet the arch was stone and dream--

There where the altar was later laid,

Conrad the cobbler, plied his trade.

It happened one day at the year's white end--

Two neighbors called in on their old-time friend;

And they found the shop, so meager and mean,

Made gay with a hundred boughs of green.

Conrad was stitching with face ashine,

But suddenly stopped as he twitched a twine:

"Old friends, good news! At dawn today,

As the cocks were scaring the night away,

The Lord appeared in a dream to me,

And said, `I am coming your Guest to be!'

So I've been busy with feet astir,

Strewing the floor with branches of fir.

The wall is washed and the shelf is shined,

And over the rafter the holly twined.

He comes today, and the table is spread

With milk and honey and wheaten bread."

His friends went home; and his face grew still

As he watched for the shadow across the sill.

He lived all the moments o'er and o'er,

When the Lord should enter the lowly door--

The knock, the call, the latch pulled up,

The lighted face, the offered cup.

He would wash the feet where the spikes had been,

He would kiss the hands where the nails went in,

And then at the last would sit with Him

And break the bread as the day grew dim.

While the cobbler mused there passed his pane

A beggar drenched by the driving rain.

He called him in from the stony street

And gave him shoes for his bruised feet.

The beggar went and there came a crone,

Her face with wrinkles of sorrow sown.

A bundle of faggots bowed her back,

And she was spent with the wrench and rack.

He gave her his loaf and steadied her load

As she took her way on the weary road.

Then to his door came a little child,

Lost and afraid in the world so wild,

In the big, dark world. Catching it up,

He gave it the milk in the waiting cup,

And led it home to its mother's arms,

Out of the reach of the world's alarms.

The day went down in the crimson west

And with it the hope of the blessed Guest,

And Conrad sighed as the world turned gray:

"Why is it, Lord, that your feet delay?

Did you forget that this was the day?"

Then soft in the silence a Voice he heard:

"Lift up your heart, for I have kept my word.

Three times I came to your friendly door;

Three times my shadow was on your floor.

I was the beggar with the bruised feet;

I was the woman you gave to eat;

I was the child on the homeless street!"

AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER? In 1928, a very interesting case came before the courts in the state of Massachusetts. It concerned a man who had been walking on a boat dock when suddenly he tripped over a rope and fell into the cold, deep water of an ocean bay. He came up sputtering and yelling for help and then sank again, obviously in trouble. His friends were too far away to get to him, but only a few yards away, on another dock, was a young man sprawled on a deck chair, sunbathing. The desperate man shouted "Help, I can't swim!" The young man, an excellent swimmer, only turned his head to watch as the man floundered in the water, sank, came up sputtering in total panic, and then disappeared forever. The family of the drowned man was so upset by that display of callous indifference that they sued the sunbather. They lost. The court reluctantly ruled that the man on the dock had no legal responsibility whatever to try and save the other man's life. In effect, the law agrees with Cain's presupposition: I am not my brother's keeper, and I have every legal right to mind my own business and to refuse to become involved. Gary Inrig, Quality Friendship, page 105. Submitted by Rick Mandl, Eagle Rock Baptist Church, Los Angeles, California.