176 Sermon Illustrations on Compassion

When I first came to Portland, Oregon, I met a student on one of the campuses where I worked. He was brilliant and looked like he was always pondering the esoteric: his hair was always mussy, and in the entire time I knew him, I never once saw him wear a pair of shoes. Rain, sleet, or snow, Bill was always barefoot.

While he was attending college he had become a Christian. At this time a well-dressed, middle-class church across the street from the campus wanted to develop more of a ministry to the students. They were not sure how to go about it, but they tried to make them feel welcome. One day Bill decided to worship there. He walked into this church wearing his blue jeans, tee shirt and of course no shoes.

People looked a bit uncomfortable, but no one said anything. So Bill began walking down the aisle looking for a seat. The church was crowed that Sunday, so as he got down to the front pew and realized that there were no seats, he just squatted on the carpet -- perfectly acceptable behavior at a college fellowship, but perhaps unnerving for a church congregation. The tension in the air became so thick one could slice it.

Suddenly an elderly man began walking down the aisle toward the boy. Was he going to scold Bill? My friends who saw him approaching said they thought, “You can't blame him. He'd never guess Bill is a Christian. And his world is too distant from Bill's to understand. You can't blame him what he's going to do.”

As the man kept walking slowly down the aisle, the church became utterly silent, all eyes were focused on him, you could not hear anyone breathe. When the man reached Bill, with some difficulty he lowered himself and sat down next to him on the carpet. He and Bill worshipped together on the floor that Sunday. I was told there was not a dry eye in the congregation.

_______

Rebecca Manley Pippert, "Out of the Salt Shaker" (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press, 1979), 177-78.

*

We become vulnerable when we love people and go out of our way to help them. That's what the wealthy industrialist Charles Schwab declared after going to court and winning a nuisance suit at age 70. Given permission by the judge to speak to the audience, he made the following statement:

“I'd like to say here in a court of law, and speaking as

an old man, that nine-tenths of my troubles are traceable

to my being kind to others. Look, you young people, if

you want to steer away from trouble, be hard-boiled. Be

quick with a good loud no to anyone and everyone. If you

follow this rule, you will seldom be bothered as you

tread life's pathway. Except you'll have no friends,

you'll be lonely, and you won't have any fun!”

Schwab had made his point - love may bring heartache, but it's worth it!

COMPASSION IN ACTION

An athletically-gifted eight-year-old was dominating his junior soccer

match. Halfway through the game, he had kicked four of his team's five

goals, while the other team had not scored at all.

Toward the end of the game, the boy once again maneuvered his way to the

goal, and appeared certain to score again. But to everyone's amazement, he

weakly tapped the ball, failing to score.

When the game was over, the boy's father came up to his son. "Why did you do

that?" he asked. "You could have scored another goal." "But Dad," said the

boy sadly, "their goalie was crying."

--H. W. Gardner, in "Reader's Digest," September 1980

(The Timothy Report, Swan Lake Communications, SwanLake@webcombo.net,

March 13, 2000)

Tony Campolo, professor of sociology at Eastern College, tells the story of his visit to Honolulu for a Christian Conference. On his first night there, he awoke sometime after three (a six-hour time difference had confused his sleep pattern) and left the hotel in search of a place to get something to eat. Eventually he found a tiny coffee shop. He walked in and sat down. Here is his description of the events:

The fat guy behind the counter came over and asked me, "What do you want?" I told him I wanted a cup of coffee and a donut. As I sat there munching on my donut and sipping my coffee at 3:30 in the morning, the door suddenly opened, swung wide and to my discomfort in marched 8 or 9 provocative and rather boisterous prostitutes. It was a small place and they sat on either side of me. Their talk was garrulous, loud and crude. I felt completely out of place. I was just about to make my getaway when I heard the woman sitting next to me say, "You know, tomorrow is my birthday. I'm going to be 39." Her friend responded in a rather nasty tone, "So what do you want from me? A birthday party? What do you want? Do you want me to get a cake, and sing happy birthday to you?" "Come on," the women sitting next to me said, "why do you have to be so mean? I'm just telling you that's all. Why do you have to put me down? I was just telling you that it is my birthday. I don't want anything from you. I mean, why should I have a birthday party? I've never had a birthday party in my whole life. Why should I have one now?"

Tony Campolo goes on; "When I heard that," he said, "I made a decision. I sat and waited until the woman left and then I called over to the counter to the fat guy and asked him, "Do they come in here every night?" "Yeah," he answered. "The one right next to me", I asked, "does she come in here every night?" "Yeah," he said, "that's Agnes. Yeah, she comes in here every night. Why do you want to know?" "Because," I replied, "I heard her say that tomorrow is her birthday. What do you say we do something special for her? What do you think about throwing a birthday party for her, right here in the diner?" A cute kind of smile crept over that fat man's chubby cheeks. He answered with measured delight, "That's a great idea. I like it. That's great. Agnes is one of those people who is really nice and kind. I don't think anybody has ever done anything nice and kind for her." "Well, look" I told him, "if it is OK with you, I'll be back here tomorrow morning at 2:30. I'll decorate the place. I'll even get a birthday cake for her." "No way," he retorted, "the birthday cake, that's my thing. I'll bake the birthday cake."

Two-thirty the next morning, Tony Campolo reports, I was back at that diner. I picked up some crepe paper and other decorations at the store, and made a sign of big pieces of cardboard that read, "Happy Birthday, Agnes!" I decorated that diner from one end to the other. I had that diner really looking great. The word must have gotten out on the street because by 3:15 that next morning every prostitute in Honolulu was in that place. There was wall-to-wall prostitutes - and me. At 3:30 on the dot the door of the diner swung open and in came Agnes and her friend. I had everybody ready; after all, I was sort of the informal master of ceremonies of this whole affair. It was my idea, so when they came in we all jumped up and screamed and we sang, "Happy birthday, Agnes!" And you know, I've never seen a person so flabbergasted, so stunned, so shaken. Her mouth fell open, her knees started to buckle, her friend had to offer her arm to steady her, and I noticed she had started to cry.

When the birthday cake with all the candles was carried out, that's when she just lost it. She started sobbing. Harry, the fat guy, behind the counter he gruffly mumbled, "Blow out the candles, Agnes, blow out the candles." Then he handed her a knife, and he ordered, "Cut the cake, Agnes, cut the cake." Agnes looked down at that cake, and then without taking her eyes off it, she slowly and softly said, "Look, Harry, is it all right with you if I, I mean, if I don't, what I want to ask, is it OK if I keep the cake a little while? Is it all right if we don't eat it right away?" Harry shrugged and answered, "Sure, Agnes, that's fine, you want to keep the cake, keep the cake, take it home if you want." "Oh, could I?" she asked. Looking at me she said, "I live just down the street a couple doors; I want to take the cake home, is that OK? I'll be right back, honest." She got off her stool, she picked up that cake, and she carried it out of that diner like it was the Holy Grail. She walked slowly toward the door, and we all stood there just speechless. When the door closed behind her, there was stunned silence in the place.

Not knowing what else to do, I broke the silence by saying, "What do you say we pray together?" Looking back on it now, it seems more than a little strange that a sociologist from eastern Pennsylvania would be leading a prayer meeting with a bunch of prostitutes in a diner in Honolulu at 3:30 in the morning. But I prayed. I prayed for Agnes. I prayed for her salvation. I prayed that her life would be changed, and that God would be good to her. And when I finished, Harry leaned over, and with a trace of hostility in his voice he said, "Hey, you never told me you were a preacher. What kind of preacher are you anyway? What church do you belong to?" In one of those moments when just the right words came, I answered him quietly, "I belong to a church that throws birthday parties for prostitutes at 3:30 in the morning." Harry thought a moment, and then almost sneered as he answered, "No you don't; there is no church like that. In fact," he concluded, "if there was, I'd join it."

___________________

Tony Campolo, "The Kingdom of God is a Party"

- I never cease thrilling

at the heart of Abraham Lincoln. There is a story of

two women relatives of General Lou Wallace who came to the White House

when

Lincoln was president asking about General Wallace. He had been

involved in a

vicious battle and they wanted to make sure he had survived. After

learning he

had survived they spoke rather glibly of their gladness. There had

been a

casualty in the battle named Wallace but they were thankful that it

was not

"our Wallace." Lincoln responded soberly, "Yes, but it was somebody's

Wallace,

wasn't it?"

"The value of compassion cannot be over-emphasized. Anyone can

criticize. It takes a true believer to be compassionate. No

greater burden can be borne by an individual than to know no one

cares or understands."

- Arthur H. Stainback

- _Instant Quotation Dictionary_, p. 65.

Joe Bayly in his book, “View From A Hearse” says that one of the best contributions we can make to a person going through intense suffering and loss is our presence without words, not even verses of Scripture dumped into the ears of the grieving. He said:

Don’t try to “prove” anything to a survivor. An arm about the shoulder, a firm grip of the hand, a kiss: these are the proofs grief needs, not logical reasoning.

I was sitting, torn by grief. Someone came and talked to me of God’s dealings, of why it happened, of hope beyond the grave. He talked constantly, he said things I knew were true.

I was unmoved, except to wish he’d go away. He finally did.

Another came and sat beside me. He didn’t talk. He didn’t ask leading questions. He just sat beside me for an hour or more, listened when I said something, answered briefly, prayed simply, left.

I was moved. I was comforted. I hated to see him go.

Also atributed to:

The Tale Of The Tardy Oxcart

Charles R. Swindoll, Word, p. 253.

#10826

*

An old man whose son had been convicted of gross crimes in the army

and sentenced to be shot came to plead with Lincoln. As the boy was an

only son, the case appealed to Lincoln; but he had just received a

telegram from Butler which read: "Mr. President, I beg you not to

interfere with the court martials of this army. You will destroy all

discipline in the army." Lincoln handed the old man the telegram, and

he watched the shadow of disappointment and sorrow come over the man's

face as he read the message. He suddenly seized his hand and exclaimed

"...Butler or no Butler here goes!" He wrote out an order and handed

it to the father. The man read the order which was as follows: "Job

Smith is not to be shot until further orders from me, Abraham

Lincoln." "Why," said the father, "I thought it was going to be a

pardon. You may order him to be shot next week." "My old friend," said

Lincoln, "evidently you do not understand my character. If your son is

never shot until an order comes from me, he will live to be as old as

Methuselah."

It is said that when the story of West India slavery was told to

the Moravians, and it was stated that it was impossible to reach the

slave population because they were so separated from the ruling

classes, two Moravian missionaries offered themselves and said: "We

will go and be slaves on the plantations and work and toil under the

lash to get right beside the poor slaves and instruct them." They left

their homes and went to the West Indies as slaves and lived in the

company of slaves to get close to the hearts of slaves, and the slaves

heard them because they had humbled themselves to their condition.

That was grand; it was glorious; and yet Christ's example was more

glorious for he stepped from heaven to earth to get by our side; He

laid himself down beside us that we might feel the throbbings of his

bosom and be drawn so close as to hear him whisper, "God is love."

--Bishop Simpson

One day a student asked anthropologist Margaret Mead for the earliest sign of civilization in a given culture. He expected the answer to be a clay pot or perhaps a fish hook or grinding stone. Her answer was "a healed femur." Mead explained that no healed femurs are found where the law of the jungle, survival of the fittest, reigns. A healed femur shows that someone cared. Someone had to do that injured person's hunting and gathering until the leg healed. The evidence of compassion is the first sign of civilization.

__________________

R. Wayne Willis Louisville, Kentucky

“I am only one,

But still I am one.

I cannot do everything,

But still I can do something;

and because I cannot do everything,

I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.”

Edward Everett Hale’s pledge to the Lend-a-Hand Society

__________________

“Miss! Over here!”

“Waitress, could you check on my order?”

“Could you bring the baby some more milk?”

I sighed and pushed the hair back from my eyes. That gray February lunch hour found the restaurant where I worked packed with people anxious to escape the snow turned to rain. There was even a large standing crowd waiting for tables. I was already exhausted, I had a splitting headache and it wasn’t even 12:30! How was I ever going to make it through the day?

I’d been plenty grateful to get this job the year before. As a suddenly single mom with two small children to support and little in the way of education or skills, it had been a godsend to be hired by a better-than-average restaurant close to a famous hospital in our city.

As the “new kid” at the restaurant, I had been started off with the worst station, a small room at the back of the building. It was a long way from the front entrance and equally far from the kitchen, so service there was unavoidably slower than in the front dining area. The room held two large tables and several tiny ones by the windows. As a rule, most of the customers exiled to the back were either single women dining alone or large families with children who were expected to be loud and demanding.

After nearly two years and several new hirees, I was still “stuck” with the back room. Usually I didn’t mind. The view from “my” windows revealed a steep ravine, heavily wooded on both sides, which cradled a small stream at the bottom. It was a surprisingly beautiful spot to find hidden away in a large city. With that view, I could relax during off hours and find a moment of peace.

But today was one of those days when I longed for one of the front stations. Although I was pushing myself to keep up with the demand, I was steadily losing ground because of {he hazard of getting through the mob between my tables and the kitchen. This was made more difficult by the fact that both my large tables were filled to overflowing with extra chairs and high chairs that blocked the aisles. I stopped for a moment and glanced around to see what were the most urgent of the many things demanding my attention.

That’s when I saw her. She was seated at the farthest table, jammed into a corner, her enjoyment of the view hampered by the unappetizing remains of someone else’s meal in front of her. She appeared to be about 70 years old, with white hair, a deeply lined face, and hands that testified to a lifetime of hard work. She wore an old-fashioned navy straw hat, and a cotton house dress under a shabby brown coat that appeared inadequate for the weather. She sat quietly, with an air of dejection and an expression of terrible sadness.

I hurried over, and as I cleared the table, I began a monologue — scolding the hostess for not telling me the woman was waiting and complaining about the busboy for not clearing the table. “He’ll get no dessert tonight for that kind of work!” I added. She smiled to tell me she knew I was joking, but the smile did not reach her eyes.

“It’s all right,” she said. “I live on a farm and out that window it almost looks like home.”

“I’d love to live in a pretty place, too,” I said, but she was not interested in continuing the conversation.

All she had ordered was a cup of tea. I made sure her tea was hot, and told her I hoped she’d come back when we weren’t so busy. Then the voices around me called for my attention:

“Waitress! Where is my coffee?”

“Over here! It’s been 20 minutes since we ordered!”

And I was back on the treadmill, even farther behind.

When I looked over again, the old woman was gone. I couldn’t help but wonder what had made her so terribly sad.

A few moments later I heard my name called and I looked up to see her pushing her way through the crowded aisles. “I have something for you,” she said, and she held out her hand. I put down the plates I was carrying and dried my hands so she could give me a dime.

She didn’t know that most waitresses here laughed at people who left only small change for a tip. Then I thought about how far she had to come, pushing her way through the crowd just to give me her money, and how she probably couldn’t afford even that little bit.

I smiled and said, “You really didn’t have to do that.”

She answered, “I know it isn’t much, but you went out of your way to be nice to me. I just wanted you to know that I appreciated it.” Somehow my simple “thank you” didn’t seem adequate, so I added, “and God bless you.”

Her response was sudden and unexpected. She grabbed my hand and started to cry. “Thank you, Lord,” she sobbed. “You knew how much I needed to know there was another Christian nearby.’’

Leaving the dishes where they sat, I led her to a chair and said, “Tell me what is wrong, and if there is any way I can help.”

She shook her head and answered in a rush. “There is nothing anybody can do. I brought my husband here for an operation. They thought it was a hernia but now they tell me he has cancer and I don’t know if he will survive the operation. He is 72 and we have been married over 50 years. I don’t know anyone here to talk to and the city feels like such a cold and unfriendly place. I tried to pray over it but I couldn’t seem to find God anywhere around here.”

She managed to stop crying. “I almost didn’t come in here because it looked so expensive. But I just had to get out of the hospital for a while. When I was looking out the window in back, I tried praying again. I asked Jesus to show me just one other Christian so I would know I wasn’t alone and that he was listening.”

Still holding her hand I said, “Tell me your husband’s name and I will pray for both of you every day for a week.”

She smiled and responded, “Please do. His name is Henry”

With that she stood up and left. I went back to work with renewed energy. Somehow I didn’t feel tired any more. For some reason, none of my other customers complained about the delay. I knew that God had conspired that the two of us meet and help each other. I was happy to offer her my prayers. And I hoped she knew she’d given me far more than 10 cents.

It was suddenly an absolutely beautiful day.

#12532

*

Within hours of TWA Flight 800's fiery explosion off Long Island,

NY., Coast Guard Commandant Adm. Robert E. Kramek arrived on the scene

to direct the surface search for survivors. But it was soon apparent

to Coast Guard rescuers that no one had lived through the crash. The

four-star admiral then went to the boathouse where bodies were taken.

This way, he could offer encouragement to those who had to retrieve

victims from the sea.

"Once the hope of finding survivors was gone, my concern was that

we would become overwhelmed by the tragedy," Kramek says. "But I saw

hundreds of our people, many of them volunteer, working with care and

compassion for the victims. For a leader, there is no greater moment

than to see your people perform at their best under difficult

circumstances. I learned something that day about duty and

commitment that I will never forget."

- Bill Stump, {Reader's Digest} April 1997, p. 134

Grady Owens, 54, had been on the waiting list for a new liver for a

year when he got a call from the Cleveland Clinic. They had found a

match, but Owens had only five hours to get there from his home in

Middletown, NY.

On that October day in 1992, Jon Wurtzburger was working on the

floor of the New York Stock Exchange. A governing member of the

Exchange, Wurtzburger is also acting president of AirLifeLine

(800-446-1231), a nationwide network of volunteer pilots who at a

moment's notice will fly seriously ill, financially needy patients to

hospitals all over the country free of charge. After AirLifeLine

received Owens' call for help, Wurtzburger hurried to his Beechcraft

Bonanza at a nearby New Jersey airport, then flew to pick up Owens.

The little plane carrying Wurtzburger and Owens battled snow and

75-m.p.h. head winds. As they pushed west, the turbulence and snow

increased. Normally Wurtzburger would have rerouted to another

airport and waited out the storm, but Owens' life was riding on this

flight.

The Cleveland runways were covered with huge ice patches, but by

now Wurtzburger's fuel levels were too low to turn back. When the

wheels touched down, Wurtzburger pumped the brakes and slowed the

plane, coming to rest on the ice. Owens arrived at the hospital in

time.

Today Owens enjoys the life that would have been lost had it not

been for the generousity of an organ donor - and the courage of pilot

Wurtzburger.

- Anita Bartholomew, {Reader's Digest, }August 1996, p. 46-47.

“Lord,” I said, “I want to be your man, not my own.

So to you I will give my money, my car - even my home.

Then, smug and content, I relaxed with a smile

And whispered to God, “I bet it's been a while

Since anyone has given so much - so freely?”

His answer surprised me. He replied, “Not really.

“Not a day has gone by since the beginning of time,

That someone hasn't offered meager nickels and dimes,

Golden altars and crosses, contributions and penance,

Stone monuments and steeples; but why not repentance?

“The money, the statues, the cathedrals you've built,

Do you really think I need your offerings of guilt?

What good is money that's meant only to salve

The hurting conscience that so many of you have?

“Your lips know no prayers. Your eyes, no compassion.

But you will go to church (when churchgoing's in fashion).

“Just give me a tear - a heart ready to mold.

And I'll give you a mission, a message so bold –

That a fire will be stirred where there was only death,

And your heart will be flamed by my life and my breath.”

I stuck my hands in my pockets and kicked at the dirt.

It's tough to be corrected (I guess my feelings were hurt).

But it was worth the struggle to realize the thought that

The cross isn't for sale and Christ's blood can't be bought.

-- Max Lucado

*

A Greek class was given an assignment to study the story of the Good Samaritan in Luke 10:25-37. These young theologs were to do an in-depth analysis of the biblical text, observing and commenting on all the major terms and syntactical factors worth mentioning. Each student was to write his own translation after having done the work on his commentary.

As is true in most language classes, a couple or three of the students cared more about the practical implications of the assignment than its intellectual stimulation. The morning the work was to be turned in, these three teamed up and carried out a plan to prove their point. One volunteered to play the part of an alleged victim. They tore his shirt and trousers, rubbed mud, catsup, and other realistic-looking ingredients across his “wounds,” marked up his eyes and face so he hardly resembled himself, then placed him along the path that led from the dormitory to the Greek classroom. While the other two hid and watched, he groaned and writhed, simulating great pain.

Not one student stopped. They walked around him, stepped over him, and said different things to him. But nobody stooped over to help. What do you want to bet their academic work was flawless … and insightful … and handed in on time?

This incident always reminds me of a Scripture that penetrates the surface of our intellectual concerns. “This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers. If anyone has material possessions and sees his brother in need but has no pity on him, how can the love of God be in him?” (1 John 3:16-17)

#18572

*

The church's engagement with the culture involves a host of issues, controversies and decisions -- but no issue defines our current cultural crisis as clearly as homosexuality. Some churches and denominations have capitulated to the demands of the homosexual rights movement and now accept homosexuality as a fully valid lifestyle. Other denominations are tottering on the brink, and without a massive conservative resistance they are almost certain to abandon biblical truth and bless what the Bible condemns.

Within a few short years a major dividing line has become evident -- with those churches endorsing homosexuality on one side and those stubbornly resisting the cultural tide on the other.

The homosexual rights movement understands that the evangelical church is one of the last resistance movements committed to a biblical morality. Because of this, the movement has adopted a strategy of isolating Christian opposition and forcing change by political action and cultural pressure.

The Southern Baptist Convention is one of the crucial holdouts resisting the homosexual revolution. Resolutions adopted by the SBC send a very clear message of biblical conviction. Our Ethics & Religious Liberty Commission is a stalwart voice for biblical morality. The denomination's six seminaries, mission boards and other entities uphold a biblical standard in teaching, publications and appointments. Furthermore, the convention has acted to refuse seating to messengers from any church approving of homosexuality. So, the SBC can rest assured that our part of the battle is won -- right?

Not hardly. Scientific surveys and informal observation reveal that we have experienced a significant loss of conviction among youth and young adults. No moral revolution can succeed without shaping and changing the minds of young people and children. Inevitably, the schools have become crucial battlegrounds for the culture war. The Christian worldview has been undermined by pervasive curricula that teach moral relativism, reduce moral commandments to personal values and promote homosexuality as a legitimate and attractive lifestyle option.

Our churches must teach the basics of biblical morality to Christians who will otherwise never know that the Bible prescribes a model for sexual relationships. Young people must be told the truth about homosexuality -- and taught to esteem marriage as God's intention for human sexual relatedness.

The times demand Christian courage. These days, courage means that preachers and Christian leaders must set an agenda for biblical confrontation and not shrink from dealing with the full range of issues related to homosexuality. We must talk about what the Bible teaches about gender -- what it means to be a man or a woman. We must talk about God's gift of sex and the covenant of marriage. And we must talk honestly about what homosexuality is and why God has condemned this sin as an abomination in his sight.

Courage is far too rare in many Christian circles. This explains the surrender of denominations, seminaries and churches to the homosexual agenda. But no surrender on this issue would have been possible, if the authority of Scripture had not already been undermined.

And yet, even as courage is required, the times call for another Christian virtue as well -- compassion. The tragic fact is that every congregation is almost certain to include persons struggling with homosexual desire or even involved in homosexual acts. Outside the walls of the church, homosexuals are waiting to see if the Christian church has anything more to say after we declare that homosexuality is a sin.

Liberal churches have redefined compassion to mean that the church changes its message to meet modern demands. They argue that to tell a homosexual he is a sinner is uncompassionate and intolerant. This is like arguing that a physician is intolerant because he tells a patient she has cancer. But, in the culture of political correctness, this argument holds a powerful attraction.

Biblical Christians know that compassion requires telling the truth and refusing to call sin something sinless. To hide or deny the sinfulness of sin is to lie, and there is no compassion in such a deadly deception. True compassion demands speaking the truth in love -- and there is the problem. Far too often, our courage is more evident than our compassion.

In far too many cases, the options seem reduced to these -- liberal churches preaching love without truth, and conservative churches preaching truth without love. Evangelical Christians must ask ourselves some very hard questions, but the hardest may be this: Why is it that we have been so ineffective in reaching persons trapped in this particular pattern of sin? The gospel is for sinners -- and for homosexual sinners just as much as for heterosexual sinners. As the apostle Paul explained to the Corinthian church, Such were some of you; but you were washed, but you were sanctified, but you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and in the Spirit of our God (1 Corinthians 5:11).

I believe that we are failing the test of compassion. If the first requirement of compassion is that we tell the truth, the second requirement must surely be that we reach out to homosexuals with the gospel. This means that we must develop caring ministries to make that concern concrete and learn how to help homosexuals escape the powerful bonds of that sin -- even as we help others to escape their own bonds by grace.

If we are really a gospel people, if we really love homosexuals as other sinners, then we must reach out to them with a sincerity that makes that love tangible. We have not even approached that requirement until we are ready to say to homosexuals, "We want you to know the fullness of God's plan for you, to know the forgiveness of sins and the mercy of God, to receive the salvation that comes by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, to know the healing God works in sinners saved by grace, and to join us as fellow disciples of Jesus Christ, living out our obedience and growing in grace together."

This concern led Southern Baptist Theological Seminary to do something out of the ordinary. Recently, we canceled classes for a day and required all on-campus students to attend a one-day intensive seminar on homosexuality. It was a no-holds-barred confrontation with the issue, an eye-opening expose to students who thought they had the issue figured out already. It was a life-changing experience we will not forget.

Our partners in this effort were specialists from Focus on the Family. Dr. James Dobson, the organization's president, has demonstrated rare courage in not only teaching the truth about homosexuality, but by developing effective ministries that show what Christian compassion is all about. This team included experts who provided the quality of information that demands attention. The content was shocking. Our students saw what is really going on in the public schools and the media. They saw the homosexual agenda at work.

Alan Sears, president of the Alliance Defense Fund, an attorney and leading religious liberty expert, warned of the legal advances made by the homosexual activists in the courts, the legislatures and the workplace. The Orwellian concept of "hate speech" was shown to be one of the effective levers of homosexual power.

These presentations were effective and compelling, but the most emotionally charged dimension of the whole event came when the students heard from three men involved in ministry to homosexuals -- and all three had come out of the homosexual lifestyle. They spoke honestly of the deep and enduring struggles they experienced as they fought -- and fight -- this pattern of sin. Their candor was another demonstration of courage.

Such were some of you ... The church is not a place where sinners are welcomed to remain in their sin. To the contrary, it is the body of Christ, made up of sinners transformed by grace. Not one of us deserves to be accepted within the beloved. It is all of grace, and each one of us has come out of sin. We sin if we call homosexuality something other than sin. We also sin if we act as if this sin cannot be forgiven.

We cannot settle for truth without love nor love without truth. The gospel settles the issue once and for all. This great moral crisis is a gospel crisis. The genuine body of Christ will reveal itself by courageous compassion and compassionate courage. We will see this realized only when men and women freed by God's grace from bondage to homosexuality feel free to stand up in our churches and declare their testimony -- and when we are ready to welcome them as fellow disciples. Millions of hurting people are waiting to see if we mean what we preach.

_________________

R. Albert Mohler, Jr. is president of The Southern Baptist Seminary in Louisville, Ky. Reprinted from SBC Life, monthly journal of the Southern Baptist Convention Executive Committee.

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I've been on both ends of this experience-the receiving and the giving. I remember when I first came to the United States from a warm climate. It was cold and I had no overcoat. How grateful I was to that servant of Christ, Melvin Wampler, who took off his coat and placed it on my shoulders. He went without so that I could be warm. In a similar manner I have often endeavored to do this for others. Believe me, however, there is more joy in giving and going without, than receiving and possessing.

After analyzing its donor records, a well known charity realized the town's most successful lawyer had never made a contribution. The woman in charge of donor relations phoned him to solicit a contribution. "Our research reveals you have an estimated annual income of about $500,000 and that you give nothing to charity," she said. "Wouldn't you like to give something back to the community?"

There was a moment silence and then, in his best courtroom voice, the barrister replied, "First, did your research also show that my mother lives in a shabby little apartment with medical bills several times her annual income?" Embarrassed, fundraiser stammered, "Ah ... ummm ... no!"

"-or that my brother, a disabled veteran, can't hold a steady job because of his drug abuse?" The stricken representative began to stutter an apology but was interrupted.

"-or that my sister is a single-parent of three?" The humiliated woman, completely beaten, said simply, "I sorry, I had no idea!"

Seeing he was on a roll, the lawyer cut her off again: "So, if I don't give any money to them, why would I give any to YOU?"

A certain woman went down from Washington to Richmond and ran over a spike which punctured her tire and left her stranded by the side of the road. After raising the hood of her car and tying a scarf to her radio antenna, she locked the door handles and sat in the car, praying for the Lord to send help! By chance, there came a limousine that way with a bumper sticker that read, "Smile, God Loves You!" When the occupants saw the stranded woman, they passed by in the far lane-without smiling.

And likewise, there came a sports car with a CB radio and a bumper sticker saying, "Honk If You Love Jesus!" The man who was driving passed by in the far lane without honking and without using his CB to tell the Highway Patrol about the woman's dilemma.

But a certain working man, as he traveled to his job, came to the spot where the woman was and, when he saw her raised hood, white scarf, and flat tire, he had compassion on her. He stopped his old beat-up pickup-which had no bumper sticker-and crossed the four-lane highway, and offered to change the tire. The woman opened the door and gave him the key to the trunk. The man took out the spare tire, jacked up the car, removed the flat tire, and replaced it with the spare.

When he had finished, the woman tried to pay him. He refused the money, saying, "If my wife were stranded on the highway with a flat tire, I'd want some Good Samaritan to stop and help her out."

He returned to his bumper-stickerless truck, smiled, honked at her, and went his way.

Which of these three was neighbor unto her who had a flat tire?

Ten o'clock and I'm still at the office, I thought. I'd been putting in a lot of extra hours lately. I barely had a moment to think, pray, talk to my friends - just to relax. Everyone else had left hours ago. I'd promised myself I would get home early tonight. So why was I still at work? Just one more fax, I told myself. Then I'll leave.

I put the papers on the machine and punched in the number of a client in Los Angeles. Then I pressed the “send” button. An error message flashed on the display beside the number. I looked at it closely. Odd. That's not the number I dialed. This one was a 714 area code. That's Anaheim, I thought. Why would the fax machine be calling there? I tried again, carefully dialing my client's number. The same thing happened.

Finally, I decided to call the mysterious 714 number. The phone rang a few times. Then a woman answered shakily, “Hello?”

I explained to her that I had been trying to send a fax.

“There's no fax machine here,” she said. “This is a convalescent home. You called an old lady.”

I quickly apologized for bothering her so late at night.

“Oh, no, my dear, I'm glad you called. I hardly ever get any visitors. In fact, I was just sitting here asking the Lord for a friendly voice.”

The old woman and I chatted for a few minutes. Then a few more. She told me all about her life in the nursing home. I talked about my job. Before I knew it, we were talking about faith too.

“Thank you so much for calling, Dear,” the woman finally said. “You made my night.”

Now it was really late. But all the way home a good feeling stayed with me. I didn't even think about the fax until the next day, when I got to work. I called my client to apologize for not sending him the papers.

“What do you mean?” he asked. “I got your fax late last night. It came in just after ten.”

I guess I must have had the right number all along.

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Guideposts, Copyright (c) March 2004, http://www.guideposts.org

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[Original illustration here was a duplicate in HolwickID 25837-26027]

Eternal life is the lifetime of the Almighty.

THOT OF THE DAY (from MikeysFunnies.com)

I am grateful that I am not as judgmental as all those censorious self-righteous people around me.

GOD’S WIFE

A little boy 10 years old was standing before a shoe store on Broadway, barefooted, peering through the window, and shivering with cold. A lady approached the boy and said, “My little fellow, why are you looking so earnestly in that window?” “I was asking God to give a pair of shoes,” was the boy’s reply. The lady took him by the hand and went into the store, and asked the clerk to get half a dozen pair of sock for the boy. She then asked if he could give her a basin of water and a towel he quickly brought them to her. She took the little fellow to the back part of the store and, removing her gloves, knelt down, washed his little feet and dried them with a towel. By this time the clerk had returned with the socks. Placing a pair upon the boy’s feet, she purchased him a pair of shoes, and tying up the remaining pairs of socks,gave them to him. She patted him on the head and said, “No doubt, my little fellow, you feel more comfortable now?” As she turned to go, the astonished lad caught her by the hand, and looking up in her face, with tears in his eyes, answered the question with these words … “Are you God’s wife?

They stood on stage, a colorful array of men and women representing countries from all over the world and needs largely unvoiced. Each one signified a life that said yes to a call of service and no to things of which most will never know the extent. Seeing them, I could not overlook the hard realities of missionary life, nor could I fail to see the expectant reality of God at work in communities I fail daily to see. At this recent missions conference at our church, I was reminded how serious is the connection between seeing and compassion.

The Gospel writers are quick to confirm the correlation. Matthew and Mark repeatedly draw attention to the relationship between the sight and empathy. Frequently, it is recorded: upon SEEING the multitudes, Jesus HAD COMPASSION on them. I don't believe for a moment that either disciple is suggesting that Jesus needed to see the crowds in order to know their deepest misconceptions or expressions of pain. For Jesus, there is no “out of sight” or “out of mind.” And yet, these two distinct functions — sight and compassion — are spelled out for us again and again as simultaneously coinciding in the heart of Christ: “When Jesus saw the crowds, he had compassion on them because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (Matthew 9:36). “When Jesus went ashore, he saw a large crowd, and he felt compassion for them and healed their sick” (Matthew 14:14). It is a correlation that calls an unseeing world out of its apathy and into his presence: the sight of an omniscient God is indivisible from the work of his sovereign hands.

As it is described throughout Scripture, the major anguish and challenge of God is not the scheme of the enemy or the dealings of wicked nations, but the aligning his people with his own heart. I am startled at how easy it is to forget the faces and desperation of those who are out of sight and out of mind. I am ashamed that so many of the Oscar Romeros, Corrie Ten Booms, and Paul Brands have fought injustices largely unknown and served missions grossly unaided by those who follow the same Christ. For such men and women there was no alternative: the invitation to follow the heart of God came with the liability of sight. Likewise, the apostle Paul urged the church in Rome, “The hour has come for you to wake up from your slumber” (Romans 13:11).

But is waking to the world around us as simple as learning to see? If the atrocities were plainly in front of us and we could see the great needs of a lost crowd would we then respond in compassion without delay?

In the parable of the Good Samaritan Jesus makes it a point to note that all three men saw with their own eyes the need of the one wounded alongside the road. “A priest happened to be going down the same road, and when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. So too, a Levite, when he came to the place and saw him, passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan, as he traveled, came where the man was; and when he saw him, he took pity on him” (Luke 10:31-33). Sight only led one to compassion.

Like my experience at the missions conference, there may be times when we simply need to be reoriented as to our place within the journey: The harvest is plentiful, the workers are few, and GOD IS ON THE MOVE. Perhaps other times, it is a recognition of our LACK of sight that must wake us. When it is my schedule I am consumed with, my heart I am looking to protect, my time I am guarding, is there room even in my peripheral vision for a neighbor? Like the two who saw but were not moved, it is all too easy to employ the gift of sight as our own. Waking to the world around us requires the laying down of our lives. We wake to the heart of God that our hearts can be lined up with his own. And in this we wake to Christ, who in seeing us as sheep without a shepherd or as mockers at the Cross HAD COMPASSION.

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Copyright © 2006 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM). Reprinted with permission. "A Slice of Infinity" is a radio ministry of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

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[Original illustration at this number was added to HolwickID #24391]

Sermon on parable of the Good Samaritan. Luke 10:25-37

BECOMING A CARING CHURCH

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I. Remember when you knew your neighbors?

II. You've heard the story before.

III. How to avoid being uncaring.

A. Move beyond being self-centered.

B. Move beyond being too hurried.

C. Move beyond being isolated.

D. Move beyond intentional insensitivity.

E. Move beyond thinking someone else will help.

IV. How to increase your care level.

A. Caring people put aside prejudices. 10:33

B. Caring people notice other's pain.

C. Caring people take time to be compassionate.

D. Caring people get involved.

E. Caring people are not stingy. 10:35

V. Seven simple steps to get this into your life.

A. Identify people who need your care.

B. Reach out to people - don't wait for them to come to you.

C. Communicate beyond the superficial level.

D. Empathize with them.

E. Listen without judging.

F. Respond with a caring gift.

G. Know the ultimate source of compassion.

[Based on sermon #16976 by Rev. Dan Warkentin]

Trust me! I can help you.” The minute I spoke the words, I realized how utterly useless voicing them was, indeed how ridiculous my entire demeanor must be. There I was, crouching with hand extended, slowing walking forward, talking to a crow. And I didn’t even like crows.

It was promising to be another crisp fall day in the Lower Mainland in British Columbia. The sun was peering over the partly cloudy horizon as I took my daily morning walk. I was deep in thought, sorting through — well, to be honest, I was fretting about-the many details our pending move to Texas had imposed on the largely stress-free existence that I had grown accustomed to. As I rounded the corner and headed down the lane that runs along the Little League baseball field, my ruminations were interrupted by the obnoxious cawing of two crows. I quickly noticed the source of their consternation. In the grassy meadow, a third crow was jumping and flapping about, vainly attempting to fly. Somehow the scavenger had gotten his left wing stuck in the handle of a pink plastic bag. The poor bird had no chance whatsoever of getting airborne.

I gave the crow a wide berth and went on my way. His fellow crows would have to remedy his plight. And if they were unsuccessful? Well, one less crow in the world would not be a great loss, especially given the havoc these mean creatures can inflict on other birds.

I was only a few paces down the lane when the full importance of the crow’s plight registered in my mind: Unless I do something, this hapless bird is going to die. I turned in my tracks. At first I remained a good distance away from the crow. Crows are capable of launching a dive-bomber attack so threatening that it elicits terror in the heart of anyone who evokes their ire. Despite what I surmised could be warlike chirping of the two potential assailants above, I decided to see if I could get near enough to the grounded bird to remedy his plight.

The imprisoned crow initially responded with a flutter-filled hop away from me. But soon he seemed to realize that he did not have the wherewithal to evade me, and he signaled his capitulation by collapsing in the grass, gazing at me. It was then that I spoke: “Trust me! I can help you.” A fruitless, dumb gesture, I immediately thought. But how else could I assure the crow not only that I intended him no harm but also that I was his only hope for survival?

I would like to believe that the creature somehow understood my words. In any case, he didn’t move a muscle — indeed, he appeared uncharacteristically calm as I advanced slowly but steadily in his direction. The crow seemed to have decided to entrust his life to my hands, for good or for ill. (Equally miraculous, from my vantage point, the two feathered dive-bombers kept their distance in the tree above.) Stealthily I moved in, until I was so close that I could have actually touched the small body that lay motionless in the grass in front of me. I repeated softly, “Trust me! I can help you.” Then I reached out with both hands, carefully tore the plastic and pulled away the pink prison that had held the crow captive.

Mission completed, I resumed my walk. I became engrossed once again in my interior world, filled with the concerns about our pending move-selling a house, dealing with the immigration process, hoping that a position would open up for my wife. Again my thoughts were interrupted by a short series of caws coming from three crows flying overhead. As the birds expressed what seemed to be their gratitude, the words I had voiced just a few moments earlier reverberated in my mind: “Trust me! I can help you.” But this time, they were not spoken by me, but to me.

I continued my morning walk, musing about how often our loving heavenly Father speaks to us in the midst of difficulties, and about the response — faith — that his words are designed to engender in us. And I was quick to draw the obvious lesson: Just as the hapless creature needed to admit the hopelessness of his plight, cease struggling, and trust me unconditionally to receive my assistance, so also we must entrust ourselves to God.

As important as this connection is, it was not God’s message for me that crisp fall day. My musings took me to a deeper question: Why did the bird exercise faith? Only then did I glimpse what stands at the heart of the great mystery of trust: The crow had realized in his own way what we are called to realize. We only become willing to risk all and take the bold step of genuine faith-of entrusting ourselves to God fully, completely, unreservedly, for good or for ill-when we see in this particular situation that God is our last and only hope.

I recently heard about the death of a young medical student from a rare form of cancer. He spent the last year of his life alternating between spending weeks in the hospital as a patient undergoing radiation and spending weeks in the hospital doing his clinical rotations. The rare health professional knows what it is like to be in the hospital bed, not just the one filling out the charts. It is extremely difficult to imagine how vulnerable and dependent you feel when you put your life and dignity in another's hands, unless you or someone you love has had to do it. Doctors who have been patients have a unique ability to empathize with those whose treatment they oversee.

As I was thinking about this student's story, I began to see some parallels for our calling to spread the Gospel. I recognize that the doctor/patient relationship is not a very good metaphor for our relationship to those who need to hear the Gospel of Truth. If anything, we are less like the doctor and more like one who urges the sick person to receive medical care. However, just as doctors need to know or imagine what it feels like to be a patient, we need to remember what it feels like to be without God. If we forget what it is like to be sick, we will not be very compelling when we invite others to receive healing.

According to Scripture, before we were born anew in Christ, we were worse than sick; we were dead. The apostle Paul writes, “All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our sinful nature and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature objects of wrath. But because of his great love for us, God, who is rich in mercy, made us alive with Christ even when we were dead in transgressions–it is by grace you have been saved” (Ephesians 2:3-5). When we forget how far we have come — or rather, how far we have been brought — we become arrogant, callous healers. The temptation arises to practice a sledgehammer apologetic that obliterates your ideological enemies rather than wins them over. We must not give in to this temptation; we must speak the truth in love. Love for other sinners flows out of the awareness that on your own you are no better off than they are.

Hospitals become cold, cruel places when patients are treated as mere bodies rather than souls. We make an even graver mistake when we treat people as mere minds without hearts, as intellects without emotions, as numbers rather than as those created in the image of God. Remember what it is like to be on the other side of the veil, to walk in darkness. May the memory stir you to compassion as you introduce others to the one who came not for the healthy ones, but for the sick.

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Copyright © 2005 Ravi Zacharias International Ministries (RZIM). Reprinted with permission. "A Slice of Infinity" is a radio ministry of Ravi Zacharias International Ministries.

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