V - the story of: compassion
Sunday, June 29, 2008

« compassion »

com·pas·sion (km-pshn)
n.
Deep awareness of the suffering of another coupled with the wish to relieve it. See Synonyms at pity.

A couple of days ago, I was walking down Portland Road, where I was just about to pass Portland Tower. A homeless person was sat down, cross legged with his rugged, cheap blanket providing what little shelter it could for him. My earphones were nestled in the grooves of my earholes, phat beats, heavy bass and poignant voices declaring their sweet melodies, all for my enjoyment, the music just a filler to pass the time before I arrive under my easy shelter, which I have not had to slave away for.

And I saw him in the corner of my eye. I have seen him before. About a year ago, I sat down and prayed with him, when Thomas took the initiative to sit with him. I have seen him before...and I knew it. Yet, I fed myself the same excuse, playing over and over again in my fragile mind in my moment of indecision, "You need to go home to look after Daniel". I took out my earpiece, so as to hear him out, albeit knowing what he was going to say, I did it out of courtesy. He said what I expected him to say. And I replied with prior calculation, "No, mate. Sorry. I have nothing to spare for you today."

And in his eyes was this glaze of disappointment, resent, sorrow and expectation. Our gaze met for half a second, before he politely nodded his head and sought to find mercy elsewhere.

And it hit me.

Romans 5:5
And Hope does not disappoint, because God poured out His great love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom He has given us.

My legs were weary and I fought to walk away. Pride, in his desperation, pushed me onwards with rude aggression. Yet hope and the spirit of love slowed my pace to a mere stroll, giving enough time to ponder.

Compassion. To be aware of another's suffering. But don't get me wrong. It is so much more than pity. Where would the world be without compassion? A world without the good Samaritan. Merely people who know how to pity and look DOWN upon those with suffering, whilst suppressing previous memories of pain and ache in our own lives. Without compassion, there is no hope.

And where was the hope for this man? The man whose name was on the tip of my tongue? The man who cannot escape his demons, of potential drug or alcohol abuse, or otherwise? The man who is just like me; undeserving of mercy and grace, yet CAN freely receive?

The white noise of despair blared on as I was about to cross a road. Then a car turned the corner with speed. Beep. Profanity. Spit.

And I remembered. His name was James.

V

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