Compassion

What makes someone “cool?” The appearance of a “cool” person changes from generation to generation. A cool person in the 1950s (leather jacket and t-shirt) looks different than the cool person from the 60s (long hair and love beads), or the 70s (disco suit, huge collar and platform shoes) or the 80s (parachute pants and swatch watch). To show you how out of it I am, I don’t even know what cool is today. You’ve got your geeks and nerds and hipsters, but honestly, I’m not sure what it looks like anymore.

            But what cool acts like is more constant. The cool person seems to be in control of their emotions. Being cool means you never really show what’s going on deep down inside, whether you’re hurt or lonely or excited.  In more extreme cases, you could say that the urge to be cool is a conscious move away from innocence—it’s a way of being in the world that basically says, “Life stinks. People hurt you and disappoint you. I’ll never let myself be treated that way again, so I’m putting up this wall. I’m putting on this mask so you’ll never see how vulnerable I am.”

            By that definition, Jesus would definitely have to be considered uncool. Here was God in the flesh walking around in the world, but he wasn’t above it all. He refused to be cynical about people. He wore his emotions on his sleeve. He wasn’t afraid to feel deeply for people, or to get upset about their problems. Jesus was all about attachment, not detachment. And that is very, very good news.

            So we see the uncool Jesus in the Gospel of Luke, coming across a funeral procession. Through the city gates of Nain comes a broken-hearted mother mourning the death of her only son. Jesus sees this situation and is moved with compassion. Now it’s extremely important that we understand what is meant by compassion here. It’s more than just feeling sorry for someone. In the original Greek, the word is “splangchthna.” Great word. “Splangchthna.” Sounds, messy, doesn’t it? Almost like ‘Splat.” Which is appropriate, because “Splangchthna” means “gut-wrenching.” It means you feel so bad for someone else’s pain that your insides feel all twisted up. That’s how Jesus felt as he watched this funeral procession. He hates the effects of sin he sees. He hates the fact that death robbed a young man of life. He hates the fact that a widow has been robbed of last remaining family member and source of support. Grief and sadness has rippled out into the whole village. Jesus cannot stand coolly by, detached, hiding his feelings behind dark shades. His splangchthna causes him to act immediately. His compassion causes him to do something very uncool. He stops the funeral, touches the coffin, and talk to the dead man. Awkward, right? Except, when Jesus talks, He speaks words of life. He commands the young man to live again, and a dead heart starts beating again. Dead lungs fill with oxygen. A dead brain starts firing signals. Dead eyes start gathering images, and a dead mouth begins to speak.  Life returns by the word of Jesus. The young man is alive again. So, in a sense, is his mother. The town’s grief is turned to amazement. That’s what happens when the Life-giver shows up—the Life-giver who goes around getting his guts wrenched by the pain and suffering that he sees. Splangchthna. Maybe you’ve felt it too.

This was not an isolated event in Jesus’ life. The gospels of Matthew, Mark, Luke and John record at least eight other instances when Jesus’ Splangchthna resulted in immediate action. His compassion resulted in loving service to lepers, blind men, the demon-possessed, and the hungry, not to mention the dead and grieving! In many of these acts, Jesus exposed himself to ritual impurity, like here in Luke, touching the open air coffin of the young man exposed Jesus to a day’s uncleanness, according to Jewish law and custom. Touching the corpse meant a week’s worth of uncleanness, the most severe form of ritual impurity. In a religious sense, what Jesus was willing to do was not cool, and it opened him up to all kinds of criticism! The religious establishment could only see a radical miracle worker with a blatant disregard for the rules, and therefore, this Jesus is a problem. His followers saw, and we can see it too, through the eyes of faith, the power of Splangthna. In Jesus, we see compassionate love so strong that he was willing to be covered with filth to bring his holiness to the situation. That’s how he operates. That’s how he saves you and me.

Jesus hated the effects of sin he saw in the world. He hated the fact that death robbed young men and women and children of life. He hated the fact that sickness and disease robbed husbands and wives of long life together. He hated the fact that grief and sadness and despair has rippled out across the world. Jesus did stand coolly by, detached, hiding his feelings behind dark shades. His splangchthna caused him to act. His compassion caused him to do something very uncool. It caused Him to sweat drops of blood, to cry and pray in the Garden of Gethsemane. It caused Him to be slapped around by guards and treated like a circus sideshow by rulers. It caused him to be punished like a criminal, his body and his heart broken, insulted even while hanging on the cross. His holiness was swamped by our filth. It drowned Him. Splangcthna. He let it happen. You know why, don’t you? Because Jesus knew it was either Him or you.

Once upon a time a bee stung a woman on the cheek. Then it chased her daughter around the room. The little girl was terrorized, until her mother said, “It’s OK, sweetie, the bee left its stinger in me. It can’t hurt you now.” The gigantic stinger of eternal death was plunged into Jesus on the cross, and he let it happen, because he knew it was either Him or you. Splangthna. Compassion. “Death has lost its sting.”

Can you handle the fact that Jesus loves you that much? Our God aches for you to know the real freedom he can give; He passionately desires for you to grow in faith and wisdom. His gut-wrenching compassion rescued you for eternity.

How will you release that compassion in your life?