On Compassion, Fatigue, and Prayer…

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compassion, compassion fatigue, dignity, God, Jesus, ministry, overwhelmed, prayer, refugees, suffering

Photo credit:  houseofdeputies.org/episcopal-migration-ministries-shares-the-journey.html

At our Clergy Day yesterday, we had a staff member from Episcopal Migration Ministries talk to us about the Episcopal Church’s work with refugees.  In what has become a heated topic in our current political climate, I was grateful for an explanation about how the process works for someone to come to our country as a refugee.  The demands and expectations were staggering, and the work to become self-sufficient seemed overwhelming and humbling.  One of the biggest take-aways from the presentation was that if we are going to make progress on this issue, we need to be in relationship with those unlike ourselves.

I left the presentation feeling a bit overwhelmed, wondering how I could invest more energy into one more of the world’s ills.  Our parish has been focusing its energy on racial reconciliation.  But we still have a long way to go.  Imagining taking on another area of reconciliation work felt like a tremendous burden.  I have talked about compassion fatigue before (see post here).  I realized today that my capacity for compassion is stretched pretty thinly these days.  Every time I turn around, the poor seemed to pushed further to the fringes, the oppressed are feeling more pressure instead of less, and we as a country seem to be failing at our commitment to respect the dignity of every human being.

Though we rarely use this language, I think Jesus often suffered from compassion fatigue too.  That is why so often we find him retreating with his disciples, longing for a place of quiet and prayer.  Knowing that Jesus suffered compassion fatigue is comforting, but it only gets me so far.  You see, when I suffer compassion fatigue, I find myself burying my head in the sand, trying to block out the news stories that serve to overwhelm instead of inform.  I find myself watching frivolous television, or escaping in a novel.  I find myself simply tired.  Of course, Jesus did not have online streaming television, but there are ways he could have diverted his mind when retreating from his compassion work.  Instead, he goes off to pray.  That is our invitation when faced with compassion fatigue – not to escape, but to retreat into the Lord, listening for God’s guidance, and praying for those suffering when there is little else we can do.  I invite your prayers for refugees – all those fleeing violence, all those who make it to makeshift homes, all those who boldly decide to make a home in a foreign land, and all those who suffer by those who wish to persecute the persecuted further.

With the Eyes of Compassion…

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children of God, compassion, girls, God, hurt, love, mean, see, sympathy, tough

Photo credit:  https://jackieleasommers.com/tag/what-does-compassion-to-an-OCD-sufferer-look-like/

As a mother of two girls, I have regularly followed articles and advice columns about “mean girls.”  I avoided meanness like the plague as a child – not necessarily because I was more moral than other kids.  In fact, my avoidance of meanness was more about self-preservation.  I figured if I was never mean to others, then I reduced the risk of someone being mean to me.

Having stayed under the radar, I realize there is a world of “mean girls” that I totally missed.  And I have been surprised at how early some of those tendencies arise in my daughter and her classmates.  There is constant chatter about who is or is no longer one’s best friend.  I am constantly hearing about hurt feelings, someone being mean, or, through inference, hearing when my own daughter seems to be the victim or perpetrator of meanness.  Though I realize we are not even close to the tween and teen years, I see the hints of what is to come.

But last week, I was the chaperone for my daughter’s field trip.  I wondered whether I would see any of that behavior in real time (not just through the stories relayed at bedtime or at the dinner table).  My observations did not lead to any conclusions about my daughter’s experiences.  But what I did see were a bunch of kids who were thrilled to have some attention and affection.  I did not really do much.  I deployed my typical distraction technique of asking lots of questions of the kids.  And before I knew it, I never had an empty hand.  Kids I had never met before wanted to hold my hand and be near me.

As we rode the bus back, my heart was full of sympathy for all the kids.  Though I know they all hurt each other with insults and teasing, at the heart of matter, they are all children of God, who like all of us, long for love.  What made me so grateful about the trip was these kids who sometimes say and do mean things are also kids trying to navigate social systems, kids trying to be tough, and kids who need love.  And if all that is true about kids, how much more so about all of us adults?  This week, I invite you to see those around you with the eyes of compassion – the same eyes with which God sees you.

In it Together…

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alcoholism, both-and, church, compassion, either-or, Eucharist, gratitude, grief, honor, joy, mother, Mother's Day, pain

Photo credit:  indianapublicmedia.org/harmonia/offering-hand/

This week I attended our Spring Clergy Day.  Our presenters for the day talked to us about addictions and their impact on families and communities.  As part of our work, we eventually began to talk about how we honor those in our midst who are struggling with the disease of addiction while staying true to ourselves.  One specific issue at hand was how to make room for alcoholics in a Church that serves wine as the blood of Christ.  Although our Bishop was pretty clear that he did not want us to step outside of the rubrics (i.e. using grape juice instead of wine/non-alcoholic wine), several clergy members shared practices they had adopted to make parishioners struggling with alcoholism feel incorporated into the community.  Ultimately, what we decided was that each parish was different, and the important point was that we talked about the issue, especially soliciting the opinions of those who suffer from the disease.

Meanwhile, this Sunday is Mother’s Day.  I have come to dread Mother’s Day because of the many pastoral implications (see my posts here and here).  However, I am in a new parish that longs to honor those mothers and mothering-types who have made a healthy impact in their lives.  I realized the dilemma of trying to honor mothers while honoring those for whom Mother’s Day is a hard day is not unlike the dilemma of trying to honor years of tradition in the Anglican Church and the pastoral sensitivities needed of a modern priest.

In both of these instances, I find myself mostly concerned about making room for both joy and compassion.  How do we honor the struggle of the alcoholic while also honoring the power the taste and tradition of wine has on our spirituality?  How do we honor the amazing mother we have in our lives while also honoring the fact that not everyone is so lucky?  How do we celebrate the pregnancy or birth of a child in our parish while also honoring how difficult hearing about pregnancy is for someone struggling with infertility?

I am hopeful that we can do both.  This Sunday, my parish is going to try to do just that.  We had several parishioners who really wanted to honor the mothers in our midst.  Holding on to that inner tension, we agreed that every female would be offered a flower and a poem that named the inherent challenge of honoring the amazing mothers in our lives and the ways that this day is hard for many of us.  Our hope is that by doing both, we have the opportunity to give thanks and rejoice while also leaving room for grief and intercession.  We know there is no perfect way to do both – but we also know that in doing nothing, we sever any opportunity for joy by simply attending to grief.  Instead, we are electing to go with the both-and instead of the either-or.  Prayers for all of you as you navigate the both-and of this world!

You did it to me…

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compassion, doing, Elizabeth, exhaustion, fatigue, feeling, Jesus, refugees, suffering, thinking, violence

I have been struggling with what to say in the face of recent acts of violence, the American debate about welcoming Syrian refugees, and an overwhelming sense of compassion fatigue and confusion about what is the “right” thing to do when considering war and peace, good and evil, life and death.  Theoretical conversations only get us so far.  Real life is where our theology is truly tested.  This week, instead of being fired up and ready for action, I find myself exhausted – exhausted by our continual ability to treat each other inhumanely, exhausted by an overwhelming sense impotence in the face of suffering and evil, and exhausted by oversimplifications and generalizations that end up justifying our behavior.

In the midst of my exhaustion, fatigue, and inability to articulate anything coherent this week, I celebrated the life and witness of Elizabeth, Princess of Hungary at Eucharist today.  For those of you who do not know her story, she was born in the early 1200s and was married by age fourteen.  She had a passion for the poor; so much so, that her husband allowed her to use her dowry to tend the sick and poor.  When a famine struck the land, she sold her jewels to build a hospital to care for others and she opened the royal granary.  When her husband died, she was kicked out by the court for her “extravagances.”  But she dedicated her life to the sick and poor anyway, and died at age 24 from exhaustion.

Photo credit: http://maxwellheightschurch.com/serving-the-world/

As I celebrate another year this month (many more than Elizabeth got to enjoy), I am struck by how much she did in so little time.  I am exhausted from thinking and feeling so much.  Elizabeth was exhausted from doing so much.  And as if I needed any further reminder of what Jesus is calling me to do than Elizabeth’s witness, the gospel lesson assigned today comes from Matthew.  Jesus says, “I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me…Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”  (Matthew 25.31-40)

While my exhausted heart, mind, and soul are wondering what to make of all of this, Jesus is clear and strong.  I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me.  When I feed, slake, or welcome others, not only am I loving them, but also I am loving Christ Jesus.  I am sure Jesus is moved when our hearts and minds pondering these things.  But today, Jesus is also inviting us to do.  To feed, slake, welcome, clothe, tend, and visit.  Because when we do those things, we do them to Jesus.

On compassion…

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compassion, Congress, evangelism, humanity, Jesus, transformation

Courtesy of http://vividlife.me/ultimate/33329/a-guide-to-practical-compassion/

As our Vestry has been exploring the spiritual practice of evangelism, we have been doing some self-work.  This week we focused on the work of compassion.  David Gortner, in Transforming Evangelism, says, “Compassion is not pity, but the recognition of another person’s full humanity, warts and all.”  Our Vestry talked about our experiences of seeing others show compassion, but also how hard compassion can be to express – especially when people hurt us.

Our conversation reminded me of this blog entry I saw recently.  As a Long Island Driver, I totally get this story.  I have been yelled at many a time since moving here – and to be fair, I have expressed my own impatience at times, but hopefully never in such an extreme way.  What I love about this blog post though is that this is the ultimate example of seeing with compassion.  In that moment, that mom was able to see the other driver’s full humanity – in a way that probably Christ sees us every day, but in a way that we rarely take the time to see.  This kind of compassion does not come naturally – especially when someone is yelling expletives in our face.  But when that compassion was shown, both drivers were transformed – transformed by God’s love.

I have been thinking we could all use a little more compassion lately.  As our Congress has derailed an entire section of our economy and as we have been raging about whatever side is not “our side,” I think compassion has been long gone.  I include myself in that omission.  I found myself this week literally yelling at the radio as I heard one of the Representatives explaining why her party is doing the right thing.  And the whole situation makes me so angry that I am not sure I could even sit in the same room with these Representatives as they attempt to find a solution.  But thinking about that driver at Starbucks and thinking about our Vestry’s conversation about compassion, I have been wondering how Christ sees this whole debate.  I have my own sense of what position Jesus would take on all this (though I won’t share that here), but I also know that Jesus is fully capable of loving both sides and seeing the humanity in all the people involved.  Of course, that does not make the situation any easier or my frustration any lessened, but it does take the edge off my raging anger a bit.

Perhaps that small bit is all I can ask for now.  Perhaps that small glimpse into compassion is enough to shift my way of being and interacting with others.  Perhaps that first step is all that Jesus needs to begin the slow conversion of each of us toward a life of compassion.