where fierce, unyielding compassion and wisdom meet

Sometimes when I face the needs of someone remarkably poor and desperate, whom I don't think I'm actually supposed to be helping, I choose to lower my eyes. To keep emotional distance. To come up with reasonable sounding excuses as to why I shouldn't get involved (physically or emotionally). I did it in the States when pulling up to a light and someone hungry, homeless or lonely tapped on my window. "They'll probably use the money they're asking for for beer." "I give to places that help men like him...this kind of mercy is actually toxic." And I do it here when someone desperate pleads at the gate. Or incessantly calls my number. "This is what he means in the book "when helping hurts." It isn't good for our long term relationship or their long term good for me to help with that."

That train of thinking isn't lacking knowledge necessarily--it even has wisdom, perhaps--but there can be a significant cost to our godly compassion when we remain exclusively in our heads. Being able to say "no" to someone without it creating angst, longing or compassion is a deadening, hardening reality for many. There are thousands who've grown cynical and cold to the needs of the poor, but mask their unbiblical indifference with wise-sounding arguments.

But wisdom should never need to diminish compassion. Never. With God these things always work congruently.

But then, of course, there are a lot of passionate but not weathered college students and recent college graduates who judge those who they feel have burned out on their former passions (me 10 years ago). They look down their noses at those who have burned out but still care deeply and others who have grown cynical and (seemingly) indifferent to the never-ending needs of those who are poor. "That'll never happen to me" they proudly assume. "Those guys must have just not really had it in them. They must not have cared as much as me."

There's a significant cost, too, for those zealous twentysomethings (and older!) who compassionately engage real poverty without knowing how and when to say no. There are thousands of stories of these (aging) young ones neglecting spouses and children, never resting, doing more than they were made to do; all, of course, in the name of compassion for those who are desperate and needy.

I think the Bible shows us that there's something wise and deeply good for us in these moments and stories that falls somewhere between lowering our eyes and exhaustive involvement.

With Jesus wisdom and compassion always meet.

Matthew 9: 35-38:
"Jesus went through all the towns and villages, teaching in their synagogues, preaching the good news of the kingdom and healing every disease and sickness. When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd. Then he said to his disciples, "The harvest is plentiful but the workers are few. Ask the Lord of the harvest, therefore, to send out workers into his harvest field."

Within the first few months of living here we were inundated with ideas, desires and compelling needs. We had known about a lot of organizations both large and small in advance of moving to Rwanda, so it wasn't long upon moving here that we were feeling the pull of many needs.

I think as I've grown in my faith and asked for the Lord to break my heart for what breaks His, my compassion has grown. Which means I've grown to cry and ache in many ways where people (all) are lacking something that is part of our design: Family. Food. Shelter. Health. Love. Some affect me much more deeply--He's given me some deep aches that orient my calling and schedule, but I've grown aches and longings for things that don't pull my heart strings so naturally, too.

And this is what kept happening in our first months here. And what happens anywhere in the world. You encounter a need. You sense someone's lonely. Someone's marriage is struggling. Someone's kid isn't getting adequate education. Etc. It isn't a need you're necessarily supposed to/made to engage (but it might be). But you don't want to just be cold and indifferent. But you don't want to just say yes, either. So what do you do?

I think this passage suggests that in that moment we're meant to feel compassion but that compassion can lead us in a few ways. Sometimes in leads us to activity. Like the many times Jesus' heart when out to someone and He healed them. And the many times He calls you/me into activity to be his healing hands and feet that bring good news. But in this passage, Jesus' compassion was followed-up by reminding his disciples to pray. There's so much need. Pray.

What does that say to me? It says: be careful not to let your heart stop feeling compassion in order to make wise choices for yourself or others in these moments. Let your hearts move with the Lord's heart. But ask him to give you the wisdom of when his compassion is meant for you to cry out for more laborers who are made to engage with that person's story. And ask him to give you the wisdom and willingness to engage deeply and messily when it is something into which He's called you.

I'm so thankful for a Savior who has infinite wisdom, who knows most deeply what people need, and when he walked the earth who regularly engaged individuals and looked out upon crowds and his heart was always filled with compassion. May that be increasingly true for me and you.

I'm so thankful that He allowed me to read these words with the Spirit's help to apply them in our first few months here. I imagine I'll keep revisiting this passage throughout my life.

*I have a lot of respect for the men and women who have written articles and books around the topics of (and titles) Toxic Charity and When Helping Hurts. Their hearts are compassionate and wise and they've helped make a lot of progress in ensuring the kind of involvement activists engage in is actually deeply helpful. But sometimes I think readers have allowed some of their ideas to be extracted without their aching hearts of compassion. And there's a lot of danger in that space.