Called to heartfelt compassion

After the 2012 theater shooting in Aurora, Colorado, I watched a television interview of a young man recovering from gunshot wounds. He wept openly, not for himself, but for all the others who had been injured or killed.

In the wake of Helene, the most recent destructive hurricane to reach the southeastern United States, a woman said she mourned not her own terrible losses, but the losses endured by her neighbors.

The word compassion means literally suffering with: com (with) + passion (suffering). Suffering with others, helping to hold the pain. I bore my brother’s suffering, and he bore mine. The young hospitalized man, and the woman in the middle of hurricane wreckage, bore the pain of fellow victims. Jesus bore the suffering of the world.

When I was small, I could bear my brother’s pain. Now, the suffering I witness daily on television has become so great that I want to turn away. How can I help to bear the anguish of those caught up in the wars in Ukraine, Gaza, Lebanon and Israel, the mass shootings at schools, stores, and places of worship, the senseless violence occurring almost every day? What measure of compassion can I, or any of us, offer into such a hurting world? Compared to the need, what I have to give is the proverbial grain of sand.

Some possibilities:

We can pray. Before meals, when we crawl into bed at night, with our first cup of coffee in the morning, whenever is our best prayer or reflection moment, we can open our heart to the needs of the world. Breathe in our awareness. Breathe out our solidarity.

We can stay informed. What in the world is calling for prayer or action? One morning, after a mass shooting, I asked at a church why we had not prayed for the victims. The answer? That would have entailed reading the newspaper or watching the television news, a “worldly” endeavor, not a spiritual one.

We can pay attention. When was the last time you approached someone — acquaintance or stranger — and found them looking tired or grumpy? You may not be able to carry their burden, but a smile or kind word might go a long way to lighten the load. I remember, years ago, meeting at the mailbox an elderly neighbor who I knew had recently lost her husband. We had never talked. Seeing her, I simply asked, “Do you need a hug?” Without hesitation, she opened to an embrace.

We can lend a hand. Can I join hurricane relief efforts or volunteer with Habitat for Humanity to help rebuild a family home? If not, can I contribute financial support or supplies? Close to home, is there a person I might visit, assist, comfort or cheer?

In conclusion, two stories:

Irma Zaleski, a Jewish doctor living during World War II, learned that her mother and brother had been arrested and sent to a concentration camp and immediately petitioned to voluntarily follow them into the camp. She survived, while her mother and brother did not. Years later, she was asked, “How could you have borne the pain of witnessing members of your own family suffer and die?” She responded, “I could have borne it even less if I had not suffered with them. I did not join them because I thought I could save them, but because I wanted to be with them and love them until the end.”

One night, when I was working at the in-patient unit of a local hospice, I noticed Rachel (not her real name), one of our nursing assistants and a member of the Tohono O’odham nation, sitting in taciturn solidarity with one of our patients. I could tell she was troubled. I sat down next to her and waited. She finally spoke softly, “The nurse was rough.” She had witnessed what she believed to be less than gentle behavior on the part of a temporary agency nurse (who was not invited back after this incident), and was simply and silently sitting with, breathing with, and suffering with the patient.

In prayer, I seek to live in the heart of the One who took upon himself the sadness, pain and hurt of a whole world. “Ours were the sufferings he bore. Ours the sorrows he carried” (Isaiah 53:4).

Help me to live with a compassionate heart.