Practicing Compassion
08/05/16 05:16
Many years ago we had a friend and church member whose body was crippled by rheumatoid arthritis. She was able to walk independently when we first met her, but we knew her long enough to witness the days when she was no longer able to do so. She used a wheelchair in the final few years of her life. The way the illness manifested in her body was to be present in many of her joints, but especially affected were her hands. She experienced constant pain from them and they had been deformed by the effects of the disease to the point where grasping something became a two-handed task. It is impossible to know how another person experiences pain, but being with her was a constant reminder that pain was her companion in all the moments of her life.
It amazed me how she kept such a bright and sunny attitude. She greeted us with genuine warmth and affection and her whole body radiated joy. Those who knew her were aware that they had met a remarkable person. She kept a positive attitude in the midst of chronic pain.
By comparison, most of us have encountered a person whose attitude was angry, gruff, and sometimes just plain mean. The person might be short tempered, or a constant complainer or just have a bad attitude. I’ve known several folks who were that way whose lives didn’t seem to have nearly as many challenges as our friend with arthritis.
I used to just believe that some people had bad characters - that they had nurtured the wrong aspects of their personality for so long that they were incapable of being pleasant with others. I interpreted their attitude as a kind of character flaw and learned to avoid them when possible.
A poem by Miller Williams was recently reprinted in a blog by the educator Parker Palmer and it got me to thinking:
Have compassion for everyone you meet
even if they don't want it. What seems like conceit,
bad manners, or cynicism is always a sign
of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen.
You do not know what wars are going on
down there where the spirit meets the bone.
Reading the poem reminded me of two previous life experiences.
When we were kids we knew an old man. In reality he was probably younger than I am at present, but to us he seemed old. He was gruff and short tempered and snarled at us in such a way that we avoided him whenever possible. We learned to listen to his barked commands and to spring into action to avoid what seemed to us to be verbal abuse. He was known to use words we weren’t allowed to use and seemed to us to be the kind of person you wouldn’t want to have in your family. In those years hip replacement surgery was brand new and we didn’t know many people who had experienced such a procedure. We learned that the old man was a candidate for the surgery. He had experienced a bad fall and an injury when crossing a raging river to fight a forest fire when he was a few decades younger and the injury was such that they could replace the deteriorated bone with a new mental joint. I believe that his new hip was made of stainless steel, though other materials are used in contemporary surgery. At any rate, the surgery was successful and after a half of a year of therapy and recovery he returned to our community a totally different person. He was kind and gentle and earned a reputation for being one of the elders that kids loved. My mother was quick to point out that the old man we used to know was wracked with pain and when the pain was gone he became the person he wanted to be but was unable to be due to the intensity of his hurt. It was a good lesson for my tendencies to judge others. As the poet wrote, “You do not know what wars are going on down there where the spirit meets the bone.”
A second, more recent experience was less dramatic. 5 years ago I was experiencing a lot of grief in my life. In the span of a single year I experienced the death of a brother, my mother and my father-in-law. It was also a year of some significant deaths in the congregation I serve and I officiated at a lot of funerals. It was also the year of the birth of our first grandchild and the wedding of our daughter. There was a lot going on in my life. We had agreed to take our sabbatical in an unconventional manner in order to free up sabbatical funds to contribute to the salary of an associate. the off-again-on-again nature of our break was challenging and I fell behind in my work. I simply was unable to keep up with the demands of the congregation. At one point in the year conflict arose between me and the chair of one of the committees in the church. I thought I was handling the conflict as well as I was able, but things got expressed in ways that affected the overall operation of the church.
I kept wanting to say to the other person, “Hey! Cut me some slack! I’m having a really rough year!” What I was failing to do was to take a look at the circumstances in the other person’s life. I was failing to cut that person some slack. I wasn’t the only one who was experiencing grief and the overwhelmed feelings that can come from real life.
When we experience pain, sometimes the first thing that goes is our compassion.
There are some disabilities that we can see because they are manifested in crutches or wheelchairs or other special devices. There are other disabilities that are much less visible from the outside. Wounded or broken compassion can injure relationships and cause isolation and even threaten the health of the community.
Our church is a place that is intentional about creating safe space where people can get the support they need. Part of that process begins when I remind myself that there is always more going on than meets the eye. The poet Williams’ advice is really important: “Hav compassion for everyone you meet even if they don’t want it.”
It amazed me how she kept such a bright and sunny attitude. She greeted us with genuine warmth and affection and her whole body radiated joy. Those who knew her were aware that they had met a remarkable person. She kept a positive attitude in the midst of chronic pain.
By comparison, most of us have encountered a person whose attitude was angry, gruff, and sometimes just plain mean. The person might be short tempered, or a constant complainer or just have a bad attitude. I’ve known several folks who were that way whose lives didn’t seem to have nearly as many challenges as our friend with arthritis.
I used to just believe that some people had bad characters - that they had nurtured the wrong aspects of their personality for so long that they were incapable of being pleasant with others. I interpreted their attitude as a kind of character flaw and learned to avoid them when possible.
A poem by Miller Williams was recently reprinted in a blog by the educator Parker Palmer and it got me to thinking:
Have compassion for everyone you meet
even if they don't want it. What seems like conceit,
bad manners, or cynicism is always a sign
of things no ears have heard, no eyes have seen.
You do not know what wars are going on
down there where the spirit meets the bone.
Reading the poem reminded me of two previous life experiences.
When we were kids we knew an old man. In reality he was probably younger than I am at present, but to us he seemed old. He was gruff and short tempered and snarled at us in such a way that we avoided him whenever possible. We learned to listen to his barked commands and to spring into action to avoid what seemed to us to be verbal abuse. He was known to use words we weren’t allowed to use and seemed to us to be the kind of person you wouldn’t want to have in your family. In those years hip replacement surgery was brand new and we didn’t know many people who had experienced such a procedure. We learned that the old man was a candidate for the surgery. He had experienced a bad fall and an injury when crossing a raging river to fight a forest fire when he was a few decades younger and the injury was such that they could replace the deteriorated bone with a new mental joint. I believe that his new hip was made of stainless steel, though other materials are used in contemporary surgery. At any rate, the surgery was successful and after a half of a year of therapy and recovery he returned to our community a totally different person. He was kind and gentle and earned a reputation for being one of the elders that kids loved. My mother was quick to point out that the old man we used to know was wracked with pain and when the pain was gone he became the person he wanted to be but was unable to be due to the intensity of his hurt. It was a good lesson for my tendencies to judge others. As the poet wrote, “You do not know what wars are going on down there where the spirit meets the bone.”
A second, more recent experience was less dramatic. 5 years ago I was experiencing a lot of grief in my life. In the span of a single year I experienced the death of a brother, my mother and my father-in-law. It was also a year of some significant deaths in the congregation I serve and I officiated at a lot of funerals. It was also the year of the birth of our first grandchild and the wedding of our daughter. There was a lot going on in my life. We had agreed to take our sabbatical in an unconventional manner in order to free up sabbatical funds to contribute to the salary of an associate. the off-again-on-again nature of our break was challenging and I fell behind in my work. I simply was unable to keep up with the demands of the congregation. At one point in the year conflict arose between me and the chair of one of the committees in the church. I thought I was handling the conflict as well as I was able, but things got expressed in ways that affected the overall operation of the church.
I kept wanting to say to the other person, “Hey! Cut me some slack! I’m having a really rough year!” What I was failing to do was to take a look at the circumstances in the other person’s life. I was failing to cut that person some slack. I wasn’t the only one who was experiencing grief and the overwhelmed feelings that can come from real life.
When we experience pain, sometimes the first thing that goes is our compassion.
There are some disabilities that we can see because they are manifested in crutches or wheelchairs or other special devices. There are other disabilities that are much less visible from the outside. Wounded or broken compassion can injure relationships and cause isolation and even threaten the health of the community.
Our church is a place that is intentional about creating safe space where people can get the support they need. Part of that process begins when I remind myself that there is always more going on than meets the eye. The poet Williams’ advice is really important: “Hav compassion for everyone you meet even if they don’t want it.”