The Price of Compassion

Proper 21C; Amos 6:4-6; Luke 16:19-31 St. Paul’s Smithfield, NC 9/25/2016

Jim Melnyk: “The Price of Compassion”

As we all know by now, earlier this week a gasoline pipeline break in Alabama caused gas shortages over much of the southeast.  Gas stations with their pumps covered with plastic bags, indicating the station was out of gas, was a common site early through mid-week – even this morning.  A state of emergency was declared in several southeastern states, including North Carolina, designed to reduce restrictions on tanker truck size and inspections to allow more gasoline deliveries to the region until the pipeline could be repaired. 

But, the state of emergency declared wasn’t just about gasoline delivery. It was also supposed to help the state hold down price gouging by some who saw a unique, if not brief opportunity, to cash in on the shortage.  Within days the cost of gas went up 25-35 cents per gallon in our area, and there were reports of station owners and companies subpoenaed for price gouging – with some reports of prices going up to $2.99, $3.99, and even $9.99 a gallon in the state along with thousands of complaints filed. 

All this reminded me of an editorial cartoon I saw many, many years ago in the aftermath of Hurricane Hugo; a storm which devastated the South Carolina coast and made its way up into the Charlotte area - a cartoon I have kept close by ever since.  The cartoon is fitting in light of today’s Gospel parable.

It showed a brick building standing in the midst of the wreckage following Hugo.  Across the top of the building there was a huge sign which read, “Hugo’s Hardware.”  There was also a sign covering the front window with a list of available items needed in the wake of the storm. “Ice: $10.00 per bag, Chainsaws: $600.00, Flashlights: $50.00, Batteries: $30.00,Compassion: $100.00.”  Compassion: $100.  Sounds a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it?

I guess it also sounds a bit cynical in light of a mere 15% bump in gas prices – a bump most certainly modified based on the anti-gouging laws enacted in part as a result of what went on following Hugo in 1989.  What happens to a community – what happens to society – when compassion becomes just one more commodity on the market?

Today’s parable also reminds me of a movie I’ve seen several times over the years called “The Name of the Rose.”  The story told in the movie is a murder mystery that takes place in an Italian monastery during the middle ages.  The main character is a medieval Sherlock Holmes of sorts named William of Baskerville.  One scene shows several monks in the nearby village coercing rather harshly tithes of money, produce, and livestock from the poor villagers. 

Several scenes later William and his young assistant are down in the village when a gate in the monastery wall high above the village is opened.  A flood of the monks’ leftover food scraps and garbage is dumped down the hill. The poverty-stricken villagers, who have had so much of their sustenance taken from them, rush to the hillside to scavenge among the scraps – fighting one another among the refuse to find something edible.

Watching the scene unfold, William comments, rather sarcastically, to his assistant, “Such is the never-ending charity of Mother Church in action.”  In the monastery atop the mountain the monks practiced perfect liturgy, copied beautiful manuscripts, ate sumptuously, and reached for heightened levels of spirituality.  They took from the peasants of the village and gave back scraps of food in return, all the while trying to identify a murderer in their midst.  Compassion, my friends, $100.

Of course we all know that compassion that costs the receiver an exorbitant amount is not compassion at all.  During an emergency any attempt to make a financial killing off the hardship of others isn’t compassion.  And a state of emergency shouldn’t have to be declared in order for human beings to treat one another fairly.

Today’s Gospel lesson raises the question: “Why do we fail to see the discomfort around us – or perhaps, seeing the discomfort, why are we not moved by it to act?”  The parable Jesus tells a group of critical Pharisees also begs the question, “What will it take to get certain unseeing people to act with compassion?”  And Jesus tells us that for some, even a messenger who returns from the dead will not be enough to soften a hardened heart.

Today’s parable is not a lesson in economics, nor is it a commentary on a social problem.  It’s a story about compassion. 

It’s a story about a certain rich man and his brothers who, though faced every day with the reality of human need in the person of Lazarus, choose not to see or act.  The man and his brothers, it seems, are quite comfortable on their beds of ivory, eating sumptuously, and grieving not at all over the ruin of Lazarus and anyone like him.  In the parable it becomes obvious that the rich man knows enough about Lazarus to recognize him later in the story standing alongside Abraham; who symbolizes the fullness of God’s covenant with God’s people.  In fact, as the story unfolds, even after death the rich man sees Lazarus as nothing more than a servant who should bring him cool water or warn his brothers.  The rich man sees Lazarus day after day with his eyes, but he never sees him with his heart.  There is no mercy – there is no compassion – for Lazarus.  Luke’s gospel, we learn, is hard stuff.  Luke’s Jesus gets right in our grills, as we’ve seen all summer.

Time and again our Lord Jesus calls us to a transformed life – to become not just transformed people, but transformed communities as well – that means a transformed Church and a transformed society. The kind of transformation Jesus calls us each to experience begins with a renewed sense of compassion – or as St. Augustine put it, “Heartfelt sympathy for [other’s] distress, impelling us to help [them] if we can.”  Compassion – a gift of care – most certainly not a commodity – given freely out of love.

To paraphrase the late Henri Nouwen, “Compassion is born when we discover in the center of our own existence not only that God is God and [humanity is humanity,] but also that our neighbor is really our fellow [human being].”  Nouwen goes on to say, “Compassion has nothing of distance and nothing of exclusiveness about it.”  This means compassion cannot cost the one in need – it cannot cost money, it cannot cost identity, it cannot cost human dignity.  Compassion that costs the receiver is not compassion. 

It means that compassion cannot be refused a person because they are either rich or poor; black or white; male or female; old or young; republican or democrat; protester or supporter; Christian or non-Christian. 

Compassion must be offered freely for it to be compassion, and it comes when we recognize we are all in this world together – that each and every human being is created in the image and likeness of God.  Compassion does, however, cost the one who gives. 

Compassion cost God a Son.  Compassion cost Jesus the cross and his life.  Nouwen reminds us, “Risks are involved [with compassion].  For [having] compassion means to lay down a bridge over to the other without knowing whether [that person] wants to be reached.”  Another word Jesus uses for this gift of compassion is servanthood – as will be proclaimed in the offertory anthem later today (and printed in your bulletin): “Brother (and sister), let me be your servant, let me be as Christ to you; pray that I may have the grace to let you be my servant, too.”

Compassion is risky.  Offering compassion, like offering forgiveness and love, can result in rejection, pain, loss – even death.  Most of us, I suspect, face that sort of risk with some trepidation.  But with the risk that comes from being compassionate people, there also comes the promise of resurrection.  And it is through an understanding of love and mercy that the resurrection becomes real in our lives and we become a transformed people.

Compassion led Jesus to the cross and allowed him to embrace its hard wood.  The compassion of God raised Jesus from the dead.  And it is through our compassion for one another – and through our compassion for the Other as well – that Jesus is made incarnate again and again in our hearts, and even more so, Jesus is made incarnate once again in the life of this world.