Healed So We Can Heal

I served the Lord with great humility and with tears.
—Acts 20:19

I’ll never forget a funeral I conducted for a small child. As we waited for the family to gather, a little boy walked up to the tiny casket and gazed in. He was obviously distressed, and I wanted to comfort him. “Your little sister is with Jesus,” I said. Good theology. Bad timing.

He burst into tears. “I don’t want her to be with Jesus,” he sobbed, “I want her here with me so we can play!” I put my arm around him and we both cried.

Sometimes tears are the only thing we can do for another, the only thing we should do. As George MacDonald discovered, “Tears are often the only cure for weeping.”

Christians aren’t Stoics, striving to be pure mind without passion. Stoicism is a dehumanizing, pagan ethic; there’s nothing Christian about it. It confuses discipline with suppression, reduces self-control to the repression of all emotion, and curbs all feelings in their outward expression.

Jesus’ example instructs us otherwise. There was no embarrassment in His grief. When confronted with suffering, “Jesus wept” (John 11:35).

Talking is what I usually do. It’s what I’m paid to do. But sometimes there are simply no words to say. I sit in silence and wait. But when words are most empty, tears are most apt. Our compassion can relieve those who suffer from the worst misery of all—the feeling of being alone in their misery. Much can be said without anything being spoken.

That kind of compassion can’t be generated, but it can grow on us. Being around people helps. We can’t be with them very long without becoming aware of their longings and hurts. Our kinship links us to their sorrows.

Compassion also grows out of our own failure and sin. Unjudged sin can harden us and separate us from others, but sin acknowledged and repented of sensitizes us to others’ frailty and draws us closer to them. Common sin is our common ground; publicans and sinners become our kind of people. Compassion likewise grows through our own suffering. Paul reminds us that God is the source of mercy and comfort who comforts us in all our afflictions so we can comfort others. “If we are distressed,” he wrote, “it is for your comfort and salvation” (2 Corinthians 1:6). Personal pain is a prerequisite for consoling others. As A. W. Tozer said, “It’s doubtful that God can use any man greatly until he’s been hurt deeply.”

We all have our own particular sorrows. Our wounds are not always scratches; sometimes they’re deep and ugly and near-mortal. But God cares and cures. When earthly comforts fail us, He gives “eternal encouragement” (2 Thessalonians 2:16). Pain moves us closer to our Father, and we gain His perspective on our broken dreams; we get His comfort; “by his wounds we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5).

But we get more than salve for our own wounds: We are healed so we can heal. We’re made more human and humane, more kind and empathetic. We understand and our understanding helps people. Thus, by our wounds others are healed.

And finally, compassion comes from worship and prayer. Compassion is ultimately a gift from God. More seminars than ever aim to make us sensitive to others, but true compassion can never be the product of systematic study or effort. It is the fruit of intimacy with the God who cares for us (1 Peter 5:7).

His caring begets caring for others. His compassion rubs off on us; His love becomes ours. Our love by Love grows mighty in His love.

Taken from Seeing God, ©2006 by David Roper. Used by permission of Discovery House Publishers, Box 3566 Grand Rapids, MI 49501. All rights reserved.