Amidst the political and social turmoil that assails us nearly everywhere we look, a common theme I often hear echoed is the desire for others to be kind and compassionate.
Kind.
Compassionate.
Such simple words. Let's face it; the mere sound of those words elicits a flood of warm and sometimes deeply emotional sensations and longings. Not only that, but just sharing those words gives us (or at least me and I would suspect many others) the sense that we are good people for wanting those things; that somehow, we are morally just in calling for compassion and kindness; that others are cruel for not espousing such simple ideals.
I've reflected sometimes on the ideas of kindness and compassion. Being human, I've had many moments where I've needed and been shown compassion and kindness. But here's the kicker - in none of those instances was compassion or kindness a simple or easy thing. Nor did it come about by words spoken to me in a vacuum. While cruel words can be hurtful, kind words, on their own, aren't really very healing. They might give a moment of reprieve, but they aren't lasting. Kind or compassionate policies certainly don't really help anyone heal, either, at least not in the ways that are most important. They still require the person in need to act, when often, acting isn't really on their radar; it's simply too much. What truly helps those who are in need of compassion, what helped me, were those who took the time to really connect with me, in person. My friends who gave me a couch to sleep on or a key to their house. The ones who went out with me for lunch, who called me and checked on me, sometimes hourly. The ones who went on walks with me or shopped for baby clothes with me. Who sat across the table from me and reminded me that I was loved and not defined by my mistakes. The ones who financially put their money where their mouths were and set up counseling for me. The people who brought food to my house or visited me in the hospital. The ones who acted with those lovely, corporal works of mercy.
Compassion is, by its nature, active; and it requires a reaching out. If I have to seek out kindness or compassion for myself, it is neither. It cannot be flippant. It cannot be quick. It isn't conveyed through the click of a button on a post or even an image shared in a few seconds. It can not be given and received in a moment, the instant gratification of the keyboard warrior. (I do recognize the irony as I type this avalanche of words onto a blog post). Maybe true compassion is so hard because we live in an age that is starved of real relationships: relationships that aren't carefully curated through technology, filtered and airbrushed to be perfect, that end up being searingly unforgiving when they a misword is spoken. Compassion requires that we get messy. We make mistakes, we connect with others, we forgive each other. It requires intentionality, time, and movement. Compassion and kindness cannot exist behind a keyboard; it needs to move outside, to go forth; to touch, taste, hear, smell, and see; it needs to experience the need and sit with a person in that need. It needs laughter and tears and anger and joy and discomfort and the whole range of human emotion. Much like love, it's not a feeling, but a choice.
I wish we would turn compassion into an action verb; compassion is running, it's reaching, it's holding, it's listening, it's cooking, it's cleaning; it's asking, it's seeking, it's drawing near, it's inviting.
It's serving.
Our world is bigger than our comfortable rooms; compassion can't live in small spaces, small minds, or closed quarters. Compassion must reach out in person and act.
Kind.
Compassionate.
Such simple words. Let's face it; the mere sound of those words elicits a flood of warm and sometimes deeply emotional sensations and longings. Not only that, but just sharing those words gives us (or at least me and I would suspect many others) the sense that we are good people for wanting those things; that somehow, we are morally just in calling for compassion and kindness; that others are cruel for not espousing such simple ideals.
I've reflected sometimes on the ideas of kindness and compassion. Being human, I've had many moments where I've needed and been shown compassion and kindness. But here's the kicker - in none of those instances was compassion or kindness a simple or easy thing. Nor did it come about by words spoken to me in a vacuum. While cruel words can be hurtful, kind words, on their own, aren't really very healing. They might give a moment of reprieve, but they aren't lasting. Kind or compassionate policies certainly don't really help anyone heal, either, at least not in the ways that are most important. They still require the person in need to act, when often, acting isn't really on their radar; it's simply too much. What truly helps those who are in need of compassion, what helped me, were those who took the time to really connect with me, in person. My friends who gave me a couch to sleep on or a key to their house. The ones who went out with me for lunch, who called me and checked on me, sometimes hourly. The ones who went on walks with me or shopped for baby clothes with me. Who sat across the table from me and reminded me that I was loved and not defined by my mistakes. The ones who financially put their money where their mouths were and set up counseling for me. The people who brought food to my house or visited me in the hospital. The ones who acted with those lovely, corporal works of mercy.
Compassion is, by its nature, active; and it requires a reaching out. If I have to seek out kindness or compassion for myself, it is neither. It cannot be flippant. It cannot be quick. It isn't conveyed through the click of a button on a post or even an image shared in a few seconds. It can not be given and received in a moment, the instant gratification of the keyboard warrior. (I do recognize the irony as I type this avalanche of words onto a blog post). Maybe true compassion is so hard because we live in an age that is starved of real relationships: relationships that aren't carefully curated through technology, filtered and airbrushed to be perfect, that end up being searingly unforgiving when they a misword is spoken. Compassion requires that we get messy. We make mistakes, we connect with others, we forgive each other. It requires intentionality, time, and movement. Compassion and kindness cannot exist behind a keyboard; it needs to move outside, to go forth; to touch, taste, hear, smell, and see; it needs to experience the need and sit with a person in that need. It needs laughter and tears and anger and joy and discomfort and the whole range of human emotion. Much like love, it's not a feeling, but a choice.
I wish we would turn compassion into an action verb; compassion is running, it's reaching, it's holding, it's listening, it's cooking, it's cleaning; it's asking, it's seeking, it's drawing near, it's inviting.
It's serving.
Our world is bigger than our comfortable rooms; compassion can't live in small spaces, small minds, or closed quarters. Compassion must reach out in person and act.
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