Compassion of God

Imagine an old European city with narrow cobbled streets and storefronts as old as the city itself. One of those weathered storefronts has a sign hanging over the door: The Mercy Shop. There's no lock on the door because it's never closed. There's no cash register because mercy is free.

When you ask for mercy, the Owner of the shop takes your measurements, then disap­pears into the back. Good news—he's got your size! Mercy is never out of stock, never out of style.

As you walk out the door, the Owner of the Mercy Shop smiles, “Thanks for coming!” With a wink, he says, “I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Possible Preaching Angle:

The writer of Lamentations said that God's mercies are "new every morning" (Lam. 3:23). The Hebrew word for "new" is hadas . It doesn't just mean "new" as in "again and again," which would be amazing in and of itself. It means "new" as in "different." It means "never experienced before." Today's mercy is different from yesterday's mercy! Like snowflakes, God's mercy never crystallizes the same way twice. Every act of mercy is unique.

Kathryn Buchanan was driving to work when she heard horrific news on the radio: Twenty-two people were killed in a suicide bombing at an Ariana Grande concert in Manchester, England. Tears immediately streamed down her face and Buchanan later said, “That was really heartbreaking.”

Amid the deluge of devastating headlines about the event in May 2017, Buchanan noticed that “there was some coverage around all of the kindness that followed in the aftermath.” It gave her some sense of relief. For instance, people offered shelter, food, and rides to total strangers. Locals lined the streets to donate blood after the deadly attack. Cabdrivers handed out food and offered free rides.

Buchanan is a psychology professor at the University of Essex. She said, “I became very emotional and grateful that there was still goodness out there against the backdrop of horror.” Reading stories of kindness instilled a sense of hope in her that had been lost after hearing about the attack.

She began to contemplate whether being exposed to heartwarming content could counteract the known negative impacts of consuming harrowing news stories. Common symptoms include heightened stress, hopelessness, anger, anxiety, and depression. So, she started a years-long study in 2017, which was published in May of 2023.

Repeatedly throughout the research, Buchanan saw that uplifting news can provide an emotional buffer against distressing news. Buchanan also found that “there’s something special about kindness in particular.” She noted that while amusing stories diminished the effects of upsetting news, stories about acts of kindness were even more powerful.

Buchanan said, that the solution is not to avoid negative news, because “actually ignoring news all together can leave you feeling disconnected from the world you’re living in …. Following news stories that feature others’ kindness has a real set of emotional and cognitive benefits for people. It serves as a kind of reset button that allows us to have this faith in humanity.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

In a world focused on the latest disaster, despair, and the universal feeling that our nation is headed in the wrong direction, imagine the positive effects of telling people of the kindness, goodness, grace, and love of God for them. Thanksgiving would be an excellent opportunity for this kind of witness to people in despair.

In his book, Beautiful People Don’t Just Happen, Pastor Scott Sauls writes:

During rehearsal, I always warn bridesmaids to keep their knees slightly bent while standing during the ceremony. The combination of high heels and locked knees limits oxygen flow to the brain, which dramatically increases the possibility of fainting. Over the years, five bridesmaids have forgotten my instructions and fainted.

Thankfully, I did not need to be the first responder in any of these fainting incidents. Each time, medical professionals have left their seats and rush toward the fallen bridesmaid to tend to her. Each time, they successfully resuscitated her, enabling us to finish the ceremony with the bridesmaid restored to her honored place, but now with her knees dutifully and carefully bent. At the end of the ceremony, when the last hymn is played and the bride and groom walk the aisle together, the bridesmaid sings. No longer falling on the ground, she is also able to join the bride, groom, and guests for the dancing and feasting.

God’s response to our sin is not unlike that of a medical professional to a fallen bridesmaid. Not only is it within his ability to awaken and restore us to our honored place, not only is it within his ability to put a new song in our mouths, it is also within his very nature to do so. With resolve, he gets out of his seat and tends to us on the ground where we have fallen. He breathes life into us as he tends to us in our weakest, most humiliating, and most vulnerable places. He lifts us up off the ground and invites us to sing of his love, and take our honored seat at the marriage feast.

In an issue of CT magazine Pastor Jeremy Treat writes:

My high-school basketball coach was a classic, old-school screamer who motivated with fear and shame. His voice was powerful, but I heard it only when I did something wrong. If I turned the ball over on offense or blew my assignment on defense, practice would stop, and the shaming would begin. Red in the cheeks and foaming at the mouth, he would scream until I had to wipe the spit off the side of my face. I never really knew him outside of basketball practice, but I know he was an angry man.

Many people have a similar view of God. They believe he’s a grumpy old man who has to get his way, and that when he doesn’t, he will shame, guilt, and scare people to get them in line. Although most wouldn’t say it out loud, deep down many believers think of God as “the God who is out to get me.” That God is waiting for us to mess up so he can meet his divine quota for punishing sin. Perhaps this comes from a particular teaching or from a bad experience with a church or a Christian, but either way, this is how many functionally view God.

When we open the Bible, we encounter a very different God. The God who delights. The God who sings. The God who saves. “The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in his love he will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing.” (Zeph. 3:17). God’s rejoicing in us today gives us hope for tomorrow (Isa. 65:17-19).

The US has long ranked high among the world’s nations in its level of religious belief. But the Pew Research Center examined just what 80 percent of Americans actually mean when they say they “believe in God.”

Here’s what its survey of more than 4,700 adults found:

56% of Americans believe in God “as described in the Bible.”

97% God is all-loving

94% God is all-knowing

86% God is all-powerful

God determines what happens in my life…

43% All of the time

28% Most of the time

16% Some of the time

6% Hardly ever

6% Never

Talking with God…

56% I talk to God and God does not talk back

39% I talk to God and God talks back

During his days as President, Thomas Jefferson and a group of his companions were traveling across the country on horseback and they came upon this flooded river which had washed the bridge away. Each rider was forced to ford the river on horseback, fighting against deadly currents.

One traveler, not part of the group, was watching from a distance. After seeing several people cross the river safely, the stranger wandered up to the President, tapped his boot, and said, “Can I have a ride across the river?” President Jefferson agreed with hesitation and the man climbed onto Jefferson’s horse and the two of them made it safely to the other side.

As the stranger slid off the back of the horse to dry ground, a man in the group looked at him with incredulity, and said, “Why on earth would you ask the President of the United States for a ride across the river? Why didn’t you ask one of us?” And the man was shocked, and said, “I had no idea that he was the President of the United States. All I knew is that written upon some of your faces was the word ‘no’, but written upon his face was the word ‘yes’ – and I needed a ‘yes’ face today.”

It seems that folks sometimes offer biblical encouragements—“fear not,” “do not be anxious,” and so on—as if the heart were a cup full of fear or anxiety that needs to be emptied of those emotions so it can be filled with alternative emotions. (However), it fails to understand that sorrow, fear, and anxiety are not always sinful emotions. In fact, such emotions may constitute appropriate responses to the loss (actual or threatened) of real goods.

The heart is more like a scale. Specifically, a “balance scale,” the kind often used as a symbol for justice because its two sides weigh different arguments and positions in the process of reaching a true and righteous judgment.

A proper use of biblical encouragements and exhortations will take this picture of the heart into account. … Instead, biblical encouragements should be offered as counterweights. Doing so might look like this:

I know your heart is (rightly) heavy with sorrow due to the loss of some good thing(s), that it is overwhelmed by present circumstances, that it is uncertain of what tomorrow may bring. However, let me offer you a counterweight, not to remove these emotions (the cup metaphor) but to place them in relation to a larger reality: the reality of God’s sovereign goodness, attention, and purpose, which offer solid reasons for encouragement and hope in the midst of trial.

These “counterweights” do not remove the other “weights” of our hearts. Rather, they provide consolations that enable our hearts to bear the weights of sorrow, anxiety, and fear in this vale of tears, until we arrive at our destination of unmixed, unshakeable beatitude in the presence of the triune God.

According to internet market research firm YouGov, “the social media generation is the one that feels the most alone.” Their report details a surge in feelings of loneliness among the millennial generation, currently between the ages of 23 and 38. In their poll, thirty percent of millennials reported feeling lonely either always or often, compared to 20 percent of their boomer counterparts. Given that loneliness tends to trend upward as people increase in age, such an uptick among younger adults is concerning.

Researchers are also interested in the question of how internet accessibility factors into the equation. Millennials are the most likely to be frequently online, so it’s possible that consistent social media usage on personal devices could be contributing to feelings of loneliness.

No matter the cause, it seems that loneliness can have adverse effects on our health. It’s correlated with higher blood pressure and more heart disease, and increases risk of death by 26 percent.

Nevertheless, researchers were quick to point out that it’s not all bad news. Small doses of loneliness can help. Psychologist Maike Luhmann said, “As long as we then do what we should do—reconnect with people—then loneliness is a good thing. It becomes a bad thing when it becomes chronic. That’s when the health effects kick in. And it becomes harder and harder to connect with other people the longer you are in the state of loneliness.”

Potential Preaching Angles: Feelings of loneliness can overwhelm us, but God promises to be ever-present. Since so many of us suffer from loneliness, by extending ourselves and reaching out to others, we aid in our own recovery.

A principal from the Lower Moreland School District took action to keep students calm when their bus was stuck in terrible traffic due to a snowstorm. Dr. Brian Swank, principal at Pine Road Elementary School, told CBS Philly he received a phone call from a parent of a fifth-grader who said the bus was stuck in traffic, so he decided to call that student.

While they were on the phone, the student told him that the younger kids were “freaking out.” Swank then had the idea to get the kids’ minds off of the road conditions. Using FaceTime, Swank called the student again, assuring them the “grown-ups” on the bus, along with police, would make sure they would get home safely. After that, he began to read books to them to pass the time. After four-and-a-half hours, the traffic began to move and the bus was able to drop the students off.

“I just FaceTimed with our students that are still stuck on buses. They are warm and in good spirits. I read them some books and assured them that the grown-ups are working hard to get them home safely.” —Dr. Swank pic.twitter.com/3ppc5cL0PF

Possible Preaching Angle:

God shows the same compassionate attention to his adult children when they are fearful, stressed, and feeling helpless. He is the one who promised “I will never leave you nor forsake you” (Hebrews 13:5) and through his Word we find strength and hope.

Traveling by yourself isn't always the most fun: You might start to miss home, your family, your friends. A hotel in Belgium has come up with an idea to comfort lonely travelers. For just a few dollars a night, guests can rent a fish that can stay with them in their room.

David Dillen, the hotel's manager, explained that the scheme started "a few years ago. The idea was to surprise our guests, as we always try to do…We rent a few fish per week."

But what about animal cruelty? Are these fish treated well—and do they want to be rented out? "We take very good care of our fish; they have been with us for over four years now, so if they were not taken care of, they would have died a long time ago," Dillen said. "They also have a big fish-tank in the housekeeping department, with a shelter, oxygen, and plants."

As Business Insider sums it up: "Perhaps fish aren't the best cuddlers, but it's nice to have a friend nearby when you're in a new place."

Potential Preaching Angles: Renting a goldfish—sounds a little silly, right? Yet those of us who have experienced periods of grief and loneliness might be familiar with such seemingly desperate thoughts and behaviors. In the psalms, we see the psalmists crying out to God many times with their own impassioned pleas for God to be near to them in their darkest times: "Turn to me and be gracious to me, / for I am lonely and afflicted" (Ps. 25:16).

A bank in Virginia dealt with a robber who did manage to make off with some cash—but who also experienced some issues with his disguise. The problem was his beard, which was "obviously fake" and "kept slipping off, making it slightly easier to see his face." The opening line of the Huffington Post's report reads, "Robbing a bank is hard enough without having to deal with a fake beard continuously falling off during the hold-up."

Possible Preaching Angle:

We could modify that sentence a bit to apply to those of us who aren't robbing banks: "Living life is hard enough without having to deal with the fake stuff we put on to try and make ourselves look better." Our attempts to portray our lives as something they're not? They're ultimately about as effective as trying to convince someone your fake beard is real. Thankfully, our God is a God who accepts even the messiest parts of us.

Rick and Kay Warren's son Matthew committed suicide at the age of 27 after a long struggle with mental illness. About a year after his death, Kay Warren posted the following advice on her Facebook page:

The truest friends and "helpers" are those who wait for the griever to emerge from the darkness that swallowed them alive without growing afraid, anxious or impatient. They don't pressure their friend to be the old familiar person they're used to; they're willing to accept that things are different, embrace the now-scarred one they love, and are confident that their compassionate, non-demanding presence is the surest expression of God's mercy to their suffering friend. They're ok with messy and slow and few answers … .and they never say "Move on."

Possible Preaching Angles: (1) Grief; Depression; Death; (2) Mother's Day; Infertility—This could also be an excellent quote on Mother's Day for those who are grieving the loss of a mother or for couples who are grieving the inability to have a child.

Paco Amodar, a pastor in Little Village on Chicago's west side, lives in a neighborhood rife with gang violence. He tells the following story about being invited to lead a prayer vigil for a young man who had been gunned down by a rival gang.

When I arrived at the vigil, a large crowd of young people—including many known gang members—had already gathered around the sidewalk where I would be praying. I wondered, What should I do? What should I say? I felt fearful and inadequate. Yet I also knew that they had gathered for this prayer vigil. So amid my fears, I prayed silently, "Jesus, what do you want me to do here?"

As I looked out over the crowd, I realized most of these scary-looking gang members were just kids, mostly in their mid or late teens, with some in their twenties. I was old enough to be their father. They had surely been told repeatedly by authority figures how wrong their actions were and how foolish gang activity was. But as I looked at these hurting teenagers, I wondered, What would Jesus say to these young people?

So I asked permission to speak from my heart. Then I said, "Since most of you are half my age, I am the age of your fathers. Would you allow me to address you on behalf of your fathers? I know you have heard plenty of times that this back and forth violence in our neighborhood is complete nonsense. You've been told how destructive gang behavior is. But today, on behalf of your dads, I want to say to you what should have been said a long time ago. My son, my daughter, would you forgive me for not being there for you when you were little? Will you forgive me for not being there when you took your first steps? Will you forgive me for not being there to play catch with you when you were young? Will you forgive me for leaving you when you most needed me?"

As the words poured from my lips, I could not control myself. Tears ran freely down my cheeks. To my surprise, many of them started to weep with me. Something special happened in that moment. Following the gathering they started to trust me even though I had no credibility in their world. I hadn't shared their life, but I had shared their pain.

A study by Rush University Medical Center in Chicago found that "belief in a concerned God can improve response to medical treatment" in patients diagnosed with clinical depression. The operative word here is "caring," the researchers said. "The study found that those with strong beliefs in a personal and concerned God were more likely to experience improvement."

The researchers compared the levels of melancholy or hopelessness in 136 adults diagnosed with major depression or bipolar depression with their sense of "religious well-being." They found participants who scored in the top third of a scale charting a sense of religious well-being were 75 percent more likely to get better with medical treatment for clinical depression. "In our study, the positive response to medication had little to do with the feelings of hope that typically accompanies spiritual belief," said study director Patricia Murphy. "It was tied specifically to the belief that a Supreme Being cared."

In Western Colorado there is a road called the Million Dollar Highway. My guess is that both tourists and even most of the people who live on the western slope don't know how this road got its name.

They probably assume it got its name because it was expensive to build. That's not correct—although it probably was expensive to build because it runs through very difficult terrain and at a high altitude. The real reason it's called the Million Dollar Highway is because waste material from the ore in gold mines was used as the bed for that highway, and not all the gold dust and nuggets were removed by the mining processes available at the time. As a result, there is a partial roadbed of gold that is probably worth a lot more than a million dollars.

It isn't the cost that gave it its name, but rather what is inside it.

The same is true for the royal law of love ("Love your neighbor as yourself"). Sure it's costly, but what gives it the name is what it is made of: it is made up of God, the God who is love."

In 1993, Lt. Col. Gary Morsch joined the Army Reserves as a doctor to care not only for U.S. soldiers, but also for wounded civilians and prisoners of war. In 2005, as a part of the war in Iraq, he was called up to serve as the field doctor for a battalion near the Iranian border. He would take care of soldiers in the medical tent, provide supervision and training to eight combat medics, and visit two detainee camps to treat POWs. Even in that war-torn area of the world, Lt. Col. Morsch experienced the peace of God. He says:

One day I was supposed to travel by convoy to a military hospital in Baghdad to accompany a prisoner with a severe abdominal infection, but the mission was canceled after a bomb hit a convoy returning to our camp. That was the third time in five days that one of our convoys had been hit, so we waited until a nearby combat unit could beef up security. A day later we headed out.

As I sat in the back of a Humvee with this very sick POW, I asked myself what I thought every soldier in that convoy was asking: Why are we doing this for someone we consider our enemy? I could see risking my life and the lives of American soldiers for another American. But risking all this for an enemy POW?

In addition to the anxiety I was feeling as we made our way along the dangerous road to Baghdad, I was also feeling very lonely and homesick. When I realized that it was Sunday, and that I was going to miss the chapel service again, I grew even more depressed.

So there I was in this armored vehicle, wearing about 50 pounds of body armor, helmet and weapons—the full "battle rattle." Standing next to me was the gunner, his head sticking through the roof of the Humvee, constantly spinning one way, then another, aiming his machine gun at anything that moved, looking for snipers, motioning for cars to stop or move out of the way, and screaming at drivers who didn't understand.

We drove down the highway as fast as we could, trying to make ourselves a more difficult target to attack, tailgating the Humvee in front of us so a suicide car bomber could not come between us, and being tailgated by another Humvee. Sitting in front of me was a soldier monitoring the radio, who received messages from the Humvees ahead of us and yelled this information to the gunner and me.

I decided to fight off my sorrow by listening to some music on my MP3 player. My son-in-law, Eric, had loaded my player with about 1,000 songs before I left home. Since it was Sunday, I decided to listen to some praise music. The first song was by the Brooklyn Tabernacle Choir: "Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place; I can feel His mighty power and His grace: I can hear the brush of angels' wings, I see glory on each face; surely the presence of the Lord is in this place."

Speeding toward Baghdad, crammed into the back of a Humvee, I sensed the presence of God as never before. I felt enveloped by the presence of God—God around me, God above me, God in me. As tears ran down my dusty cheeks, I peered through the thick, bulletproof window at Iraqis in their flowing robes, their mud-walled houses, children at play, the tall and stately palm trees. And just as surely as I felt the presence of God in that Humvee, I sensed God's presence in all that I saw—here, in this desolate country, with the Shiites, the Sunnis, the Kurds. God was surely here. He loves Iraq.

Then I thought of what this convoy was doing, and the words of Jesus came to me: "Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends" (John 15:13). I was filled with a deep sense of peace. I was still worried about the road ahead, but I had a sense of contentment that everything was going to be fine, no matter what happened. I knew that God profoundly loved every person on both sides of this war.

This sense of peace and contentment lasted throughout my time in Iraq. It had nothing to do with bravery or courage on my part, but everything to do with the sense that God was with me, and that many people were praying for me.

While serving in Iraq, Courtney Birdsey experienced the protective hand of God, forever changing her. She says:

On one of [our] missions, my unit made a return trip to Samarra, north of Baghdad, to gather data. As we were leaving the town, the Humvee I was riding in approached a tank from behind. A soldier riding on the tank gave us an urgent "turn around" signal. We didn't hesitate to follow orders. We doubled back to Samarra, only to find ourselves surrounded by gunshots.

All of us jumped out of our vehicle and took cover—some of us running ahead and some of us staying with the Humvee. I readied my weapon and hunkered down against the back corner of the Humvee. Amid the gunfire, a black BMW sped through the street at 70 miles per hour—the Iraqi passengers inside, pointing their guns through open windows, opened fire at any American soldier within range.

We exchanged shots, and suddenly the BMW careened, out of control, toward the Humvee where I was crouched. I could see the driver slumped over the steering wheel and knew I had only seconds to make a decision. With my heart pounding and unformed prayers racing in my mind, I ran to the front of the vehicle just before the car slammed into the very place I had been just seconds before.

We were told we would have to transfer the wounded in our own vehicle. In the background, completely incongruent to the battle I was facing, I could hear the droning of Muslim prayer chants over loudspeakers.

My convoy was commanded to drive to an American safe house on the outskirts of town. The chanted prayers and the lamb-like groans of a dying man behind me echoed in my head. Finally we arrived at the safety of the compound. I looked down at my uniform, dirty and speckled with the blood of the wounded. I stepped out of the truck and dropped, shaking, to my knees, thanking God for our safety.

After this encounter, my faith took on a deeper and more personal perspective. I had felt the protective hand of God as we returned to our base physically unscathed. For my remaining time in Iraq, I began to rely heavily on my constant communication with God. Praying without ceasing became, for me, as natural as breathing.

Finally, in April 2004, my unit returned home to Colorado Springs. As the National Anthem played over the loudspeaker celebrating our arrival, I felt the tears I had been unable to cry for months stinging my eyes. I thought of my love for this country, the safety of my military family still in Iraq, the loss of those I had known, and of my family waiting in the stands to greet me.

Now back home, I strive to readjust to my life. The pace seems so hurried now. No more endless waiting under the unbearable heat of the sun that rises at 4 A.M. I coach a girls' high school softball team and encourage them in the sport I used to play. I try to capture a vision of my future by taking classes at a local college and working toward a degree. But it's not easy to move forward with five more years of my reserve duty still to go. There's always the underlying fear that I may be called back.

The visions and sounds of Iraq are never far from my thoughts. In many ways the experience there grew me up. I'm not the same person, spiritually or emotionally, that I was before I left. I still suffer from nightmares—images that come alive in my sleep, especially after a stressful day. But each time I see or hear of events in Iraq, I am reminded of how God faithfully protected me. I know now, no matter what the future brings, I'm never alone.

In 1993, Lt. Col. Gary Morsch joined the Army Reserves as a doctor to care not only for U.S. soldiers, but also for wounded civilians and prisoners of war. In 2005, as a part of the war in Iraq, he was called up to serve as the field doctor for a battalion near the Iranian border. In an article for Today's Christian, he shares a story of something that happened on the last day of his tour of duty:

The Saturday before I left Iraq was one of the most amazing days of my life. I was scheduled to see patients and make rounds at the POW camp, and I asked the chaplain to join me. I wanted to say goodbye to the prisoners. Many of these Muslims had become Christians, and they had been asking for a baptismal service.

The chaplain suddenly decided to conduct a simple service. The POWs gathered their water bottles, and we pulled a cot out of one of the tents, setting it in the middle of the compound. One by one, the POWs sat on the cot and leaned back while we poured water over their heads and baptized them in the name of Christ. We baptized about a dozen that day.

During the baptisms, we asked each man if he wished to take a Christian name. One man asked me to write down each of the apostles' names so he could choose one. Another prisoner, named Afshin, asked me to suggest a name. I suggested James, the brother of Jesus, and told him that my father and brother are named James. Since my family name was on my uniform, Afshin asked about Morsch as well.

The chaplain asked me to baptize Afshin. I asked my friend what name he wished to take. He said, "I wish to take the name James Afshin Morsch." With tears in my eyes, I poured water onto his head, baptizing my Muslim friend into the fellowship of Christ. After our baptismal service, James pulled me aside and told me it was an Iraqi tradition to give a good friend a gift. He slowly slipped a ring off his hand.

"This is my wedding ring," he said. "I haven't seen my wife in many years, and I probably will never see her again. I'd like to give it to you."

I was stunned.

"No, James, you must keep it," I eventually said. "Someday you will see your wife again."

"No, I want you to have it," he said, as he pressed the ring into my hand.

We hugged and said a tearful goodbye, and then I walked out of the POW compound. It was time to return home.

I left on a plane full of wounded soldiers. The airstrip was under attack even as we taxied for takeoff. But I was at peace. God had brought me to Iraq to serve soldiers, civilians, and the enemy. But I saw that those categories are meaningless before God. He loves them all, and calls us to serve them all.

God weeps with us so that we may someday laugh with him.

—Theologian Jürgen Moltmann