Tenderness

Silinia Pha Aphay was sprinting in the preliminary Olympic rounds of the 100-meter dash event, when something unexpected happened.

Aphay, who ran for her native Laos, must have felt a sense of solidarity with the other runners in the preliminary rounds. Alongside sprinters from Turkmenistan, Niger, Paraguay, South Sudan, Palau, and Congo, Aphay was not expected to contend for a medal, but simply to enjoy the prestige of competition and serve as an inspiration to others in her nation.

So, when she crossed the finish line, and heard the crowd reacting in dismay, she immediately turned around and saw one of her competitors, Lucia Moris of South Sudan, laying on the ground in agony. Without pausing, Aphay ran back to console her fellow racer, who was shrieking in pain and holding her right leg.

“We are athletes,” Aphay said. “All 100 meters athletes have to know how being hurt feels. And this is a big competition. It’s a big dream to come here. But you get hurt here. So, everybody knows the feeling.”

Ultimately, Aphay couldn’t do much to physically assist Moris. “Just cry out,” she told Maris. But she stayed with her fallen friend until medics came and placed her on a gurney.

“I can only share her pain.”

Possible Preaching Angle:

When we are present with those who are suffering, we model the love of Jesus, who reached out to the afflicted and downcast.

Near the end of the Civil War, there was a touching scene that showed the gentleness and tenderness of President Abraham Lincoln. While he was visiting near the battle lines, Lincoln noticed three kittens, who had lost their mother. Moved by their mewing, he picked them up to comfort them.

Lincoln said, “Poor little creatures, don’t cry; you’ll be taken good care of.” To an officer, the President added, “Colonel, I hope you will see that these poor little motherless waifs are given plenty of milk and treated kindly.” The colonel replied “I will see, Mr. President, that they are taken in charge by the cook of our mess and are well cared for.”

One of the officers on the scene said, “It was a curious sight at an army headquarters, upon the eve of a great military crisis, in the nation’s history, to see the hand which had affixed the signature to the Emancipation Proclamation, and had signed the commissions of all the army men who served in the cause of the Union … tenderly caressing three stray kittens.”

Lincoln’s biographer, John Meacham adds, “It was not only curious—it was revealing. In the midst of carnage, fresh from a battlefield strewn with the corpses of those he had ordered in the battle, Lincoln was seeking some kind of affirmation of life, some evidence of innocence, some sense of kindliness amid cruelty. The orphaned kittens were a small thing, but they were there, and his focus on their welfare was a passing human moment in a vast drama.”

Lacking the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, modern society is looking for new, innovative ways to help make people more empathetic. Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg, whose company sells the Oculus VR headset, said of virtual reality (VR): “One of the most powerful features of VR is empathy. By cultivating empathy, VR can raise awareness and help us see what’s happening in different parts of the world.”

The hope and promise of VR is that one day everyone will call it an “empathy machine”:

By creating an immersive and interactive virtual environment, a VR headset can quite literally put you in someone else’s shoes. Text, image, or video offers only partial views of a person’s life. With VR, you can get inside their head. And this high-fidelity simulation, the argument goes, will make us better people by heightening our sensitivity to the suffering of others. It will make us “more compassionate,” “more connected,” and ultimately “more human,” in the words of the VR artist Chris Milk. ... By lending you the eyes and ears of someone suffering, tech helps you to develop a greater sense of responsibility for them. You feel compelled to act. This is connectivity not merely as a technical concept, but a moral one.

This expectation is partially explored in the movie Ready Player Two, released in November, 2020. More advanced VR--actually placed inside the brains of most of the world’s population--has rid the world of crime, disease, addiction, and all forms of prejudice. As one of the film’s characters says: “For the first time in human history, we have technology that gives us the ability to live in someone else’s skin for a little while.”

In 2001, Diane Granito founded the Heart Gallery, a unique program that uses photography to help find homes for older foster children, sibling groups, and other children who are traditionally difficult to place with families. A prominent art gallery in Santa Fe, New Mexico, donated space where more than a thousand people came opening night. The photos on exhibit were the end result of the photographers' attempts to coax out the unique personalities in hundreds of children—a great contrast to the typical photos attached to a child's file. "They look like mug shots," said one of the photographers of the typical case photos. "This is an opportunity to just portray them as kids in their environments," said another involved. "We're treating this as a living, breathing project."

Since its inception, the Santa Fe project has inspired 120 more Heart Galleries across the United States. In some places, the adoption rate after an exhibit is more than double the nationwide rate of adoption from foster care. Such photography earns a description worthy of its roots: photography in Greek means "to write in light."

Those who work to find foster children adoptive families are used to rubbing up against the public perception that most foster children have serious emotional and behavioral problems. Sometimes, though not always, it is an accurate perception. And a picture offered in a different light does not change the child it portrays. But an image of a troubled child at play does offer the accurate light of hope.

Possible Preaching Angles: God the Father adopted us as his children when we stood in the worst of all possible lights. While we were still sinners, Christ died for us. That is to say, as Christ died for the sins of the world, he held dear even the pictures of us at our worst. But now God the Father views us in the light of Christ himself.

GQ had a humorous analysis on when guys should or should not be allowed by society to shed tears. "Male crying is not new," the female author notes. "It's been happening for as long as men have had eyeballs. But it was almost always done behind at least three closed doors." Here are some of GQ's rules about public crying for men:

• It is okay to cry if you're in extreme pain, like, say, a piano were dropped from a fifty-story window on your foot. If you're gonna cry from pain, it has to be at least an eight on the pain scale.
• It's okay to cry at certain works of art or film. For instance, if you don't get misty-eyes at Toy Story 3, you are a monster.
• It's almost weird if you don't sob the first time you hold your newborn baby. No shame in that, bro.
• It's definitely weird if you sob during a sports event, although you can cry if you are actually one of the athletes out there on the field. But even then, you should cry only if you win. And if you're just a fan, the rule here is much simpler: never, ever cry.
• Never, ever cry during an argument. As the woman who wrote the article notes, "Sorry, guys, but crying during an argument is kind of our thing."

Possible Preaching Angles: Men; Fatherhood; Father's Day; Masculinity—a humorous way to set up a sermon on the challenges of thriving as a man and as a father in today's culture.

Gordon MacDonald shares the following story about visiting a small group of men and women affiliated with Alcoholics Anonymous. MacDonald said that he visited the group because he has friends who are recovering alcoholics and he wanted to see for himself what they were talking about. Here's what he found:

One morning Kathy—I guessed her age at 35—joined us for the first time. One look at her face caused me to conclude that she must have been Hollywood-beautiful at 21. Now her face was swollen, her eyes red, her teeth rotting. Her hair looked unwashed, uncombed for who knows how long.

"I've been in five states in the past month," she said. "I've slept under bridges on several nights. Been arrested. Raped. Robbed (now weeping). I don't know what to do. I … don't … want … to … be … homeless … any more. But (sob) I can't stop drinking (sob). I can't stop (sob). I can't … "

Next to Kathy was a rather large woman, Marilyn, sober for more than a dozen years. She reached with both arms toward Kathy and pulled her close. I was close enough to hear Marilyn speak quietly into Kathy's ear, "Honey, you're going to be OK. You're with us now. We can deal with this together. All you have to do is keep coming. Hear me? Keep on coming." And then Marilyn kissed the top of Kathy's head.

I was awestruck. The simple words, the affection, the tenderness. How Jesus-like. I couldn't avoid a troubling question that morning. Could this have happened in the places where I have worshiped? Would there have been a space in the program for Kathy to tell her story? Would there have been a Marilyn to respond in this way?

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.

The website Business Insider ran an article titled "7 Brutally Honest Job Rejection Letters." Here are two examples of how not to confront someone.

Sub Pop, an independent record label in Seattle, sent the following rejection letter:

Dear Loser, Thank you for sending your demo materials to Sun Pop for consideration. Presently, your demo package is one of a massive quantity of material we receive everyday at Sub Pop World Headquarters. [Your material] is on its way through the great lower intestines that is the talent acquisitions process. We appreciate your interest and wish the best in your pursuit. Kind regards. P.S. This letter is known as a "rejection letter."

New Delta Review, a literary magazine in Baton Rouge, sent the following rejection letter:

Thank you for submitting. Unfortunately, the work you sent is quite terrible. Please forgive the form rejection, but it would take too much of my time to tell you exactly how terrible it was. So again, sorry for the form letter.

Long before the "dog whisperer," Cesar Milan, there was the "horse whisperer."

Monty Roberts was raised in the horse business. He learned there was one way to train horses: by "breaking" them. Through domination and force, which at times included striking the horse with whips or even tying and suspending the horse's feet and legs, a trainer would impose his will upon the animal until it reached the conclusion that total submission was the only way to survive.

In his early teen years Roberts began to study the behavior and communication patterns of wild mustangs in the badlands of Nevada. He took note of the nonverbal communication among the horses …. Drawing on this observation and his firsthand experience with horses, Roberts developed a breakthrough training technique he first called "hooking on" as opposed to "breaking down" the horse's will. This new training method was based on a cornerstone concept he eventually trademarked called JoinUp®. Join-Up not only stopped the "breaking" norms of traditional horse training, it showcased how to cooperate with the horse's own spirit, innate ways, and means of communicating as a member of the herd.

The personality and full potential of the horse emerge through loving freedom and desire rather than domination …. The Join-Up technique invites an untamed horse that has never been ridden to willingly accept the saddle, bridle, and rider. It is a thing of beauty to watch. Monty Roberts enters a round pen with a wild horse. In as little as half an hour, he'll be riding the horse.

Roberts creates an atmosphere of mutual respect that communicates, "I'm not going to hurt you, and you don't have to follow me if you don't want to." After a brief period of introducing himself and interacting with the horse … Roberts turns his back to the animal and walks away.

At this point the horse trains her eyes on Monty with all-out intensity and attention. She is asking herself, "Where is he going?" and "Do I want to stay by myself?" The horse must choose: "I want to be with you. I want to join up and follow you on the way." She quickly decides, "My safe place is with you." Dropping her head (equine language for "I submit to you") and trotting to Roberts's side, the horse says, "I choose to follow. I want to be with you."

Possible Preaching Angles: (1) God's Love for Us—God doesn't beat us into submission and surrender. Instead, he has demonstrated his love (especially at the cross) so we want to say, "I choose to follow. I want to be with you." (2) Leadership—Christian leaders don't browbeat or manipulate people into following them. They serve others so people want to follow them.

The second-century Greek philosopher Celsus captures well just how upside-down the Kingdom of God is—and just how confusing that can seem to unbelievers. In an attack on followers of Christ, he writes:

Those who summon people to the other mysteries [i.e. other religions] make this preliminary proclamation: "Whosoever has pure hands and a wise tongue." And again, others say, "Whosoever is pure from all defilement, and whose soul knows nothing of evil, and who has lived well and righteously." Such are the preliminary exhortations of those who promise purification from sins.

But let us hear what folk these Christians call. "Whosoever is a sinner," they say. "Whosoever is unwise, whosoever is a child, and, in a word, whosoever is a wretch, the kingdom of God will receive him." Do you not say that a sinner is he who is dishonest, a thief, a burglar, a poisoner, a sacrilegious fellow, and a grave-robber? What others would a robber invite and call? Why on earth this preference for sinners?

In a 2009 article in Time magazine, writer Coco Masters shared a startling statistic: one in five Japanese men and women have seriously considered taking their lives, and each year over the past decade, more than 30,000 people have killed themselves in that country. But Masters surrounded those troubling statistics with the story of Yukio Shige. It's because of Shige that at least 188 Japanese men and women have chosen life over death.

Every day since 2004, Shige, a retired detective, has roamed the Tojinbo Cliffs, a popular site for suicide attempts along the coast of the Sea of Japan, looking for people who are considering jumping. If he spots someone in need, he slowly approaches them, offers a gentle "Hello," and then does his best to engage them in some conversation. At some point Shige will offer them a light touch on the shoulder, which almost always causes the person to burst into tears. Shige will then softly say, "You've had a hard time up until now, haven't you?"

The beauty of Shige's work doesn't end there, though. He will often take the person back to an office (which he rents for $800 a month) for counseling sessions. Masters writes:

There's no rush in Shige's office. He offers those who go there oroshi-mochi, a dish of pounded sticky rice served with grated relish. Traditionally the food is prepared to celebrate the New Year, with each family taking its own rice to be mixed with that of its neighbors. "When people come here and eat mochi, they remember their childhood—father, mother, siblings, hometown. They remember they're not alone," Shige says.

Toward the end of her article, Masters points out, rather nonchalantly, that the ring tone for Shige's cell phone is set to "Amazing Grace"—which seems the perfect choice. Shige sums up his mission this way: "I want Tojinbo to be the most challenging place, not where life ends, but where it begins."

The following is a letter from a father to his daughter, taken from Dr. James Dobson's book, When God Doesn't Make Sense:

My Dear Bristol,

Before you were born, I prayed for you. In my heart I knew you would be a little angel, and so you were. When you were born on my birthday, April 7, it was evident that you were a special gift from the Lord. But how profound a gift you turned out to be! More than the gurgles and rosy cheeks, more than the firstborn of my flesh—a joy unspeakable. You showed me God's love more than anything else in all creation. Bristol, you taught me how to love. I certainly loved you when you were cuddly and cute, when you jabbered your first words.

I loved you when the searing pain of realization took hold that something was wrong—that maybe you weren't developing as quickly as your peers, and even when we understood it was more serious than that. I loved you when we went from hospital to clinic to doctor, looking for a medical diagnosis that would bring us some hope. And of course, we always prayed for you. We prayed and prayed.

I loved you when you moaned and cried; your mom and I and your sisters would drive for hours late at night to help you fall asleep. I loved you when you were confused—when, with tears in your eyes, you would bite your fingers or your lip by accident. I loved you when your eyes crossed, and then when you went blind. I most certainly loved you when you could no longer speak, but how profoundly I missed your voice!

I loved you when scoliosis began to wrench your body like a pretzel, and when we put a tube in your stomach so you could eat. We fed you one spoonful at a time—even up to two hours per meal. I managed to love you when your contorted limbs made changing ten years of diapers difficult. Bristol, I even loved you when you could not say the one thing in life that I longed to hear back: "Daddy, I love you."

Bristol, I loved you when I was close to God and when he seemed far away—when I was full of faith and also when I was angry at him. And the reason I loved you, my Bristol, in spite of these difficulties, is that God put this love in my heart. This is the wondrous nature of God's love: He loves us when we are blind, or deaf, or twisted in body or in spirit. God loves us even when we can't tell him that we love him back.

My dear Bristol, now you are free. I look forward to that day when, according to God's promises, we will be joined together—completely whole and full of joy. I'm so happy that you have your crown first! We will follow you some day in his time. Before you were born, I prayed for you. In my heart, I knew you would be a little angel. And so you were.

Love, Daddy

How far you go in life depends on your being tender with the young, compassionate with the aged, sympathetic with the striving and tolerant of the weak and strong. Because someday in life you will have been all of these.

The higher people are in the favor of God, the more tender they are.