The distinction between the world as it exists, and the world we interpret – is the tension we feel between the ontological and the epistemological . . . expressed in our desire to believe that we know what’s really going on. Then there is the tension we experience between what we actually believe and what we say we believe – which is the distinction found between our socially performative posturing and our egocentric opinions that dare not see the light of day. For example, we all want to be perceived as a thoughtful and caring person – when in fact we put precious little effort into working through what we think. And for the most part, we have a pretty shallow concept for what actually constitutes caring for others.
So exactly what kind of morality should we expect to arise from a culture that largely feigns a thoughtful concern for the disadvantaged? I would argue that it would be an ambiguously premised morality that would predictably morph with the mercurial zeitgeist of cultural shifts in sentimentality and pragmatism. Which is to say, if I can evoke an emotional reaction from you (sentimentality) to a social concern, then the simplistic binary solution I offer you as the solution will likely strike you as the most practical response (pragmatism). And because compassion can be so easily coopted to manipulate our emotions – seldom do we even question the moral premise for what actually constitutes a compassionate solution.
If being compassionate were nothing more than a strong feeling of emotion we experience, then invariably the actions we take will most likely be measured by how those actions make us feel . . . instead of whether or not they actually address the need. And this is precisely why we end up playing down the unintended consequences of those actions. Because as we measure it – our intentions were good . . . at least they felt good. And it is this very same feel-good relationship we have with the morality of compassion that drives our engagement of social concerns . . . and invariably comes to the wrong conclusion.
In John 12:1-8 we find Judas Iscariot advocating for the poor, but unlike the accounts of Matthew (26:6-13) and Mark (14:3-9), John’s account exposes Judas’ motivation for wanting to sell the expensive ointment for the money he says he wants to be given to the poor. It turns out that giving to the poor was merely a pretext for Judas to leverage compassion for the poor to achieve his own agenda. In this way, the pretense of compassion, and its good intentions, can create the illusion that you have the unimpeachable moral high ground . . . without ever having to explain why your opinion should be considered compassionate.
Inextricably, compassion requires a moral anchor, otherwise, it will only serve our selfish need to feel like we’re thoughtful and caring people – making it nothing more than a self-involved exercise in social posturing. So then, what should the moral anchor of our Christian faith look like? We should always be emulating the self-emptying redemptively sacrificial love of Jesus. Which is to say – our desire for loving others and for doing what is right should arise from our desire for Jesus, himself . . . which is actually the point of this passage in Matthew, Mark, and John. In desiring Jesus above all else, we will begin to catch a glimpse of his heart for those who live on the margins of our society – so that we might begin to learn what genuine compassion really looks like.
For it is Christ within us where true compassion comes from…
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