In Matthew 14 we see Jesus attempt to retreat to solitude after hearing about Jon the Baptist’s death. He’s just learned about the murder of his cousin. And an all-knowing God, has one of his most human moments. In his grief, he wants to be alone. But no sooner do we read this, is the alone-time interrupted. There are hungry people to feed, and Jesus foregoes his time of solitude. Prayer? Both? To feed the folks.
What strikes me the most about this passage is the depth of compassion held in tandem with suffering. The people are hungry and the bible says Jesus had “compassion on them.” When his disciples would have shooed the people away, Jesus told them to tell the people to stay. Then he fed them with what little food they had. Which we all know, turned out to be a lot in the hands of God.
In these few verses, we encounter Jesus’ real and healthy desire for aloneness, space, and time for grief, while simultaneously giving of Himself to others. There’s a lot to unpack here when it comes to our ability to care for others amid our sadness.
Sadness and separation
I don’t know about you but those times in life when I’ve come to my end; my instinct hasn’t been to tend to the needs of others. If anything, it’s when I’m most prone to withdraw; stay home, draw the shades, watch TV on my couch, and bundle up in my blanket. I’m at the height of my self-centeredness when I’m in pain. And I don’t mean self-centeredness in the way we often think of it: selfish, without care for others. But more in the literal sense – that my mind is centered on my own care for a while.
I’m also aware of my privilege as I write about this. I’m sure all the readers who are parents, relate more to Jesus in these moments. They have to put one foot in front of the other regardless of their own suffering because little people depend on them. There’s no time to lick wounds. There’s only time to place Spiderman bandaids on them. Parents deal with their own trauma while moving and pushing through. In that way, parents understand something that Jesus understood. And on your best day, probably recognize it as part of your union with Christ and even a blessing.
But that sort of “willing ourselves forward” only goes so far, and disregarding our feelings for the long term leads to all manner of issues. So what can we learn from Jesus when it comes to ministering to others when we are hurting? I think this passage offers a blueprint.
Spiritual identification
In his book, Jesus and the Disinherited, theologian Howard Thurman explains how Jesus identified with the marginalized because he was himself from a marginalized people,
If we dare take the positon that in Jesus there was at work some radical destiny, it would be safe to say that in his poverty, he was more truly the Son of man than he would have been if the incident of his family or birth had made him a rich son of Israel.
This King of ours did not arrive as an earthly king does. There were no parades, pomp, or circumstance. There was no procession unless you count the three wise men. So when we see Jesus stop to serve the needy we’re witnessing someone who understands what it feels like to be in need. I’m sure there are a myriad of reasons God the Father decided to send Jesus in vulnerability as opposed to earthly strength, but I have to believe that being able to physically, spiritually, and emotionally identify with the most vulnerable of the time, was one of them. And this identification compelled Him to action – to compassion. It also put Him in a position of complete reliance on The Father. He gives thanks to God for what looks meager, and suddenly it’s a miracle instead. Five loaves and two fish feed over 5000 that day.
So what if we don’t identify with someone else’s plight? Maybe we’re dealing with our own stuff, and on top of that, we’ve never gone through what someone else is going through. We’ve never missed a meal. We’ve never been seriously ill. We’ve never lost someone close to us. We’ve never gone without a bed for the night. How do can we hope to identify?
Identification must come from an understanding of our true identity.
If our identities are rooted in our accomplishments, how hard we’ve worked, how we’ve taken care of our health, wealth, or provided for our loved ones, then we’ll struggle to understand those from different walks of life or those who’ve made decisions unlike ours and find themselves in needful positions.
Identity derived from these categories results in separation as opposed to the unity that’s available to us when we find our identity as a member of God’s family; as humans made in the image of God who may be in positions to help other humans made in the image of God.
Understanding this essential commonality (whether the other person identifies as a child of the living God or not) is vital to our willingness to be with one another in struggle and in times of joy.
Finding God at the center of the pendulum swing
Our discussion of identity doesn’t answer the question of our own suffering though. Are we to care for others at a cost to ourselves?
Jesus was hurting. He wanted to separate himself (Matthew 14:13). But, what He also understood about His Father was that he’d provide what was necessary for Jesus when it was necessary. So when the opportunity to show compassion presented itself, Jesus was able to forego his own needs because He trusted the Father implicitly. He didn’t wonder if his own needs would be met. I believe it’s because of this that he was able to put one foot in front of the other without bitterness. God would provide for the people and Him. In verse, 23 of the same chapter we see Jesus finally retreating to a mountain to pray.
In this day and age, the entire scenario seems wild! How could Jesus and how can we be expected to forgo our emotional needs? Our grieving. I think the question presents a false dichotomy and what’s more — points to the age-old problem of the pendulum shift. We’re always swinging too far in one direction or another.
In our desire for a more robust and holistic understanding of mental health, many Christians have joined the choir of self-care advocates, espousing wisdom that sounds right: you can’t pour from an empty cup, so do what’s necessary to fill yourself up first. But this direct response to the half-truth mantras of my day, “Your feelings can’t be trusted,” “Your heart is deceitfully wicked,” and, “If you pray hard enough God will take away your depression,” doesn’t tell the whole story either. While one directive tells us to help ourselves and the other tells us to disregard ourselves — they both point to an incomplete and dangerous narrative. One where God either won’t provide what we need when we need it or God doesn’t care about how we feel.
The outer edges of the pendulum are often places of unhealth. There are so many Christians who aren’t loving at all but are angry all of the time. Imbittered by never, ever getting a moment to be themselves in the light of Jesus. Or who find their worth in serving alone and not in their identity as a child of God: worthy of everything because of that, not because of their work ethic.
What if the answer to caring well for ourselves isn’t more self-care or self-centering, but God-centering? What if it’s in living in the center of these two opposites and in staying vigilant that we aren’t pulled to one side or the other? In my experience, abiding with God often pulls us to the center; a place where we can’t lay comfortably on either edge.
I have more to say about our ideas of self-care in Curious Compassion #6. But what I’ll say here is that God has been doing the opposite of what we expect since the beginning of time. And our desire for respite in times of grief and sadness isn’t the same as the repair that God wants for us.
I’ll wrap up today’s installment of Curious Compassion with a short centering prayer for us to carry on our way…
God, I know that you are with me.
How might you allow me to be with them?
Conversations about the sanctity of life are never easy, but this article seemed too applicable to what we’re talking about here, to not share:
Texas Prisoner Who Leads Death Row Worship Faces Execution
I recently had the opportunity to chat with my friend Anna Rachel Bolch, on her podcast, For Your Formation. We talked about how our early faith walks shaped our thoughts on Compassion, how those thoughts have evolved, and how we might engage in ways that maybe aren’t as “iconic” as Mother Theresa’s, but are meaningful nonetheless.
If you enjoyed this month’s installment of Curious Compassion, please consider becoming a free or paid subscriber! The more folks who subscribe, the more opportunity I have to continue using my free time to write and hopefully — one day, publish a full-length book.
P.S. Think someone you know might receive value from these monthly installments of Curious Compassion? Why not share it with them?
I really love what you said about the pendulum swing! And your insight about the reason Jesus was able to forego his own needs to show compassion to others is because he trusted God to provide for his own needs too was especially meaningful to me!
"I’m at the height of my self-centeredness when I’m in pain. And I don’t mean self-centeredness in the way we often think of it: selfish, without care for others. But more in the literal sense – that my mind is centered on my own care for a while." So much good stuff to ponder here, Brandy. Abiding with God pulls me to the center, too!