To a certain extent, most people are able to get to a place of compassion. We are able to recognize that others might need help, but after that, our systems of helping start to fall apart. We approach a situation, assuming what this person or these people need, usually based on what we have and what they don't have. Instead of asking, which would make us feel ignorant and useless, we plow ahead with our own notions of how to improve the situation.
Compassion that recognizes the inherent dignity and ability to self-determine in each person enables that person to decide what he or she needs. This is what Christ did, right? Throughout the gospels, we see Jesus being approached by lepers and paralytics, blind men, bleeding women. They approach and plead him to heal them. They say, "This is what I need: to be healed," and Jesus doesn't dismiss them. He allows them to communicate their needs and meets them. We see this in the story of the royal official in Capernaum, who comes to Jesus and begs him to heal his son. Jesus does. We see this in the story of leper, who prostrates himself before Jesus, begging him to heal him. Jesus does.
Compassion is about recognizing and responding to needs, as determined by those in need. This is why we must continue to strive for a discourse where black men and women lead conversations about the experience(s) of being black, where women lead conversations about the experience(s) of being female, etc. These kinds of conversations are only possible if we acknowledge: How could I possibly know what it's like unless I experience it? How could I possibly know what you need unless I ask?
So as a hospice volunteer, I ask the woman with probably less than two weeks to live, this woman who must be experiencing so much physical and emotional pain, "What can I do for you?" And she tells me she wants a cherry popsicle. So I go to CVS and get her cherry popsicle. And at the end of our visit, I ask again, "Is there anything I can do for you?" And she tells me to pray that she'll die soon. So I tell her I will.
Now, as I begin working for a non-profit whose mission is to walk with the poor, I am learning this all over again. We cannot go into the 20 countries we work in worldwide with an imperialist mindset: we know what you need because it is exactly what we have and you don't. We reject that attitude. We refuse to attempt to change the cultural, religious, and political practices of those we serve. Instead, we ask them what they need, and if they say, "We need you to wash our feet," we wash their feet. We don't change their minds.
At a meeting yesterday, I heard a story about a community in Uganda that was recently provided a well. This well was right in the center of the community and enabled all of its members to come to a close and convenient location to draw water. Some time later, it was discovered that instead of using the well, the women in the community continued to walk the long distance to a stream to retrieve water, the same as they had done before the well was built. And when asked (ASKING!--what a brilliant idea!) why they did this, the women said, "We did not say we wanted a well. Walking to the river everyday is the only time us women have to talk about our husbands!"
Whether this story is fact or myth, it's truth is evident. A person's or community's needs can only be determined by that person or community. The non-profit I work for is built around this concept. And yes, I'm sure some people wonder, "Wait, so if you're a religious organization, why don't you share your faith and religious values with those you serve?" (As a rehabilitating cynic, I'm trying not to roll my eyes at this question.)
Consider this example (borrowed from the director of the organization): you have this friend who is struggling to meet her basic needs. You visit her and see the conditions in which she lives; she is poor and has little. When you visit, she usually shares some plain bread with you. Plain bread! You can't imagine having to eat plain, stale bread for breakfast every morning, so you decide she needs a toaster. A toaster will make her feel like she has a home, and she won't have to eat plain bread anymore. It's perfect. So you bring her this brand new toaster, and she expresses gratitude, but she also seems slightly sad. You encourage her to open and set it up right away. When she is reluctant, you do it for her. You plug it in, but when you try to turn it on... nothing. She looks at you sadly. "I don't have electricity," she says.
And this is why we ask.
Of course, the Kingdom of God is like many things (mustard seed, yeast, etc.), but the Kingdom of God is not like a toaster. Not really. The Kingdom of God is not the thing you bring to the person in need to make her life better. The Kingdom of God is the friendship you have with that person, the reciprocal relationship that recognizes the dignity and the Divine in each other--the relationship that asks, "What do you need me to do for you?"
"Hold on, just a second," you might say, "I think you're forgetting--Christ is all anyone needs." How easy for us, whose basic needs are met, to say, "All you need is Christ."
