Today, I read words spoken around a dinner table to men proud of their sacrifice. Men who gave ten percent of all they earned to the church. Men who spent their lives learning the ways of God.   They knew sacrifice — giving, fasting, and a life of devotion.   Yet, they were found wanting.

Then it happened that as Jesus was reclining at the table in the house, behold, many tax collectors and sinners came and were dining with Jesus and His disciples. When the Pharisees saw this, they said to His disciples, “Why is your Teacher eating with the tax collectors and sinners?” But when Jesus heard this, He said, “It is not those who are healthy who need a physician, but those who are sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire compassion and not sacrifice,’ for I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners.” (Matthew 9:10-13 NASB)

He desires compassion, not sacrifice.

In fact, self-focused sacrifice can become prideful self-service. If we allow sacrifice to become fuel for our self-righteous ego then it is no longer a service to God, but a service to self. Sacrifice can become an idolatrous game of oneupmanship.

He says compassion is better than sacrifice.   Why? What makes compassion different? Why does Jesus urge us to understand the higher value of compassion?  Where do We look to find examples of this kind of compassion?

Compassion goes beyond a deep sympathy for others; it is a compelling desire to alleviate suffering. Compassion sees a need and meets it. Compassion focuses on the need of the recipient, not the gift of the giver. Compassion is outwardly focused and not inwardly focused.

The more I consider compassion, the more I see Jesus in the answer — not just because of what he taught, but what he did.  Motivated by his great love for us, he left perfection and became a man.  He saw our brokenness, our selfishness, and our desire for recognition.  He knew that we were destined for eternal suffering without a remedy and chose to give himself to alleviate that suffering.  In the ultimate example of compassion, he gave himself up for us.

He saw my selfishness, had compassion on me, died to pay the penalty for my selfishness, and then rose from the dead to demonstrate his power over my selfishness.

As I consider all this means, I shift my focus. Instead of asking, “What does God want from me?” I realize, “In light of all that Christ has done for me, how can I not show compassion to others?”  Going step further, I see that when I do not show  compassion I am denying Christ.  Although I say I believe, my actions demonstrate a practical atheism.

It is this practical atheism that I fear more than unbelief.  

And so, the question will no longer be, “What must I give up for God?” It has become the better question, “Who needs to experience compassion from me today?”

The answer may still involve personal sacrifice, but it will be sacrifice motivated by Christ’s love and not self-righteous hypocrisy.

Related posts:

1. What to do with despair?

With another friend, we talk about babies, tiny clothes, sweet breath, and midday naps. And again I ask, “Do you want God more? A little one won’t magically fill up the empty places. Tiny clothes need laundered, cute noses fill with goo, and peaceful naps don’t always come easy.”

To a third friend I ask, “Do you want God more? More than the deceitful drug that lies about filling you up when it really leave you empty and needing more?”

And I wonder what they think of easy council from a woman who sleeps next to a loving husband every night and wakes to a smiling baby every morning — a woman who has never experienced give-up-everything addiction that always wants more.

In the quiet I think about wanting. Maybe I’ve miscommunicated. Wanting is more than a feeling. It is more than an inner desire. It’s more than answering “Yes”. Wanting God more means leaving behind my dreams and gratefully accepting what He gives. It means trusting Him, even when it hurts.

But whatever gain I had, I counted as loss for the sake of Christ. Indeed, I count everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord. For his sake I have suffered the loss of all things and count them as rubbish, in order that I may gain Christ (Philippians 3:7-8)

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The air was thick with anticipation. My body groaned with the weight of new life. It was 3 days past time and every step, every breath, every thought was directed toward the new person inside.

Life was simpler then. There were no mortgages. No pastorate. No recession. No homework. No city.

On that day, Pain was a welcome friend.

Read the rest on Mary’s blog.

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The first is an adopted spiritual son who is seeking hard after God.  He has questions about the right path, the right calling, the right decision.   We talk about life and choices and the road less traveled.  We discuss relationships and consequences and how God will let you choose wrong.  We wrangle and wrestle and pull principles from the Word and yet the path is unclear.  But God by his grace reveals something, a wrong thing wholly imperceptible by the wisdom of the world.  The conclusion: fix the wrong thing and maybe the right thing will be revealed.  Do the thing you must do and wait.

The second is a blond-headed boy who grew under my heart and has his daddy’s chin. He pokes his head into the room after bedtime and says, “Guys,  I think I know what’s been bothering me.”  With no less emotion than the first, he talks about the changes at school and the new expectations and how he doesn’t think he can accomplish what is being asked of him.  He doesn’t understand and the path is unclear and the goal seems so big.

We pull out his project and review the list.  I read the steps and he answers them effortlessly, one by one.  His eyes brighten as he realizes he knows the answer.  When we’re done with the list, I remind him that the key is to do the next thing.

At the end of the day, the lights are out and everyone’s in bed and I’m alone with my journal.  I marvel at God’s lesson woven throughout the day.  I think of Abram, the spiritual father to us all. What must it have been like to leave home with “Go from your country and your kindred” as his only next thing?

And the wisdom of an unknown author shared by a true God-follower resonates with words of truth for the boy and man, for the woman and girl — Do the Next Thing.

Genesis 12:1,4 (ESV)
Now the LORD said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you.
…
So Abram went, as the LORD had told him, and Lot went with him. Abram was seventy-five years old when he departed from Haran.

A special thanks to Ann and Lisa-Jo for the timely reminder of this truth.

This post is part of Works for Me Wednesday.

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Gratitude begins with:

#1.  A pastor-husband who talks about loving his wife from the pulpit and then lives it out every. single. day.

#2.  A thoughtful boy reading a book in bed.

#3.  A blond-headed girl who brightens the room with her smile.

#4.  A happy baby that sleeps long and plays hard and smiles all the time.

#5.  Food prepared, a table simply set, and dinner with friends that extends long into the night.

#6.  Talking of God, the Word, Grace, Faith, Love and life.  Fellowship in its truest form.

#7.  Reading old prayer journals filled with heart-cries from days gone by and the God who heard and answered even when I forgot the question.

#8.  A busy kitchen with the sound of a cutting board and bubbling pots and Chuck Swindoll on the iPod.

#9.  Time changing and an extra hour of rest next to the man I love.

#10.  A heart poured out in prayer for friends that is fuller after the pouring.

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My soon-to-be husband sat next to me as we started our marriage counseling.  We must have appeared so young, naive, and blissfully ignorant — indeed, we were.  I saw these meetings as a test; I needed to have the right answers to all his questions.  Where will you go to church?  Do you want children?  How many?  What makes you think you’re ready to make this decision?

I don’t remember how much my husband talked, but I remember feeling like I had the right answers.  We would go to my home church.  We wanted children, at least two.  We were ready to be married because we were in love and we each had the example of happily married parents.  Yes, we knew this was a life-long commitment and we were ready to make it — in sickness and in health, until death do us part.

I don’t remember much of what our pastor said; I was too concerned with having the right answers.  However, there is one piece of advice he gave us that has preserved our marriage and kept our relationships with our families intact.

He said, “One thing is very important for you to remember.  You will fight.  You will hurt one another.  And when this happens (and it will happen), do not take your hurt feelings back to your families.”

He turned his eyes my direction, “Do not go to your mother and tell her what he has done to hurt you.”  He looked at my future husband and said, “Do not discuss with your family how you think you’ve been wronged.”

With deep compassion he continued, “You will forgive one another.  The next day your emotions will simmer and you will put it behind you.  But your families?  They will not get over your hurt as quickly.  Remember this and you will have peace.”

How thankful I am today for such godly counsel!

Fourteen years later we are no longer naive kids.  We’ve experienced births, deaths, successes and failures.  We’ve done ministry together and cried over broken lives and celebrated God’s grace and redemption.  We have left the comfort of home and moved to a place that is different and difficult.  We are still recovering from years of young and stupid.

Through it all, we’ve been together.  We’ve supported one another.  And, we’ve kept our frustrations to ourselves until cooler heads prevail.

What’s the best marriage advice you’ve every received?

This post is part of Works for Me Wednesday.

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I thought about my responsibilities at church: the women’s class on Sunday, the kids on Wednesday night, the Christmas program that is yet unplanned, the help my pastor-husband needs from me and the requests still unanswered. I thought of hurting children and broken families and how inadequate I am to make a difference.

I thought about those other mom bloggers and how they’re all so crafty and creative. They take beautiful pictures and have beautiful homes. Some of them are doing amazing things. They write words that change me. They go to faraway lands and marshal readers to change the world one life at a time.

My nine year old girl walked in the room and saw the despair on my face. She stood close, “What’s wrong mommy?” How do you explain these things to a bright eyed girl who sees the world as only good an beautiful?

I simplified and said, “I just want to be a better mommy.”

Her brow furrowed. She looked at me with a sincere and innocent heart. She put her tiny hand on mine and said, “You don’t have to be a better mommy.”

She doesn’t see the list that remains undone.

All of my fretting is about me, not her. And the frettting hurts her much more than anything left on my list.

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A couple of verses in, she looked at her daddy and asked, “But I thought we weren’t supposed to curse?” Since this question had nothing to do with their current reading, we had to dig a little deeper.

She explained that her teacher at church said that God cursed. When I remembered that they discussed Cain and Abel that morning, we put the pieces together.  She had a simple misunderstanding of what God cursed means.

Her logic went something like this:

• Fact 1: God is good and doesn’t do bad.
• Fact 2: God cursed.
• Observation 1: I’ve been told it’s wrong to curse.
• Question 1: Why did God curse if it’s wrong?
• Question 2: Is it OK for me to curse?

Since she didn’t understand this particular use of the word cursed, her logic made perfect sense. After we cleared up the definitions in the context of Cain and Abel, her questions were answered. We praised her for asking such a wonderful question. She scampered of to bed and finally went to sleep.

In the dark of early morning, I thought more about this interchange. I admired the simple question from my girl — trying to put the puzzle pieces together. In her child’s mind she was reconciling what she knew, what she’d been taught in the past, and new information. The pieces didn’t fit. That’s when she came to us.

There are times in my life when the pieces don’t fit. When the combination of what I know, what I’ve been taught, and new information don’t add up. I’m left with questions and contradictions that leave me disoriented. I ask, was I wrong in the past? Did I misunderstand this new information? If what I just learned is true, how does that change what I believed before?

Then, I remember. I have a Father who will listen to my questions. He is patient and kind and will help me understand. He will cup my face in his hands and say, “Look here child. Here is your misunderstanding.” And when I hear from Him, when I allow him to answer my questions and still my wandering heart, I can rest.

At that time Jesus said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children … “ Matthew 11:25 (NIV)

What have you learned about God the father by watching your children? What do you do when you have questions?

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I recently found myself in a situation where I needed to have a difficult conversation. I don’t know many people who enjoy them, but they are a fact of life. It’s never comfortable, but with a little forethought, they can be managed. The goal of a difficult conversation should be reconciliation and positive change for both parties. Here are some tips I use when I must have a difficult conversation.

1. Resolve to deal with the issue. Often, the hardest part of having a difficult conversation is deciding to deal with it at all. I don’t like confrontation so it’s easy to delay, to justify my reasons for keeping quiet, and to hide behind fear. However, difficult situations don’t resolve themselves. They usually get worse if left unattended.
2. Determine Dealbreakers. If I need to have a difficult conversation, it’s because a person or situation needs to change. I must determine the most important problems that must be discussed. I avoid minor points and irrelevant annoyances. It’s important to stick to the facts and stay on topic.
3. Make a plan. Before I have a difficult conversation, I evaluate the topic at hand. I consider my position and make sure that I am being reasonable. I try to consider the other person’s point of view, even if I think it will be negative. Most importantly, I try hard to remove my emotions from the planning stage. I make sure that I am being logical and can clearly describe my concern. Sometimes I make notes. If the situation is particularly sticky, there may be one or more drafts.
4. Be flexible. Although I want to have a plan, I also need to be flexible to respond appropriately during the conversation. If I’m not flexible, the conversation can become a monologue. This is likely to be perceived as a nagging complaint, instead of a reasoned conversation aimed at resolving the issue at hand. I have a plan, but I’m also flexible.
5. Schedule a time and place. It’s important to have the conversation in the appropriate time and place. Unless it cannot be avoided, I do not discuss difficult issues in a time of crisis. Crisis heightens emotions and causes me to respond differently than I otherwise would. I try to pick a venue that is non-threatening and will allow for the appropriate amount of privacy. Some difficult conversations need to be had in private. Others are best suited for a quiet corner of a public coffee house.
6. Pray first, talk second. I always pray about a difficult conversation during this entire process. I pray immediately before we meet; I pray for uninterrupted time to deal with my concerns; I pray for help controlling my emotions; I pray for wisdom to deal with changes in the flow of the conversation. Prayer is by far the most important part of the process.

Difficult conversations are just that – difficult. But, with careful planning, a willingness to be flexible, and a prayerful attitude, they can managed with grace and a heart for reconciliation.

Have you ever dreaded a difficult conversation? How did you prepare?

This post is part of Working Mom Wednesday and Works for Me Wednesday. Please support The Mercy House.

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You can imagine how I responded when he shared his concerns with me. I refrained from saying, “You’re not the boss of me!” out loud, but I was thinking it.

As time passed, I began to watch the relationships my husband was concerned about. The men that he wanted me to avoid demonstrated a lack of character; they would have been willing to jeopardize our marriage. The places he warned me about going, I later realized were unsafe. The girlfriends that gave him pause did not build up relationships; they tore them down.

I began to see that his concerns were not controlling, but for my good. Where I saw camaraderie, he saw danger. When I wanted to fit in, he warned of getting sucked in. All of these observations caused me to develop a personal rule.

Every relationship gets processed through my husband’s filter. How do I evaluate his filter? It’s simple: I will never act differently in a situation than I would if my husband were present. This one rule has kept me out of trouble and has preserved our marriage through difficult times.

At a business lunch, I consider: Would my husband be concerned by my conversation? Would he trust this person? If he were sitting next to me right now, would I act differently?

At church, I wonder: Am I building up what he is saying in his messages? Am I supporting his goals? Am I helping solve problems or contributing to a problem he will have to deal with later?

At home, I ask: Am I building my husband up as a father to my children? Will my son make better choices of a wife because of what he sees in me? If my daughters model my behavior, will they be good wives and mothers? What would I do differently if he were right here?

To be honest, I don’t always get this right. Sometimes I have to apologize. Sometimes, I have to redraw boundaries in relationships to preserve my family’s stability.

But if I have a question about the appropriateness of a relationship, my first question is always: “Would I act differently if my husband were here?” If the answer is yes, it’s time to make a change.

This works for me.

This post is part of Works for Me Wednesday at We are THAT Family.  Please Support the Mercy House.

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