Courageous Compassion

“When he saw him, he was moved with pity.” — Luke 10:33

“Compassion is not a relationship between the healer and the wounded. It’s a relationship between equals. Only when we know our own darkness well can we be present with the darkness of others.” — Pema Chödrön

When my oldest son was little, we lived in downtown Chicago and often had to ride the train to get to and from the church where I worked.  

One Sunday morning, we were in the train station for the Red Line near where we lived, and a fight broke out between a couple of homeless men.  There was a lot of pushing and shoving, along with a couple of weak punches thrown, but mostly they shouted obscenities at each other. 

Since I rode the train more often than my son, I was taken aback by the whole thing and simply moved away from the scene a bit to wait for the next train to arrive.  I'd seen more than my fair share of homeless people, and more than a few fights, and had grown a bit jaded, but my son was upset by it all.  

As we rode the train afterward, he was silent for a while, but then asked, "Dad, why did that happen?"  I explained that the men lived a hard life, and most likely, they were fighting over who had dibs on the station to panhandle.  

He took in what I was saying quietly and then said, "I feel so bad for them having to live like that.  I wish there was something I could do to help.  I feel like no one cares."  

I felt a pang of guilt in that moment for my lack of compassion and annoyance.  I'd gotten so used to looking past the desperate people I encountered on the street that I'd lost my ability to truly see them.  

My son taught me a lesson that morning.  It takes courage to feel. Opening our hearts in a world permeated with indifference is an act of rebellion.

When Jesus told the story of the Good Samaritan, His listeners were scandalized not just by who stopped to help, but by the implication that compassion is costly. 

The Samaritan interrupted his journey, spent his resources, and risked his reputation to care for a stranger. He crossed boundaries that the powerful preferred to keep intact.

Compassion, in the biblical sense, is not pity from a safe distance. It is suffering-with—a willingness to draw near to pain instead of avoiding it. The word itself comes from the Latin com-pati, “to suffer with.” 

 Every time Jesus was “moved with compassion,” He stepped closer to the hurting. His love was never theoretical; it had hands, tears, and callouses.

In a fractured world, compassion becomes a form of resistance. It pushes back against apathy, cruelty, and fear. It says, “I refuse to let your suffering be invisible.” It insists that another person’s pain is my concern because they, too, bear the image of God.

Courageous compassion doesn’t require dramatic gestures. It grows through small, faithful acts—showing up for a friend, listening without fixing, giving generously without being asked. These quiet revolutions of the heart are how the kingdom takes root.

To practice compassion is to follow Christ into the world’s wounds, trusting that love is still stronger than fear.

Prayer:
God of mercy,
soften our hearts where they have grown guarded.
Give us eyes to see suffering as You see it,
and courage to draw near rather than look away.
Let our love be fierce, humble, and steady,
until Your compassion remakes the world.
Amen.

Reflection Questions:

1. When has compassion cost you something—but changed you in return?

2. What fears or barriers keep you from drawing near to others’ pain?

3. How might you show courageous compassion this week in a small, concrete way?