So, I think I’ve been a bit desensitized these past few months. Poverty isn’t surprising anymore. Naked and hungry kids are common. To want, to be in need, is normal. But today, I re-learned compassion. It was an important wake-up call. Read and see.
{Insert yourself here, in India, as I describe our scene.}
Light rain. Cloud cover overhead. Horns honking. Swerving from lane to lane. Seated in the back seat. Bump. Bump. Bump. The smell of manure. Honk. Honk. Motorcycles passing. Cow. Honk. Bump. Repeat.
You pull up to a gate. Just off the road. Exit car. Walk through mud. Dirty kids surround. Walk into gated colony. Gather with five teammates to pray. Praying beside Hindu shrine. A seated elephant with bejeweled arms staring at you. Jesus, guide us. Jesus, give us compassion. Jesus, let us see with your eyes. Speak with your words. Amen.
You walk into the streets. A small community. Very small. 50 families, perhaps? What is that? Oh, just another shrine. Keep walking. One row of housing. Painted pinkish red. Door. Step. Step. Step. Door. Step. Step. Step. Door. So close together. A woman peeks her head out. Confused. Dot on her forehead.
You keep walking. Light rain still. Quiet. Too quiet. Walk to the end of the row of houses. Turn small corner. Road of bricks under your feet. Stop at a door. Woman crying, waves you inside.
You look at your friends. One takes the lead. Goes inside. Small. Very small. You duck your head. Enter the house, no, the room. Man seated on floor. Sitting Indian style. Glance down at him. Gasp.
You close your eyes. Open them. Lean in closer. Squat down close to friend, wife, and man. Arm. Look at his arm. So that’s what it looks like. Leprosy. Gasp. Tear. Your heart sinks, lurches. Your world closes in tighter. Immediate reaction, your hand goes for his back. All you can do is cry. Cry for him. Cry to God. Cry.
He winces. You pull back. You look down again. At the arm. At the hand, fingerless. His face. Disfigured in pain. Moan. Wife cries. Moan. You stroke his back. You hunch down closer. Helpless. You feel helpless. The arm. Bloated. Oozing. Patches of missing skin. His back, patches of sores, missing skin. His eyes. Glassy. Weary. Painful. Moan.
You still cry. You ache. You fall into his pain. His agony. Help. You must help. You can do nothing. Jesus, Jesus. Heal this man. It hurts. You cry out prayer. Cry out intercession. Moan of pain. Tear. Tear. Tear.
He doubles over. Lays his head on the ground. Skin and bones. Literally. Skin and bones. Will he die right here? Will I watch his last breath? Moan. Tear. Flies gather. You swat them away. You sit. Watch. Pray.
You don’t speak Hindi. They don’t speak English. Loss. At a loss. What now? You’ve seen. You know. You’ve prayed. Is that it? Jesus? Healing? What about that? Now what?
Compassion child, compassion. You are here to re-visit compassion. It’s not just a word. Not just a feeling. It’s deep. It’s the beginning. It’s the end. It’s where everything is, where everything is birthed, where every good thing comes from. You can’t love, you can’t serve, you can’t heal, without compassion. Sit with it. Soak in it. Have compassion for him, child.
You reach out your hand. Moan. Tear. Flies still swarming. You touch his arm. Tears fall. You pray. You plead. You pray comfort. You pray peace. Your heart overflows. You pray Truth over him. You speak the name of Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. Your heart still hurts, but it hurts with joy, with hope, with love. His body still aches, he shifts, looks up. He stares into your eyes. Sees your tears. Looks at your soul. Jesus. See Jesus.
He is. He is the reason. He is truth. See it, man. See it. Jesus, open his eyes. His pain will never stop if he doesn’t see You. Eternal pain if he doesn’t know You. Jesus. He is the Truth. See it, man. See Him. A tear forms in his eye, rolls down his cheek.
Your heart starts to rest. You’ve done what you could do. You’ve prayed what you can pray. You’ve loved how you can love. You’ve cried for him as he cries. You’ve shown compassion on him as he hurts. Your God is good. Your God is faithful. Your God is compassionate. You trust your God.
You say goodbye. You stroke his back once more. Wife cries. Man moans. You stand to leave. Glance back. He lies down. Slowly. Painfully. Your heart stays there with him. You duck your head. Walk out.
Light rain. Slight breeze. Dirty kids surround. Brick road. Door after door. Quiet. You walk. Walk toward the car. Light rain. Mud at your feet. Climb in. Drive away. Kids chase. Honk. Honk. Bump. Cow. Honk. Repeat.
