A.J. Gordon once said: “I have long since ceased to pray, ‘Lord, have compassion on a lost world.’  I remember the day and the hour when I seemed to hear the Lord rebuking me for making such a prayer.  He seemed to say to me, ‘I have had compassion on a lost world, and now it is for you to have compassion.’"  When does the dutiful messenger become the compassionate missionary?

          Walking Among the Dead

                             
                                                   by Melissa Roe

A.J. Gordon once said: “I have long since ceased to pray, ‘Lord, have compassion on a lost world.’  I remember the day and the hour when I seemed to hear the Lord rebuking me for making such a prayer.  He seemed to say to me, ‘I have had compassion on a lost world, and now it is for you to have compassion.’"  When does the dutiful messenger become the compassionate missionary?

A recent experience helped clarify the difference between obligatory cheerless activity and true heart-felt compassion.  When the weather became warm in the spring, I began to walk during my lunch break.  Not only has the benefit of exercise been my objective, but also a renewed mental state.  A short distance down the road, I discovered a beautiful well-kept cemetery with paved roads encircling a lake, complete with ducks and geese.  I was undeterred by the fact that my walking path weaved its way among the dead.  I had a goal and a plan and a schedule to keep.  I measured the proposed distance at just under two miles, and so my routine began.

Each day I went to the place, parked in front of the mausoleum, ate my sandwich, and got out and walked.  There were very few visitors that time of day, and the ones that did come were just nameless mourners to me.  I avoided their eyes as I tried not to break stride.  However, one afternoon my pace was rudely interrupted by a young couple standing beside a little headstone in the section called Baby Land.  I saw their hands locked tightly around each other; a mother wept openly for her little one.  I saw the father stoop down and pull a few blades of stray grass from around the stone.  He did it as tenderly as if he were brushing the hair from his child’s eyes.  They placed a little toy truck on the grave, then held each other and cried.

I returned to my car where my own tears came hard. I sat there for a very long time.  It occurred to me that until that moment of emotional connection, that little headstone had just been one of many concrete ornaments lining the path of my personal goal.  A nameless grave now had a mommy and a daddy.  Somewhere there was a little empty crib and a baby book left void of the milestones that accompany parental pride and joy.

In days following, I could not pass the grave without the revisiting of emotional stirrings.  I ventured over to learn the child’s name, a little boy who had passed from this life just before his first birthday.  I noted the gift of a soft teddy bear and other trinkets left at various times.

I fear the church’s mission to reach the world is most often just a dutiful effort. We have become robotic, emotionally detached, and walking among the faceless, nameless dead. In most cases our mission giving is simply out of duty. Missionary letters are read (well, maybe they’re read) with little or no emotion.  The mission conference is tacked on the church calendar along with Vacation Bible School, Revival, and the annual Easter Egg Hunt.  The closest most of us get to Taiwan or Samoa is a glance through National Geographic or a brief look at CNN International.

Jesus was moved with compassion when he “went forth and saw” (Matthew 14:14).  After having received the news of the beheading of John the Baptist, He sought to be apart to nurture His grieving heart.  Nevertheless, the needy masses affected Him in such a way that He healed them until nightfall.  He had compassion on the multitudes after having spent time with them and feeling their hunger (Mark 8:1-3).  He knew their physical needs as well as spiritual.

A long distance message or second-hand report would not suffice for our Lord.  We ourselves must be moved to go and to feed and to witness the unreached amidst their spiritual squalor.  We cannot be contented with the mere idea of missions, nor should we be satisfied with the heroic image we conjure up of all our missionary endeavors.

Send your pastor on a mission trip this year.  Give up your summer vacation and go with him.  When true compassion grips us, it is because the dead now has a face, a name, and a favorite toy.

Melissa Roe