Compassion Begins with Seeing

Third Sunday After Pentecost | Memorial SundayRomans 5:1–8 | Matthew 9:35–10:8

This sermon was preached at St. George's Anglican Church, Lowville (Milton), on the Third Sunday After Pentecost. If you're exploring faith or looking for a welcoming church community, we'd love to welcome you on Sunday mornings at 9:30 a.m. Whoever you are, and wherever you are in your journey of life, you are welcome.

One of the advantages of being both a priest and a therapist is that I get to hear people's stories. One of the disadvantages is that whenever someone says, "I'm fine," I immediately become suspicious. Not because people are lying, exactly. But over the years I've learned that most people carry more than others realize. Behind the smile might be grief. Behind the irritation might be exhaustion. Behind the silence might be fear. Behind the words "I'm fine" might be a story that nobody else knows. The longer I do this work, the more convinced I become that most people are carrying far heavier loads than they let on.

And yet because so much of this remains hidden, it can be easy to make assumptions about one another. We see someone struggling to pay their bills and assume they are lazy or have simply made poor financial decisions. We see someone angry and assume they are difficult. We see someone overwhelmed and assume they simply need to try harder. We see someone asking for help and wonder why they can't just figure it out themselves.

Jesus Sees Differently

But Jesus sees differently.

In today's Gospel, Matthew tells us that Jesus looked upon the crowds and "had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd."

That phrase has been sitting with me all week: harassed and helpless.

Notice what Matthew does not say. He does not describe the crowd as sinful and helpless, or lazy and helpless, or irresponsible and helpless. He says they were harassed and helpless.

These are people who have been worn down. People living under Roman occupation. People carrying heavy economic burdens. People excluded from religious life. People struggling with illness, poverty, grief, and uncertainty. These are people whose suffering is not simply the result of personal failure. They are struggling under the weight of systems larger than themselves.

We know something about that in our own day. Think of the person trying to navigate a disability application while already exhausted by illness. Think of the senior trying to access services and being passed from one phone menu to another. Think of the family struggling to find affordable housing. Think of the person finally reaching out for mental health support only to discover a waiting list months long.

The suffering itself is hard enough. What often makes people feel harassed is when the systems designed to help become another burden to carry. And yet our culture often responds to suffering with blame. Work harder. Try harder. Be grateful. Stop complaining.

But that is not what Jesus does. Jesus looks upon the crowd and does not ask, "What is wrong with these people?" Instead, he asks, "What has happened to these people?" And that changes everything.

What Does Compassion Really Mean?

Matthew tells us that Jesus was moved with compassion. Compassion is more than feeling sorry for someone. It is more than kindness. Compassion is that moment when another person's pain becomes real to us. It is when we feel a measure of what they are feeling.

Recently I was speaking with a couple about something therapists call emotional attunement. One partner was trying very hard to say all the right things. They were offering explanations, solutions, and reassurances. But something was missing. Eventually it became clear that what the other partner needed was not advice. They needed connection.

They wanted to know their pain had been heard. They wanted to hear something like, "That sounds really hard." Or, "I can understand why you're hurting." Or perhaps, "If I were carrying what you're carrying, I would probably feel overwhelmed too."

What they wanted was the sense that the other person was feeling something of what they were feeling. Not exactly the same thing, but enough to know they were no longer carrying it alone.

That is compassion.

Perhaps that is what Jesus is doing with the crowds. He does not stand at a distance analyzing them. He does not explain away their suffering. He does not blame them for their circumstances. He allows their pain to affect him. Their suffering becomes real to him. His heart moves toward them.

Before there is healing, there is compassion. Before there is action, there is compassion. Before there is commission, there is compassion.

The Heart of a Shepherd

And perhaps that is why the image of the shepherd is so important. When Matthew says the people were like sheep without a shepherd, he is not simply describing lost individuals. He is asking a deeper question: Where are the shepherds? Where are the leaders? Where are the people and institutions that are supposed to guide, protect, and care for the vulnerable?

Throughout the Hebrew Scriptures, shepherds are often kings, religious leaders, and those entrusted with responsibility. A shepherd is supposed to care for the flock, notice when someone is injured, help those who are struggling, and ensure that the vulnerable are not left behind. Yet too often the shepherds fail.

This week I was reading a reflection by an Indigenous pastor on this passage. He compared Jesus to a traditional Wisdom Keeper or Medicine Man—not someone who seeks power over others, but someone whose authority comes from caring for the well-being of the community. I found that image helpful. A true leader is not measured by how many people serve them. A true leader is measured by how many people they serve.

That is exactly what we see in Jesus. His heart moves toward those who are suffering, toward those on the margins, toward those who have been forgotten, and toward those who have been told that their struggles are their own fault.

Commission Grows Out of Compassion

Then something remarkable happens. Only after Jesus has seen the crowd, and only after he has responded with compassion, does he send the disciples.

The commission grows out of compassion.

The disciples are not sent out to build an institution. They are not sent out to increase attendance numbers. They are not sent out to treat people as projects. They are sent out to continue the work Jesus has already begun: to heal, to restore, to proclaim good news, and to embody compassion.

Perhaps the church gets into trouble whenever we separate commission from compassion. When that happens, people become projects. But in the Gospel, people are never projects. They are beloved children of God.

Every Stone Represents a Story

Today is also Memorial Sunday. After the service, many of us will walk among the gravestones in our cemetery. We will see names, dates, families, and simple inscriptions. But every stone represents a life. Every stone marks a story.

Every gravestone marks a story. Every life reflects the image of God.

Someone who loved and was loved. Someone who struggled. Someone who laughed. Someone who grieved. Someone who carried burdens that perhaps only a few people ever knew about.

One of the gifts of a cemetery is that it teaches us to see more deeply. It reminds us that human beings are always more than the labels attached to them. More than their accomplishments. More than their failures. More than a name carved into stone. Every life matters. Every story matters. Every person matters.

And perhaps that is part of what Jesus saw when he looked out upon the crowds. Not problems to be solved. Not projects to be managed. Not statistics to be counted. People. Beloved children of God. People carrying burdens. People longing to be seen. People worthy of compassion.

Compassion Begins With Us

The good news of the Gospel is that this is how God sees us. And having received that compassion ourselves, we are invited to share it with others. To be slower to blame and quicker to listen. To be curious rather than judgmental. To ask not, "What is wrong with this person?" but, "What has this person been carrying?"

For that is where compassion begins. And perhaps that is where healing begins as well.

Amen.