I found some time today to finish two chapters of a new book, "Compassion" by Henri Nouwen, Donald McNeill and Douglas Morrison.  Although written in 1982, its words are still amazingly refreshing.

The authors first suggest that compassion is more than general kindness or tenderheartedness; it means "to suffer with".  It means

"going to where it hurts, to enter into places of pain, to share in brokeness, fear, confusion, and anguish … to cry out with those in misery, to mourn with those who are lonely, to weep with those in tears … to be weak with the weak, vulnerable with the vulnerable, powerless with the powerless.  Compassion means full immersion in the condition of being human".

Reflecting on one of Jesus’ names, "Immanuel" or "God with us" (Matthew 1 : 23) — something which should be fresh on most of our minds given that Christmas has just only passed — the authors say

"God is a compassionate God.  This means, first of all, that our God has chosen to be God-with-us. …

When do we receive real comfort and consolation?  Is it when someone teaches us how to think or act?  Is it when we receive advice about where to go or what to do?  Is it when we hear words of reassurance and hope?  Sometimes, perhaps.  But what really counts is that in moments of pain and suffering someone stays with us.  More important than any particular action or word of advice is the simple presence of someone who cares.  When someone says to us in a midst of a crisis, ‘I do not know what to say or what to do, but I want you to realise that I am with you, that I will not leave you alone,’ we have a friend through whom we can find consolation and comfort. …

… [ so ] when we say that God is a God-with-us [ we mean ] a God who came to share our lives in solidarity.  It does not mean that God solves our problems, shows us the way out of our confusion, or offers answers for our many questions.  God might do all that, but the solidarity of God consists in the fact that God is willing to enter with us into our problems, confusions, and questions.  That is the good news of God’s taking human flesh [ in the person of Jesus Christ or ' Immanuel', God-with-us ]."

I think as Christians we sometimes feel disappointment with God because we live with the expectation that God will intervene supernaturally, to change our lives, the people around us, or our difficult circumstances, but God does not. 

However, the opening chapters of this book remind me that God is a personal God, more interested in walking in compassionate companionship with us, rather than solving immediate physical problems while leaving the human heart calloused and unchanged.  When Jesus was physically present on earth, He did not heal every sick person, or eradicate hunger and poverty, or overthrow unjust rulers.  Rather He lived and walked amongst the people as a common and humble citizen of Jewish society under a Roman government, interacting and teaching and healing people at a mostly individual or small group level.  His most expansive miracle, in fact, was to multiply food to feed 7,000 hungry people who had listened to Him teach till it was too late for dismiss them so that they could get their own dinners.  But that hardly came close to eradicating hunger and poverty throughout the Roman empire.

It is this personal, compassionate God which Christians must seek and seek to emulate in their lives, and not the more popular but somewhat distorted idea of an instant noodles type, just-add-water god and naive religious faith.

I confess to playing Bejewelled Blitz somewhat obsessively on my iPad for the past few nights.  It is an obssession with trying to obtain a perfect score in a computer game. 

Yet definitely on the first night that I played the game, it was also frustration at an imperfect life, and an attempt to make perfect in the virtual world that which I have not been able to achieve in real life.  I got up the next morning with an epiphany of sorts — that I was seeking to obtain a perfect score that I could not achieve on my own.

And that, I think, pretty much sums up my 2011.  (No, not playing computer games, but falling far short of perfection).

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In hematopoietic stem cell therapy — and doctor-readers please pardon any inaccuracies in what I write — a patient’s (diseased) bone marrow tissue is first eradicated through chemotherapy, before it is infused with new (non-diseased) stem cells.  What follows is a period of waiting for the non-diseased stem cells to engraft to the bone marrow.  The treatment is painful, and the recovery process long.  No patient willingly undergoes hematopoietic stem cell therapy.

The journey of faith feels like that sometimes — a spiritual equivalent of hematopoietic stem cell therapy — where we are faced with a loss of things which are diseased but which we hold dear.  And after we reach the end of ourselves there is a sometimes (if not often) long, painful and frustrating period of waiting, for the spiritual stem cells to regenerate, for the replacement heart of flesh to stabilise and beat according to its intended rhythm.

*** ***

I started 2011 with my moral compass pointing to Luke 9 : 23.  I end with the sense that I have deviated far from the intended direction. 

I enter 2012 with trepidation, aware that there are lifestyle changes and sacrifices which will have to be made.  Amongst other things, Jed will start primary school, while I will be assigned additional responsibilities at work (without additional pay, of course).

The theme for 2011, Luke 9 : 23, was to do something — deny yourself, take up the cross daily, follow Me.

Bankrupt and bruised, the theme for 2012 appears to be Matthew 12 : 20 - 21, that Jesus protects, nurtures and restores where human effort falters and fails.

"A bruised reed He [ Jesus ] will not break,
and a smouldering wick He will not snuff out …
… In His name, the nations will put their hope."

This Christmas is probably the busiest that I have ever been - from work and not partying or shopping or other celebratory activities unfortunately - and since my last post on the meaning of Christmas, I have found little other time to pause and reflect on its meaning.

There is one passage in the Bible though, which has been on my mind.  In response to a friend’s comments on discrimination, I made the passing remark that "the ideal society is one which does not break its bruised reeds or snuff out its smouldering wicks".  That is to say, a society which does not break its fragile plants or put out its flickering candles, which does not oppress or further marginalise its already weak or marginalised.

It was a strictly "secular" comment, in the sense that I did not intend to associate it with the Christian faith (well, at least not overtly).  However, it was also imagery which I had consciously borrowed from the Bible (more for its beautiful imagery rather than its religious meaning), because in Matthew 12, it is said of Jesus that -

"A bruised reed He will not break, and a smouldering wick He will not snuff out".

I have never paid close attention to this passage until the passing remark which I made on discrimination prompted me to read and think more about it.  It is not a journey I regret, and I quote from one of the commentaries which I read (Barnes Notes) -

"A bruised, broken reed is an emblem of the poor and oppressed. It means that [ Jesus ] would not oppress the feeble and poor …. It is also an expressive emblem of the soul broken and contrite …. [ Jesus ] will not break it; that is, he will not be severe, unforgiving, and cruel. He will heal … pardon … give it strength …

…

[ The smouldering wick refers to the ] wick of a lamp when the oil is exhausted - the dying, flickering flame and smoke that hang over it.  It is an emblem, also, of feebleness and infirmity. [ Jesus ] would not further oppress those who had a little strength; he would not put out hope and life when it seemed to be almost extinct."

And so I find in this, in the busyness of life and the weariness of my soul, a reminder of the grace that Jesus stands for, a little more hope for Christmas in the person of Jesus Christ.  Merry Christmas everyone !

"A bruised reed He [ Jesus ] will not break,
and a smouldering wick He will not snuff out …
… In His name, the nations will put their hope." (Matthew 12 : 20, 21)

As with the year-end in previous years, I’ve been trying to find time to pause and reflect on what Christmas means to me, and to distill that into an e-card which I send to selected friends.

A few days ago I picked "The Scandalous Gospel of Jesus" up from my bookshelf, a book which I’ve been reluctant to open again because I found the Peter Gome’s writing style somewhat dry (he’s critically acclaimed by others though, so this means that I’m just shallow).  And one of the first paragraphs I read (flipping through the pages at random) was -

"It may be an urban legend, but psychologists and psychiatrists tell us that this [ season, Christmas ] is the season of the most mental distress and depression."

Which reminded me in turn of what a social worker friend told me some years ago - that Christmas (and other festive occasions) is when the number of suicides in Singapore peak, because that is when people feel the most lonely and depressed.

The sad irony of that was lost on me when I first heard it from my friend.  But now it struck me how terrible it is that a time of the year when arguably the most people are celebrating a year of accomplishments, expressing appreciation for family and friends, (over)eating, drinking, exchanging gifts, and attending church, is also the period of time that some other people feel the most hopelessness and despair.

Does this change the message of Christmas (for Christians)?  No, I do not think it does.  But it has made me see a harsh reality and urgency that I had not perceived before.

I believe Christmas continues to be about hope.

The question for Christians is whether Christmas, both in and outside of church and annual traditional church services, is being celebrated in a way which is relevant to people who are really need that love and hope.