No guts, no glory

My Bible devotions app is lucky it's not a sentient being, or it would have uninstalled itself out of sheer rage at my spotty commitment to the "Bible in One Year 2016" series.

I'm still only 12 days in. It's 2017.

The barrage of notifications must have worked on some level, because a few days ago I found myself reading the latest installment from the authors Nicky and Pippa Gumbel (Nicky is a vicar and the heart behind the internationally celebrated Christian resource Alpha).

Nicky had highlighted one of my favorite verses in Matthew 9. Jesus has been hit with problem after problem after person after person. You know that kind of day? But imagine it on a Messianic scale.

Jesus eats with disciples: "But they don't fast."

Jesus tells family daughter is not dead: "But they laughed at him."

Jesus tells men to remain silent about healing: "But they spread news all throughout the region."

Jesus casts out a demon and provides the most spectacular evidence of God that all Israel has seen in their lifetime: "But the Pharisees..."

And yet still, the Messiah who was met by insult after snub after rampant unbelief by the people he serves rounds out the chapter in this town like this: "When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd." Matthew 9:36 NIV This scripture has always brought me a deep and guttural joy in knowing that Jesus is indefatigable in His mercy for the hopeless. For the helpless. For the harried.

It has given me comfort to know that if my saviour can stand on a hill and look out at a sweaty mass of heaving, needy people who are unlikely to be able to help his ministry ever (is that not sometimes the currency we deal in, Christian friends? I'm guilty.) - and yet still feel unbridled compassion then so can I. But the devotion focused deeper still: the description of "compassion".

The Greek word for compassion - splagchnizomai - means to be moved right down to the bowels or guts.

Jesus didn't just feel bad for the people - his very innards were moved at the weight of love and pity he felt. Jesus was gutted. If I had to think of all the times I have felt truly gutted for people, I am probably sure I could count them on two hands. Cancer scares, deaths, break ups - but how long does that deep grief and sisterhood last? Is it only for the ones I am close to? Is it limited to the digits available on my body?

What about people repeatedly experiencing strife? Someone who brings it on themselves or makes poor life decisions or has poor hygiene so we try and end the conversation as quickly as possible with an "I'm sorry, that sucks." or the occasionally dishonest sign-off "I'll pray for that."? I'll tell you what: That empathy that should move my very bowels sometimes only travels as far as my throat or a 'solidarity' comment on Facebook.

Jesus reminds me that he feels compassion for me when I am harassed and harried. When I am overwhelmed with washing and work commitments and late nights with friends who need me. And he calls me to rest in Him; that I may be moved to the core of my being for those who are similarly frazzled, sidelined or derided. That I may be as gutted for others as he was for me in my distress.

The photo at the top of this page was taken the day after that revelation on compassion. I have walked past that sign most days for the last year, but this time it stopped me mid-stride. "No guts, no glory".

Jesus not only allowed 'splagchnizomai' - bowel-clenching emotion as he saw the needs of his beloved children - but he surrendered and committed his whole body and very life in order to fulfill his mission and bring glory to the Father.

No guts: if I do not allow the hurts and helplessness of others to rock my very organs; if I turn my eyes and ears and heart from the lonely, poor and oppressed and just "feel bad" then there will be no glory.

Jesus, take us by our weak hands and trembling knees and allow us to stand firm in your word and promises. Show us how to have some guilt-free soaking in of your tender care. Immerse us in hopefulness as you see to us in our frailness. Let us not turn our heads or harden our hearts. Train us to be people of endless resolve, even when we are scared and tired.

Then let us be a people marked by our stomach-clenching, bowel-deep and universe-wide compassion as we lay down our time, lives and bodies for your sake and the building of your church and kingdom. You have already shown us how. Friends, let us be gutted, together. Then and only then will we see the glory of God we have been waiting for.

 

We're ready.

 

Rosy Keane | Territorial Women's Ministries