Gut Feeling — Saturday Sermons from the Sidelines

Read Mark 6:30-34

I want to look at one verse from today’s gospel reading. “As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd…”

I think of Muradif Music. Several years ago, we welcomed Muradif, Nezira, Maida and Admir to Lincoln from Bosnia. They had been displaced by the Balkan civil wars and genocidal policies of all the warring parties. It was our honor to welcome them as friends and to help them settle in their adopted country.

Muradif is about my height. When he arrived with us, he weighed one hundred fifty pounds. You need to know that he was up twenty-five pounds from the days when his family was hiding in fear for their lives. In those days, they often had very little food. Muradif would not eat until his family had been fed. In fact, Muradif could not eat until his family had been fed. He told me that if he ate first, he felt sick afterward. So on many days he did not eat all.

For me, Muradif is a picture of the compassion we hear described in the gospels. The Greek word for compassion is “splagknizomai.” That word is related to the noun that we would translate as “guts” or intestines.” So compassion is the original “gut feeling.”

“Guts” in the ancient Mediterranean are the location of the emotions, or more properly, emotion-fused thought. That’s why the NRSV and other modern translations often render the noun as “heart.” I’m not all that excited with that choice, although I get the connection. I’d rather stick with the actual location that the word intends and let it jerk our heads around a bit with its strangeness.

The ancients were not ignorant of emotional experience as it is expressed in our bodies. We talk about going with our gut or feeling it in our gut. That is more than a metaphor. In fact, our intestines are a significant location for neural fibers. There is a sort of neural superhighway between our guts and our brains. Often, neuroscientists have found, we know things in our guts before we know them in our brains.

That’s not to say that our understanding of the heart as a “location” of emotions is mistaken. My heart can hurt – not metaphorically – in the midst of grief and loss. My heart can feel happy – not metaphorically – in the midst of joy. My heart races in experiences of fear and anticipation. Emotions are suffused throughout our bodies, and the data is fed constantly to our brains for interpretation.

Let’s listen again to Mark six, verse thirty-four. “As he went ashore, he saw a great crowd; and he had compassion for them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd…” Compassion gets us to the guts of God. That’s my main thought for today, so I want to say it again. Compassion gets us to the guts of God.

I will use the gospels themselves to build that case. In the first chapter of Mark, a leper kneels at Jesus’ feet. “If you choose,” he begs, “you can make me clean.” Mark tells us that Jesus responds with compassion. It’s too bad that the New Revised Standard Version translates the noun as “pity.” Jesus is moved in his guts to respond to the man’s tragedy. And he heals him. Compassion gets us to the guts of God.

In Luke, chapter seven, we read about a widow from the village of Nain. Her only son had died and was being carried to the tomb. Again, Jesus had “compassion” on her and raised her son back to life. The word for “compassion” is used in the New Testament only for God and for people who act like God. So in Luke 10, the Good Samaritan has compassion on the man who was beaten, robbed, and left for dead. In Luke 15, the forgiving father has compassion on the Prodigal Son and welcomes him home. It would make God sick to the Divine stomach to abandon us to the powers of sin, death and evil.

Compassion gets us to the guts of God.

Compassion is always up close and personal. That’s why God chooses to take up residence among us. God will not settle for being a tourist! I love the words from the second chapter of Hebrews, verses seventeen and eighteen. “Therefore [Jesus] had to become like his brothers and sisters in every respect…Because he himself was tested by what he suffered, he is able to help those who are being tested.” The Incarnation—the Word made flesh and living among us—is how God’s compassion looks.

So think about your deepest difficulties. Meditate on your greatest pain. Face your foolishness and failings. Take a few moments to meditate on the broken places in your life.

Now take a deep breath. I am here to tell you that Jesus is there ahead of you and with you. You can’t surprise him. You can’t horrify him. You can’t exhaust or exceed his compassion for you. So we can own our stories rather than being owned by them. That’s what we call “Good News”!

This is contrary to what the world thinks of God. I grew up with Bette Middler singing “From a Distance.” Pretty melody, but terrible theology—“God is watching us from a distance…” Nothing could be further from the truth. Revelation twenty-one, verse three, says it best. “See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them as their God; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them…”

Compassion gets us to the guts of God.

“Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile,” wrote Albert Einstein (a reasonably intelligent fellow, as I recall). We are made for compassion. When we act on that gut feeling we most resemble God. Our call as the church is to embody Jesus’ compassion in the lives of others. We exist only to go out and never to turn in.

This is how Paul puts it in Colossians three, verse twelve: “As God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved,” he writes, “clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience.” Research psychologists are showing that we are hard-wired for compassion. People who are unable to feel compassion for others are regarded as damaged and dangerous.

The opposite of compassion is neither hatred nor indifference. The opposite of compassion is fear. These words from First John, chapter four, verse eighteen, say it best: “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear; for fear has to do with punishment, and whoever fears has not reached perfection in love.”

The existence of human cruelty is an argument that human empathy is real but can be used for good or evil. As the writer of Mark’s gospel portrays “The Tale of the Two Tables” (please see previous posts for a description of this), we can see the use of empathy in the cruelty of Herodias at the Royal Birthday Banquet as well as we can see it here in our text.

We are made for empathy that results in “pro-social behavior” – fancy way that scientists use to describe doing good things with and for others. “Human beings evolved to reverberate with the emotional states of others, to the point that we internalize, mostly via our bodies, what is going on with them,” de Waal argues. “This is social connectivity at its best, the glue of all animal and human societies, which guarantees supportive and comforting company” (page 120).

The place we most readily internalize that compassion is in our guts. When we act on that internal prompting to do good for others, we are at our most human (and our most divine).

Compassion means letting others into our hearts. Compassion means taking the energy to imagine what life is really like for another person. Compassion means suffering with another person. Compassion is always a risk. So our fears are natural. That’s why we must pray for God’s Holy Spirit to fill us with courage and to move us to action. Take some time today to reflect on where the Holy Spirit is calling you to exercise compassion for another.

As we move from the Royal Birthday Banquet, where cruelty is the point, to the Messianic Banquet in the wilderness, where compassion is abundant, we move from human degradation to human flourishing. Jesus is not only the true King but also the truly human one.

In his book, A Bigger Table: Building Messy, Authentic, and Hopeful Spiritual Community, John Pavlovitz discusses the feeding miracles. He notes, first of all, that the feeding is not limited to a guest list. “There’s no altar call, no spiritual gifts assessment, no membership class, no moral screening, no litmus test to verify everyone’s theology and to identify those worthy enough to earn a seat at the table,” Pavlovitz writes. “Their hunger and Jesus’ love for them alone, nothing else, make them worthy. This is a serious gut check for us” (page 62).

There is abundant space and abundant provision in the “kingdom of God” which draws near in Jesus. But my experience of the Church is that it is far too much like me – far too worried about whether there will be enough for all. But relying on Jesus means there will be enough for all. “The Church will thrive,” Pavlovitz writes, “only to the degree it is willing to be about making space for a greater swath of humanity and by recognizing the redemptive power of real relationships” (page 63).

The role of the disciples is not to make sure there’s enough food. The role of the disciples is to make a bigger table. That’s the role we resist so often. “Expanding the table isn’t about digging in our heels around religious rules, doctrine, or dogma.” Pavlovitz argues. “Those things will always provide us reason to disconnect from others. They will always become obstacles. No,” he concludes, “this is about the mind-set with which we gather with people, about creating a space where the differences can be both openly acknowledged and fully welcomed” (page 63).

When you get God’s gut feeling, don’t be afraid to respond. Compassion gets us to the guts of God.

Pastor Lowell R. Hennigs

Text Study for Mark 6:30-56 (Pt. 4); 8 Pentecost B 2021

4. You Feed Them!

When I served in parish ministry, I strongly disliked fielding requests for financial assistance from people in and/or traveling through the community. I didn’t regard those in need as undeserving or at fault in some way. No, the issues were entirely with me. I rarely felt like I had succeeded in being helpful in any meaningful way.

Of course, the likelihood that I would believe I had failed at something was often quite high, so that’s not a surprise. For me, that’s a psychological cost of doing business. But in these situations, I was almost always short of available time, available money, and/or available resources to be of much use to the people in need. The chief irritant for me was almost always that I was on the way to doing something else I considered important.

“It’s getting late, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere,” the disciples complained to Jesus. “Get rid of these people so they can scatter into the surrounding countryside and villages to buy themselves something to eat.” In the mind of the writer of Mark’s gospel, the disciples are focused on the lateness of the hour – the scarcity of time. It’s such a concern that the writer mentions it both as narrator and through the mouths of the disciples.

I resemble that remark. The first roadblock to my concrete acts of discipleship almost always seems to be my perception that time is a scarce commodity. I don’t want to be bothered at the moment. I have other pressing things to do. It’s been a long day and I just want to go home and put my feet up. I haven’t seen my spouse for hours, and I long for the casual comfort of her company. It’s getting late, and I want to tend to my own priorities.

One of the marks of Jesus’ ministry in the Gospel of Mark is that when it comes to serving, he seems to have all the time in the world. Mark’s gospel is filled with immediacy – literally, since the word “immediately” appears in the text of the gospel forty-one times. That’s seventy percent of the times it appears in the whole of the Christian scriptures. On the one hand, the writer of Mark’s gospel is in a hurry to move the action along.

On the other hand, when it comes to serving those who are “like sheep without a shepherd,” time slows to a crawl in the gospel account. Here in the Feeding of the Five Thousand, the writer lavishes attention on the minute details of the story, pausing to peruse each piece of the plot. In the presence of real human need, Jesus has an abundance of time to spend.

It makes me ashamed to even say that in writing. When I think of how many times I just wanted to get a resolution to the problem in order to get on to the “important stuff,” I know that I had my pastoral priorities backwards far too often. I am, it would seem, a typical disciple.

If I got the abundance of time right, once in a while, I had equally as much trouble with what I perceived to be a lack of resources. In my experience, the need for help always exceeds the help made available through congregations. I was frequently having to calculate how much I could get my hands on, how long I would have to stretch what was available, and how many more requests I might field in the coming weeks and months. I never got that part right.

“You give them something to eat,” Jesus commands the disciples. They respond as I would have. “What, are you nuts! It would take eight months-worth of wages to feed this crowd, even if we had that on us. There’s no way we can have enough to feed them all!” I’m just the administrator. Someone else is in charge of inventory and distribution. Not my area!

I get that. I come with a scarcity mindset hardwired from a childhood of relative poverty (even though I always had enough to eat, enough to wear, and even enjoyed all sorts of privileges and perks as a teen). I’m always sure that I am about fifteen seconds from financial calamity, regardless of the reality of my situation. I have no trouble generating reasons why there won’t be enough stuff to get through the day.

The disciples had just come back from a successful missionary adventure. They have taken next to nothing with them to sustain themselves. Yet, apparently, they had not starved. God had provided enough. With that experience fresh in their minds, they still could not connect that experience of provision with Jesus’ power to provide abundantly to them and through them.

That’s what the writer of Mark’s gospel means when the writer notes that their hearts were hardened. In the face of Jesus’ presence and with an abundance of personal experience as evidence, they were still sure that the good stuff would be gone before everyone was fed. That’s what I would have thought as well. I just can’t unclench my heart long enough to experience a little joy. Who knows when we’ll run out?

Whenever things get a little tight in the budget area, I’m sure that we are two steps from bankruptcy. Never mind that we have received more than adequate provision at every step of our faith journey. Never mind that my experience is not of impending financial disaster but rather of yet another just in the nick of time experience of God’s abundance. Mindset trumps evidence, and I have to talk myself through another restless night of anxiety.

I wonder if Jesus is as compassionately frustrated with the disciples as he is with me. “Fine!” he says to them. “Do an inventory. How many loaves do you have?” They go and count. It couldn’t have taken long. In the crowd of thousands, they find five loaves and two fish. They must have experienced a perverse bit of pleasure in being able to say to Jesus, “We told you so!”

The self-satisfaction didn’t last long. Jesus organized the banquet as a good king and compassionate shepherd should. He prayed for the Divine blessing and the food began to flow. There was, of course, more than enough. Why should we be surprised? That was the whole point.

There is abundant space and abundant provision in the “kingdom of God” which draws near in Jesus. But my experience of the Church is that it is far too much like me – far too worried about whether there will be enough for all (well, for us, if we’re honest). But relying on Jesus means there will be enough for all. “The Church will thrive,” Pavlovitz writes, “only to the degree it is willing to be about making space for a greater swath of humanity and by recognizing the redemptive power of real relationships” (page 63).

Pavlovitz gets right the real problem the disciples and I have. We don’t want to share. We want to keep the good stuff to and for ourselves. We want to be the privileged, the powerful, the propertied, and the pious. Jesus gives the disciples a chance here to serve rather than to be served, and they blow it. Yup – been there, done that. Hard-hearted and of little faith — that’s me!

“It’s one thing to personally accept Christ’s boundless grace, and another to avoid hoarding it for ourselves,” Pavlovitz notes. “It’s always so much easier to live with a closed fist than an open hand. And yet, the latter is the way of Christ. This is the heart of his hospitality. This should be our daily bread— and it will cause us to move” (page 71).

It’s easy to miss part of the subtext of Pavlovitz’s argument. It’s not our hospitality that’s at stake here. Jesus is the host, not us. I tend to forget that. I’m as much a guest at the table as anybody else. I’m not welcoming anyone to my space. Instead, we are, as is often said, beggars showing one another where the bread is. As soon as I lose track of that reality, my church becomes a colonizing tool of dominant culture.

I don’t bring anything to the table. Jesus does, and I get to invite people to experience that welcome table together. The minute I lose touch with that, I can feel my heart solidify a bit more…

References and Resources

https://teachingamericanhistory.org/library/document/mud-sill-speech/.

De Waal, Frans. Mama’s Last Hug: Animal Emotions and What They Tell Us about Ourselves. W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

Hurtado, Larry. Mark (Understanding the Bible Commentary Series). Grand Rapids, MI.: Baker Books, 1989.

Keltner, Dacher. Born to Be Good: The Science of a Meaningful Life. W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

Ortlund, D. (2012). THE OLD TESTAMENT BACKGROUND AND ESCHATOLOGICAL SIGNIFICANCE OF JESUS WALKING ON THE SEA (MARK 6:45-52). Neotestamentica, 46(2), 319-337. Retrieved July 7, 2021, from http://www.jstor.org/stable/43049201

Pavlovitz, John. A Bigger Table: Building Messy, Authentic, and Hopeful Spiritual Community. Presbyterian Publishing. Kindle Edition.

Swanson, Richard. Provoking the Gospel of Mark: A Storyteller’s Commentary, Year B. Cleveland, OH.: The Pilgrim Press, 2005.

Text Study for Mark 6:30-56 (Pt. 3); 8 Pentecost B 2021

3. I Ain’t Afraid of No Ghost!

The accounts of the Feeding of the Five Thousand and Jesus Walking on Water from Mark’s gospel do not appear in the Revised Common Lectionary. This is an argument, in my book, for reading or at least referring to these texts in the message this week. Mark’s account has emphases that are not addressed in the same way in the extensive discourse in John’s gospel. In Mark’s account, we go from the Compassionate and Truly Human One to the Master of Wind and Wave. And we find them to be the same person!

Most important, it is clear that the writer of Mark intends to connect completely the two accounts. “And he came up into the boat with them, and the wind abated. And they were exceedingly astounded in themselves, for they did not understand (based upon the loaves), but rather their hearts were being hardened” (Mark 6:51-52, my translation).

As Jesus is revealed in his compassionate response to the confused and chaotic crowd, so he is now revealed in his authority over wind and wave. “Since Mark thus ties together these two incidents, it is likely that he wants his reader to see them both as complementary revelations of Jesus,” Hurtado writes. “This means that this sea miracle is another manifestation of the divine significance of Jesus’ person and not just a miracle story” (page 103).

Swanson translates “hardened” as “calloused” – an interesting choice that sparks deeper reflection on what the writer means. The Greek verb has to be with hardening or petrifying. As the crowds continue to pursue Jesus in order to benefit from his presence, the disciples seem to be drifting further and further away from him.

“[T]he world swirls to Jesus,” Swanson notes, “even more than it did to John the Baptist. Jesus is instantly recognized, and the benefits he offers are instantly perceived,” he continues. “But those people who follow Jesus most closely are given scene after scene in which they act out their incomprehension” (page 198).

What’s the deal here, Swanson wonders. Perhaps these texts reflect the struggles of the Markan community to come to terms with their own suffering even after hearing and embracing “the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Swanson wonders if there is a problem of “insider incomprehension” in the community that is mirrored in the calloused hearts of the disciples. He’s worth quoting at length here.

“Outsiders and immature insiders may believe that Christian faith immediately smooths all roads and raises all deeply shadowed valleys. Insiders who have seen a little more know that this is not true. It may be that the theme of insider incomprehension is a storytelling strategy through which Mark’s story works out what it means to tell stories about resurrection in a world where everyone dies. And that may go a long way toward explaining the odd way that Mark tells the story of Jesus’ resurrection” (pages 198-199).

Always for the writer of Mark’s gospel, the question is about the identity of Jesus. “This sea miracle Mark enlists as further evidence that Jesus is not just human but has a supernatural quality and divine significance,” Hurtado suggests. “Even the way Jesus addresses the disciples, ‘It is I,’ implies this” (page 103). The Greek in verse 50 is, in literal translation, “I am.” As Hurtado notes, this is the formula of divine disclosure in the Hebrew scriptures. Jesus calls himself by God’s proper name.

It may have occurred to the reader that these stories in Mark 6 have a number of allusions and echoes that take us to the Hebrew Scriptures. An exploration of these allusions and echoes will help us to understand several obscure references in the text. I would commend Ortlund’s article in that regard, but I will offer a bit of summary to move the conversation forward.

Ortlund describes the connection between this text and the account in Exodus 14, which precedes the story of feeding the people with manna in the wilderness in Exodus 16. The writer of Mark’s gospel connects his stories in just the way they are linked in Exodus. In addition, both Exodus 14 and Mark 6 happen at night. The wind and wave buffet the faithful all during the night in each case. The calm comes with the morning. The people cry out in fear and are told to have courage (the same verb occurs in Mark 6 and the LXX).

“Mark seems, then,” Ortlund writes, “to be presenting the sea-walking of Mark 6 as a recapitulation of the exodus” (page 322).

A second narrative from the Hebrew scriptures related to our text is, according to Ortlund, in Exodus 33-34. In particular, both texts have the verb translated as “passing by” the disciples. Every time I read this text, I wonder what in the world that means. Ortlund notes that in Exodus 33-34, as well as in other Hebrew scriptures, the verb doesn’t mean to ignore or avoid. It is rather the verb used to describe theophanies – when God passes by in order to be seen.

Ortlund notes that the “passing by” in Mark’s account has numerous parallels with the “passing by” in Exodus. Both accounts follow a miraculous feeding and discussion of the sabbath. Both have God’s representative hobnobbing with God on a “mountain.” In both cases, God’s people are terrified and then calmed down by God’s representative. They are astonished at what they hear, and don’t respond all that well to it. The time between the leader’s leaving and reappearing is most of a night in each case (page 324).

Ortlund points to other significant texts, but the upshot is fairly straightforward. Jesus is not ignoring or avoiding the disciples in the wallowing boat. Instead, the writer uses a term that clearly indicates the divine nature of the encounter on the sea. The same verb is reflected in Job 9 and Amos 7-8.

The theological significance of this text, Ortlund argues, is that it demonstrates the inauguration of the eschatological age – Mark’s primary focus. He quotes Jurgen Moltmann in this regard. Moltmann argues that such miracles are not suspensions of the natural order but rather restorations of that order. Just as compassion is a mark of the truly human one, so this effortless control of the natural world (see C. S. Lewis on this) is also a mark of humanity as the Creator intended it.

“The miracles return life to the way it was meant to be,” Ortlund asserts. “They are glimpses of the restoration that will one day be fully and finally consummated,” he concludes, “the miracles, in other words, are eschatological” (page 330). If that’s the case in Mark’s account as a whole, it is therefore the case in the Water-walking text as well.

In what ways is that true? Jesus passes by as God passes by. This is a Divine theophany, but the Divine One doesn’t leave again. When God stops passing by but rather remains, that’s a sign of the New Age, according to the Amos text. When God passes by in the Hebrew scriptures, humans must hide their faces in order to be safe. But when Jesus passes by, all can see him just as he is. That’s a sign of the New Age. And, of course, there is Jesus’ use of the “I am” name for himself. When God is personally present and remains, the New Age has certainly been launched.

I want to focus for a moment or two on the verb that describes how the disciples experience their boat ride. The verb that describes their experience can be and often is translated as “tormented” or even “tortured.” The wind was torturing them as they rowed in the opposite direction in vain. I have to wonder if the writer of Mark’s gospel chose this word with great intention – to touch the ears of listeners who had been or knew people who had suffered torture for the sake of the gospel.

The verb used to describe the rowing can also mean to drive or drive out. It is a word used to describe how demonic forces can drive and compel possessed people. The emphasis in Mark’s account on demonic possession and the binding of the Strong Man should cause us to sharpen our hearing at this point. Pulling hard in the effort to drive out the demons is what disciples do and should expect to do.

In Christian scripture and in our creed, we note that the Gospel has happened “according to the scriptures.” Of course, that means the Hebrew Scriptures, since the Christian scriptures were still in the process of composition. It does not merely mean that the Hebrew scriptures were a ready repository of proof texts for beavering Christian scribes. Rather, a deep familiarity with those scriptures made it nearly impossible for early Christians to read the Hebrew scriptures and not find manifold allusions to and echoes of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

If nothing else, Mark 6 should motivate us to know the Hebrew scriptures much better if we want the Christian word to work on us fully.

References and Resources

https://teachingamericanhistory.org/library/document/mud-sill-speech/.

De Waal, Frans. Mama’s Last Hug: Animal Emotions and What They Tell Us about Ourselves. W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

Hurtado, Larry. Mark (Understanding the Bible Commentary Series). Grand Rapids, MI.: Baker Books, 1989.

Keltner, Dacher. Born to Be Good: The Science of a Meaningful Life. W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

Swanson, Richard. Provoking the Gospel of Mark: A Storyteller’s Commentary, Year B. Cleveland, OH.: The Pilgrim Press, 2005.

Text Study for Mark 6:30-56 (Pt. 2); 8 Pentecost B 2021

Compassion is Not for Suckers Anymore (It Never Was)

“And [Jesus] had compassion upon them because they were as sheep who did not have a shepherd, and he began to teach them many things” (Mark 6:34b, my translation).

Is human compassion normal or exceptional? Are we humans wired for selfishness or altruism? These questions have fascinated and frustrated philosophers for as long as there have been philosophers – and before. The generally accepted answer during the Enlightenment was that human compassion is exceptional and that compassion in the so-called “natural” world is non-existent.

Alfred Lord Tennyson popularized the phrase that nature is “red in tooth and claw.” Brutal competition was thought to produce the “survival of the fittest” (a concept that was not really part of Darwin’s evolutionary theory). In human affairs, the state of nature was the “war of all against all” according to Thomas Hobbes. The chief function of civilized society was to restrict and regulate these bloody impulses, so we all didn’t just kill each other daily.

For Hobbes, the solution to this issue was the creation of the Leviathan, the all-powerful, autocratic state that would provide a measure of protection in exchange for total control. It should come as no surprise that this view of human nature was part of a political argument. Hobbes used it to support the institution of absolute monarchy in the face of nascent democratic sentiments in the European monarchies.

The assertion that compassion is for suckers was (and is) used as well to support and argue for the highly individualistic and rapacious neoliberalism which has driven our economic life in the West since the late 1970’s. Credit is usually given to Adam Smith for “inventing” such capitalism in his The Wealth of Nations.

Few people have actually read Smith’s far more important work (at least in his own estimation), entitled A Theory of Moral Sentiments. In that book, Smith argues that human morality is rooted and grounded in what we would now call “empathy” (although Smith, following the usage of the time, called it “sympathy”). Here’s a quote from Smith’s work that says it well.

“Though our brother is upon the rack, as long as we ourselves are at ease, our senses will never inform us of what he suffers. They never did and never can carry us beyond our own persons, and it is by the imagination only that we form any conception of what are his sensations…His agonies, when they are thus brought home to ourselves, when we have this adopted and made them our own, begin at last to affect us, and we then tremble and shudder at the thought of what he feels.”

In fact, Smith was certain that his brand of capitalism was sustainable only under the influence of such empathetic imagination and the actions that imagination would produce in people. Without the operation of compassion, Smith believed, capitalism would create the very war of all against all that Hobbes predicted and would lead to social chaos rather than social progress. Smith may not have believed that such compassion was “natural,” but he certainly believed it was necessary.

It is in the twentieth century that compassion is most clearly regarded as a political and economic liability. The works of Ayn Rand and Friedrich Hayek provided much of the theoretical foundation for this view of human nature and human flourishing. In The Fountainhead, Rand writes this monologue.

“Compassion is a wonderful thing. It’s what one feels when one looks at a squashed caterpillar. An elevating experience. One can let oneself go and spread–you know, like taking a girdle off. You don’t have to hold your stomach, your heart, or your spirit up–when you feel compassion. All you have to do is look down. It’s much easier. When you look up, you get a pain in the neck. Compassion is the greatest virtue. It justifies suffering. There’s got to be suffering in the world, else how would we be virtuous and feel compassion?”

Hayek was certain that libertarian, individualistic freedom was the most reliable path to overall human flourishing. He was also certain that efforts to organize human beings into caring collectives (by governments) was the most reliable path to human misery. “I am certain, however, that nothing has done so much to destroy the juridical safeguards of individual freedom,” he wrote, “as the striving after this mirage of social justice.”

We live in a time when large numbers of people in the Western world believe that compassion is for suckers. If they don’t admit that, they are certainly ready to believe that compassion is, while admirable, exceptional – the realm of saints and martyrs, not of real people who need to get their hands dirty on a regular basis. That perspective is part of the larger framework that elected a man to the American presidency who clearly believes that self-giving love is for losers.

The field of Positive Psychology paints a far different and evidence-based picture of human nature and human flourishing. I could refer you to a number of authors and scholars in this regard. However, I want to talk about the work and writing of Dacher Keltner, particularly in his book, Born to be Good: The Science of a Meaningful Life. In this work, Keltner tries to show “how survival of the kindest may be just as fitting a description of our origins as survival of the fittest” (Kindle Locations 67-68).

Keltner notes that neuroscientific studies suggest we are wired for the “complex mixture of kindness, humanity, and respect that transpires between people” (Kindle Location 153). Giving, cooperation, and other compassionate actions light up the reward centers in our brains. “People around the world will sacrifice the enhancement of self-interest in the service of other principles: equality, a more favorable reputation, or even, God forbid, the advancement of others’ welfare” (Kindle Locations 298-299).

Neuroscience continues to show that we are more “wired” for compassion than for selfishness (for good evolutionary reasons). More than that – and more to the point for our conversation – the emotions that wire us in that way are grounded in our guts. Studies of the human autonomic nervous system reveal, Keltner reports, “that our emotions, even those higher sentiments like sympathy and awe, are embodied in our viscera. As this line of inquiry shifted to the ethical emotions,” he continues, “emotions like embarrassment and compassion, a more radical inference waited on the horizon—that our very capacity for goodness is wired into our body” (Kindle Locations 917-919).

We humans are made with what Keltner calls “the moral gut.”

Human moral judgments are not, Keltner argues, primarily rooted and grounded in our conscious brains. “Our moral judgments of blame are guided by sensations arising in the viscera and facial musculature” (Kindle Locations 949-950). It’s not that our brains are trumped by our guts, however. “Reason and passion are collaborators in the meaningful life” (Kindle Location 975-976).

My point is that compassion is not an exceptional human characteristic. It is, rather, key to fully human flourishing. Suppressing compassion renders us less than human. When Jesus feels compassion for the crowds because they are lost, he is demonstrating what fully flourishing humanity looks like. Disciples need to watch and learn.

But often we don’t.

In fact, “survival of the kindest” is a far better explanation of evolutionary processes than is “survival of the fittest.” Survival of the fittest is an excellent theoretical framework is your goal is to show that human beings exist to produce a few powerful, privileged, propertied, and positioned people at the top of the heap. Survival of the fittest is the theoretical foundation for policies such as “trickle-down economics” and practices such as chattel slavery.

An egregious example of this sort of thinking is the infamous “Mud Sill” speech delivered in the U. S. House of Representatives by James Henry Hammond in 1858. Hammond, an ardent pro-enslavement apologist, was debating the admission of Kansas to the Union as an enslavement state. The paragraph below captures all we need to know about the speech.

“In all social systems there must be a class to do the menial duties, to perform the drudgery of life. That is, a class requiring but a low order of intellect and but little skill. Its requisites are vigor, docility, fidelity. Such a class you must have, or you would not have that other class which leads progress, civilization, and refinement. It constitutes the very mud-sill of society and of political government; and you might as well attempt to build a house in the air, as to build either the one or the other, except on this mud-sill. Fortunately for the South, she found a race adapted to that purpose to her hand. A race inferior to her own, but eminently qualified in temper, in vigor, in docility, in capacity to stand the climate, to answer all her purposes. We use them for our purpose, and call them slaves.”

Survival of the kindest is a more accurate reflection of authentic human flourishing. Based on numerous physiological, psychological, and sociological measures, “our survival depends on healthy, stable bonds with others” (Kindle Location 1228). Life that is rich, meaningful, happy, and joyful is based on kindness, gratitude, service, altruism – compassion.

References and Resources

https://teachingamericanhistory.org/library/document/mud-sill-speech/.

De Waal, Frans. Mama’s Last Hug: Animal Emotions and What They Tell Us about Ourselves. W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

Keltner, Dacher. Born to Be Good: The Science of a Meaningful Life. W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.

Text Study for Mark 6:30-56 (Pt. 1); 8 Pentecost B 2021

Last Hugs and Lost Sheep

Mark 6: 30-56

This will be our last adventure with the Gospel of Mark until August 29, which is 15 Pentecost B. We are soon entering our triennial sojourn with the week-after-week examination of the Bread of Life Discourse and related texts in John 6.

While I find the Discourse engaging and compelling, I always find it to be just too much. I learned after the first go-round to schedule vacation and/or continuing education during this time in order to create a break from the monotony. Alternatively, one can engage in a series on Ephesians, the second lessons during this stretch. I have enjoyed that strategy as well.

Once I thought I might use the same message for six weeks straight to see who noticed. I chickened out on the whole strategy. But I did use the same half of the message to prepare the various points I was making in each of the six weeks. My spouse noticed. The organist noticed. I received no other comments in that regard.

I find that the biggest drawback to this part of the lectionary schedule is that we miss out on some very central passages in Mark’s gospel. We have Mark’s own account of the Feeding of the Five Thousand and the story of Jesus Walking on Water. This approach creates the impression that the account in Mark can be consumed in bite-sized chunks which have little connection with or impact on the other chunks.

Perhaps it is already clear that I don’t care for this treatment of Mark’s account. I would be quite happy with a major overhaul of the Revised Common Lectionary – a four-year approach that allows the gospel of John its own year.

That might, unfortunately, put many of us out of sync with the Roman Catholic schedule of readings, but perhaps that could be negotiated. While we’re at it, let’s also negotiate fixing Easter on the third Sunday of April each year, since we cannot be sure of the exact date in any event.

Now that I have repaired the major deficiencies in the lectionary and liturgical schedules, let’s actually look at the text. While I don’t think I would advocate reading all of Mark 6:30-56 in liturgical worship, the preacher dealing with this text needs to take that whole stretch into account.

If one were to read the whole text, however, I would suggest breaking it into pieces. Perhaps one could connect verses 30-34 with a Call to Worship. One might use verses 53-56 as a Call to Prayer. Then one could break up the Feeding Story and the Walking story with the appointed psalm or a hymn or both. I have found this to be a useful way to deal with the text and tie it to worship.

We move from the Royal Birthday Banquet, where cruelty is the point, to the Messianic Banquet in the wilderness, where compassion is abundant. “And as he was exiting [the boat], he saw a numerous crowd,” the gospel writer tells us, “And he had compassion upon them because they were as sheep who did not have a shepherd, and he began to teach them many things” (my translation).

It is one of my favorite verses, containing one of my favorite Greek words: splagchnizomai. It means to have pity or feel sympathy, usually for or toward someone. The verb has a noun form, splagchnon, which means inward parts, or entrails (see BAGD, 762-763). I like to translate it as “guts.”

It’s worth re-reading Koester’s article on the word group in Volume VII of the TDNT (pages 548-559). He notes that the noun originally refers to the “inward parts” offered in sacrifices to the Greek gods. It was not a word that described mercy or compassion in those settings. That usage comes about in Jewish and early Christian writings.

In the Christian scriptures, only the verb appears (with a few exceptions), and it is always applied to Jesus, either directly or in parabolic reference. It appears in the Parables of the Wicked Servant, the Prodigal Son, and the Good Samaritan. The primary usage in Mark’s account is here, connected with the Feeding of the 5000. “Jesus is theologically characterized here as the Messiah,” Koester writes, “in whom the divine mercy is present” (page 554). Thus, more than an emotion, this word describes the character of God as revealed in Jesus.

Does this make “compassion” an unusual or exceptional characteristic? I would argue that Jesus is portrayed in Mark’s account and elsewhere as the depiction and definition of what it means to be truly and fully human as well as truly and fully divine. Therefore, compassion is an expression of true and full humanity, not only in Jesus, but also in each and all of us.

In an age when cruelty is often the point in human relationships and political realities, it’s worth spending time on the notion of and reality of compassion. Is this experience limited to just a few exceptional humans, or is it our default condition? Is compassion limited to homo sapiens, or do other species experience and express this and other emotions? These questions have been the concentrations of study in a number of disciplines in the last few decades.

I think of Frans de Waal’s book, Mama’s Last Hug: Animal Emotions and What They Tell Us about Ourselves. The book is anchored by an account of the relationship between the scientist, Jan van Hooff, and Mama, at the time the world’s oldest chimpanzee, under van Hooff’s care and study. The two had a relationship that spanned more than forty years.

After an extended time apart, with Mama near death, van Hooff makes a final visit. That encounter is recorded in a moving YouTube video, which you can see here. The scientists observe behavior that Mama expressed in comforting her young at times of fright. “This was typically Mama,” de Waal writes, “she must have sensed Jan’s trepidation about invading her domain, and she was letting him know not to worry. She was happy to see him” (page 14).

Western thought has held for millennia that humans are somehow separate from and superior to (other) animals. Contemporary research shows much more continuity between species. In theological terms, I would suggest that compassion is stitched into the fabric of Creation and is expressed in myriad ways by multiple species. “Buried by a mass of fresh data,” de Waal writes, “the idea that behavior is invariably self-serving has died an inglorious death. Science has confirmed that cooperation is our species’ first and foremost inclination” (page 99).

In fact, de Waal observes, it is our capacity for compassion that makes cruelty even possible. Our sensitivity to one another’s emotions makes it possible for us to exploit those emotions to harm another. “Being an effective torturer, for example,” he writes, “requires knowing what hurts the most” (page 103).

We are made for empathy that results in “pro-social behavior” – the fancy way that scientists use to describe doing good things with and for others. “Human beings evolved to reverberate with the emotional states of others, to the point that we internalize, mostly via our bodies, what is going on with them,” de Waal argues. “This is social connectivity at its best, the glue of all animal and human societies, which guarantees supportive and comforting company” (page 120).

The place we most readily internalize that compassion is in our guts. When we act on that internal prompting to do good for others, we are at our most human (and our most divine). We will continue this conversation in the next post.

References and Resources

De Waal, Frans. Mama’s Last Hug: Animal Emotions and What They Tell Us about Ourselves. W. W. Norton & Company. Kindle Edition.