Compassion Reconsidered

Over the last three years, Spiritual Director's International has focused on compassion during its annual conference.  Initially, I was worried about how much could be said about compassion for that period of time.  There was a related concern about what would be discussed, since compassion is often used a synonym for "sympathy" or even worse "pity."  Both of those terms can imply an inequality among the people involved.  The one who feels pity for another can have a sense of superiority, of being better than the person who is the object of that pity.

One of the books recommended by Joyce Rupp, the SDI Keynote Presenter last April, was Compassion: Listening to the Cries of the World by Christina Feldman.  Starting in April it has been my daily companion, usually read in short takes while eating breakfast or before turning out the light at night.  Joyce and Christina have been challenging guides through the last months, transforming my disdain for the word "compassion" into an ever deepening appreciation.

Feldman places compassion within the constant dynamic of pain and suffering, noting "When you are willing to turn directly toward pain, receive it, and embrace it with tenderness, you have begun to embody compassion." (p. 23) Whether it is the cries of the world, personal life situations, or concern for those who do not deserve what happens to them or for those who cause suffering, there is always the difficult choice of facing into that pain or suffering.  All of my being wants to run away, to avoid the situation, so turning toward the pain is counter-intuitive.

Later Feldman notes that "attachment is the near enemy of compassion. . . . It is your desire to control all things, including pain, that undermines compassion. . . that impermanence should never touch you." (p. 108)  This message, repeated and deepened throughout the book, has been critical in this time of transition.  Attachments to a particular job, a narrow professional definition, a set of habits formed over a decade, and a desire for security have tied me down.  Attachments that are tightly glued on cannot be released easily or quickly.  Even if they are finally removed, they will leave a scar, a mark of their role in life.

 There is still so much to learn. Feldman reminds her readers that "We are always beginners in the art of compassion. . . . life is sure to present us with some new experience or encounter with pain we feel unprepared for." (p. 13)  I pray for the courage to be able to continue learn about and practice compassion.