Archbishop Desmond Tutu once said that we are all ‘God carriers.” The divine spark glows within each of us. It’s especially manifest in acts of compassion.
The biblical parable known as the loaves and fishes illustrates the Archbishops’ point.
Jesus is teaching a multitude of people in a wilderness. They’ve traveled great distances to hear him. They’ve been there a long time and soon it will be dark. They have had nothing to eat and home’s far off.
Jesus says to his disciples, “I have compassion for these people; they have already been with me three days and have nothing to eat. I do not want to send them away hungry, or they may collapse on the way.”
The disciples respond anxiously, convinced they don’t have enough. “Where could we get enough bread in this remote place to feed such a crowd?”
“How many loaves do you have?” Jesus asks.
“Seven,” they reply, “and a few small fish.”
Jesus tells the crowd to sit. He blesses the food and the disciples feed the entire crowd. There are even leftovers. You never know what one act inspired by compassion can do. Compassion changes the game.
The parable is often called a miracle since it seems an impossible task. I don’t see the parable as a miracle. That makes it a singularity, a once and for all kind of thing. I understand it more as a guiding metaphor for living expectantly, living in hope. There’s a subtle twist in the question Jesus poses to the disciples: The question’s not what do you need or want, but what do you already have?
What do you and I already possess to meet the rigors of our own lives in this rancorous post-modern world that seems as inhospitable as any wilderness? We have more than we think. We have the spark.
In the recovery community, sustaining sobriety and personal equanimity requires, among other things, taking one’s own inventory. This is an exercise in being clear-eyed about who we are, our faults and the gifts we have. “Don’t compare” is the message. Comparisons lead to pride, resentment or discouragement. In an atmosphere of cynicism it’s hard to believe our own resources are adequate, that we each possess that spark of essential goodness. The burgeoning self-help industry testifies to the phenomenon. Know thyself is tricky. The challenge is ongoing.
I have been reading about three of the world’s great contemporary spiritual leaders, Thich Nhat Hahn, 90, Desmond Tutu, 85, Dalai Lama, 91. All three subscribe to a way of being that I’d describe as compassion in action. Each suffers significant health problems; Thich Nhat Hahn, had a severe stroke; Desmond Tutu, and the Dalai Lama, both have prostate cancer. They’ve all lived through great personal and world tragedies; Thich Nhat Hahn, the ravages of the Viet Nam war; Desmond Tutu, the brutality of the apartheid era in South Africa, and the Dali Lama, China’s takeover of his homeland Tibet and its assault on Buddhism. The three men have no complaints about their illnesses, no wishes to punish adversaries or to exact vengeance. They are committed to the compassionate life, to kindness. They are happy men. Archbishop Tutu and the Dali Lama have a mischievous sense of humor. It’s a perk some get along with the divine spark.
Compassion is neither sympathy nor pity for another who is suffering. I believe compassion is a way of knowing, a knowledge very different, wisdom that’s not gained from the normal exercises of our judging minds. It’s as if in being compassionate we see beyond the two dimensions of the rational mind that governs so much of what we do. In being compassionate we add a third dimension that reveals the depths and breadth of our connections to each other and to our world. It allows for surprises. Imagine how the disciples felt as they were cleaning up that evening after their epic dinner. They saw their world differently, and found themselves in a wholly unexpected place. They saw the spark.
In a book, The Book of Joy: Lasting Happiness in a Changing World, the Dali Lama and Archbishop Desmond Tutu explore the question of how to find joy in the face of life’s inevitable suffering. The Archbishop observes, “Despite the aberrations, the fundamental thing . . . about people is they are good, and they really want to be good.” The Dali Lama adds, “When bad things happen they become news . . . but they are unusual which is why they become news. We take good for granted.”
Bad news, however we may bemoan it, will surely demand our intention and most of the time will get it. We’re suckers for sensational and lurid headlines.
In weal or woe, compassion and hope are the staples of joyful spirituality. Practicing them makes significant contributions to the healing of our broken world. Archbishop Tutu sees hope as different from optimism. Optimism he regards as too dependent on circumstances, on the ephemerality of our feelings. Hope is deeper, an abiding conviction that all things are possible. Of course, just what the possibilities are remain unclear at first. This is why, in practicing the spiritual life, one learns to watch and wait expectantly and not draw precipitous conclusions.
You never know when or where hope and compassion will save the day.
A student at the University of Pennsylvania, Kiersten Miles, secured a babysitting job. Into her new job for just three weeks, Kiersten discovered that her 9-month-old charge was suffering from a rare liver disease. Baby Talia would die without a liver transplant. Kiersten discovered that her blood type was compatible with Talia’s. Kiersten volunteered to be the donor. The liver transplant was successful and both baby and Kiersten are recovering well. Kiersten was left with a five-inch scar. She says, “A small price to pay for saving a life.”
God carriers may look like the Dalai Lama, Thich Nhat Hahn or Desmond Tutu but can just as easily look like a co-ed baby sitter attending a university.
Actually, they’re everywhere.
Columnist George Merrill is an Episcopal Church priest and pastoral psychotherapist. A writer and photographer, he’s authored two books on spirituality: Reflections: Psychological and Spiritual Images of the Heart and The Bay of the Mother of God: A Yankee Discovers the Chesapeake Bay. He is a native New Yorker, previously directing counseling services in Hartford, Connecticut, and in Baltimore. George’s essays, some award winning, have appeared in regional magazines and are broadcast twice monthly on Delmarva Public Radio.
Write a Letter to the Editor on this Article
We encourage readers to offer their point of view on this article by submitting the following form. Editing is sometimes necessary and is done at the discretion of the editorial staff.