Come and Go Sunday School Lesson “Care and Compassiion” with Dr. Herb Prince and Dr. Frank Carver for Sunday, 14 February 2016 at First Church of the Nazarene of San Diego, California, United States

Come and Go Sunday School Lesson “Care and Compassiion” with Dr. Herb Prince and Dr. Frank Carver for Sunday, 14 February 2016 at First Church of the Nazarene of San Diego, California, United States

Care and Compassion       

Luke 7:11 The next day Yeshua, accompanied by his talmidim and a large crowd, went to a town called Na‘im. 12 As he approached the town gate, a dead man was being carried out for burial. His mother was a widow, this had been her only son, and a sizeable crowd from the town was with her. 13 When the Lord saw her, he felt compassion for her and said to her, “Don’t cry.” 14 Then he came close and touched the coffin, and the pallbearers halted. He said, “Young man, I say to you: get up!” 15 The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Yeshua gave him to his mother.[Luke 7:15 1 Kings 17:23] 16 They were all filled with awe and gave glory to God, saying, “A great prophet has appeared among us,” and, “God has come to help his people.” 17 This report about him spread throughout all Y’hudah and the surrounding countryside.

Jesus “had compassion for her . . . .”(Luke 7:13) .

Being-alongside something is concern, because it is defined

as a way of Being-in by its basic structure—care.[Martin Heidegger, Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson (Harper and Row, 1962), 237.]  

Introduction:

This morning marks the first Sunday of Lent.  The liturgical season that began on Ash Wednesday (February 3) lasts approximately six weeks, culminating in Easter. Within Lent a variety of traditional themes and practices appear: prayer, penance, repentance, almsgiving, atonement, self-denial. To be sure, depending upon a particular church tradition, how many if any of these practices and emphases appear during the Lenten season differs from one church body to another.  What they all have in common is a call for aletheia (Greek for “truthfulness”) in some form (cf. John 18:37-38); that is, to enter into one or more practices with authenticity and resolve.

Each of the Sundays of Lent has its own special theme.   Worth noting is that the first Sunday is called the Feast of the Triumph in the Eastern Orthodox tradition.  It is a historical feast day in that communion, commemorating the return of the icons to the churches in the year 843 after the battle of iconoclasm was overcome.  The spiritual theme of the day is first of all “the victory of the true faith,” based on the text “This is the victory that overcomes the world, our faith” (I John 5:4).  Secondly, for the Orthodox believers the icons of the saints are said to bear witness that human beings, “created in the image and likeness of God” (Genesis 1:26), become holy and godlike through purification as God’s living image.  

Both Eastern notions, of victory and of holy lives, represent at the outset of Lent theological emphases worthy of consideration for us in the West over the next 40 days or so. The strength and character of an authentic faith are substantial goals as Lent works itself out through our individual and corporate lives in the period before Easter.  Lent has been likened to an ellipse, a single event but with a double focus.  The forty day period is

(1.) A time for probing consideration of the human condition, including sin and its deadly consequences for both individuals and society, and (2.) a time for an equally intense consideration of the new possibilities offered to us in Jesus Christ and their implications for practical living.[See Laurence Hull Stookey, Calendar: Christ’s Time for the Church (Abingdon Press, 1996), 80.]   

In short, moving through Lent can bring a faithful pilgrim closer to the full benefits of redemption.  Hopefully on this First Sunday a commitment to being, in John Wesley’s words, an Altogether Christian instead of just an Almost Christian runs through our spiritual veins.[See John Wesley, Sermon 2, “The Almost Christian,” in Sermons I, ed. Albert C. Outler, vol. 1 of The Bicentennial Edition of the Works of John Wesley (Abingdon Press, 1984), 109-141.  Similar to Soren Kierkegaard, for Wesley an almost Christian “has the outside of a real Christian” but lacks loving the Lord with all of one’s heart (Mark 12:30).]

‘Being-With’ as Place

Michel de Certeau has an interesting book, The Practice of Everyday Life. What makes this book different is the focus on practices and not on subjects.  Rather than a concern for the individual as happens so often in modern texts, de Certeau looks at “modes of operation or schemata of action, and not directly the subjects (or persons) who are their authors or vehicles.”[See Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, translated by Steven Rendall (University of California Press, 1984), xi.  De Certeau’s approach has been described  as “the operational logic of culture” by Ian Buchanan in his “Introduction” to Part III of The Certeau Reader, edited by Graham Ward (Blackwell, 2000), 98]  De Certeau believes that social analysis over the last three hundred years assumed that the individual is the basis on which groups are formed.  Why not instead, he writes, assume that “a relation (always social) determines its terms, and not the reverse, and that each individual is a locus in which an incoherent (and often contradictory) plurality of such relational determinations interact” (xi).  Walking is cited as an example.  While walking paths can be sketched on a map, de Certeau contends that

surveys of routes miss what was: the act itself of passing by.  The operation of walking, wandering, or ‘window shopping,’ that is, the activity of passers-by, is transformed into points that draw a totalizing and reversible line on the map....  It has the effect of making invisible the operation that made it possible” (97).   

De Certeau concludes: “The trace left behind is substituted for the practice.”  The line on the map remains but the wanderings, the comings and goings of people that make the line significant in the first place are forgotten.        

Closer to home let’s consider a simpler model where practices remain at the forefront while also serving as witness, that of Christian practices.  Let’s begin with a definition.  According to Dorothy Bass and Craig Dykstra,[See ‘A Theological Understanding of Christian Practices,” Practicing Theology: Beliefs and Practices in Christian Life, eds. Miroslav Volf and Dorothy Bass (Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2002), 13-32.]  

[Christian practices] are things Christian people do together over time to address fundamental human needs in response to and in light of God’s active presence for the life of the world

Today’s lesson concerns one such relational component—care and the accompanying exercise of compassion; in other words, the practice of care.    Care and compassion should mean that people, events, and things matter and that what is done (i.e., practices) mean something.  The recognition and value of ‘care as practice’ is a case on point. The values of care and compassion are essential if we are to live faithfully in a world where some consider someone or something important and still others less important or of no importance. The practice of care differentiates “because it fuses thought, feeling, and action--knowing and being.”[Patricia Benner and Judith Wrubel, The Primacy of Caring: Stress and Coping in Health and Illness (Addison-Wesley Publishing Company, 1989), 1.  It is worth noting   that Benner is a graduate of PLNU (when the school was in Pasadena as Pasadena College).  Her philosophy of care is treated at length in Karen A. Brykczynski, “Patricia Benner: Caring, Clinical Wisdom, and Ethics in Nursing Practice,” Nursing Theorists and Their Work, 7th ed. (Mosby, 2010), 137-164. ]  When caring is devalued, then caring itself becomes a problem, as in the nursing profession.  According to Patricia Benner, for some people the dominant goal in life is to be in charge of one’s own life but that may change when it is no longer possible, due to physical disabilities, personal circumstances as in the loss of a position or a personal breakdown.  

It was surprising to learn in the PLNU library of the variety of philosophies that underlie care in the nursing field. If Longfellow’s poem regarding Florence Nightingale’s nurses during the Crimean War would have been remembered, the surprise might not have occurred!  Longfellow wrote,[The following is taken from Longfellow’s poem “Santa Filomena.”  This poem is believed to have been written for Florence Nightingale, thereby giving her identification down through history as “the lady with the lamp.”  See Mary Elizabeth O’Brien, SFCC, Spirituality in Nursing: Standing on Holy Ground (Jones and Bartlett Publishers, 1999), 45-46. ]

Thus thought I as by night I   

         read

of the great army of the dead.

The trenches cold and damp,

The starved and frozen camp.

      _________________

Lo, in that house of

         misery,

A lady with a lamp I see

pass through the glimmering

         gloom

and flit from room to room.

And slow, as in a dream of

         bliss,

the speechless sufferer turns

         to kiss

her shadow as it falls,

upon the darkening walls.

Also surprising was to find the extent of Martin Heidegger’s philosophy in nursing literature. This too should not have been a surprise since Heidegger deals extensively with ‘care’ in his monumental work, Being and Time (1927).  According to Heidegger, care is a fundamental way of being-in-the-world.  This leads him to characterize “Dasein’s being as care” (235-241). That is, each human being is defined in terms of  “being-there” (= Dasein, a German term), thus marking out the importance of time for what it means to be.  “A human being is that being who must care for self and for others.”  This understanding of care is not narrowly defined in Heidegger’s thought:

When we ascertain something present-at-hand by merely beholding it, this activity has the character of care just as much as does a ‘political action’ or taking a rest and enjoying oneself (238).  

Maturity appears in each person who is so able to care.  However, care is said to assume either one of two forms.  On the one hand, a person takes over for the other, thereby fostering domination and dependency when the caregiver “leaps in and takes away ‘care.’”  This is dependent care.  On the other hand there is what Heidegger terms authentic care. This latter form takes place when the caregiver “leaps ahead,” thereby helping the other to care for his or her own being.  

According to Heidegger, the temptation is to be influenced by technological thought that treats human beings as objects ‘thrown’ into the world and who then see themselves as static entities.  Two recent practitioners put it this way:

When most westerners think of care, they usually think of actuality rather than possibility and of beneficent control rather than freedom.  It is easy to see why care is thought of as actuality and control when examining health care.  All nurses have given extreme forms of dependent care, when patients were completely unable to care for themselves.  They have seen the gratitude in [a] patient’s eyes for care given.  Nurses have also seen the frustration, the despair, and even hatred in the eyes of very self-directed persons who have to be waited on hand and foot as a result of serious illness.[This summary is indebted to Anne Bishop and John Scudder, Jr., Nursing: The Practice of Caring (National League of Nursing Press, 1991), esp. pp. 56-62 on authentic caring.  For Heidegger’s more technical discussion, see his Being and Time, 225-256.]

Caring turns out to be not only philosophically sophisticated but also practically applicable, as in today’s scriptural text.

The Care and Compassion of Jesus

(Lk. 7:11-17)

11Soon afterwards he went to a town called Nain, and his disciples and a large crowd went with him. 12As he approached the gate of the town, a man who had died was being carried out. He was his mother’s only son, and she was a widow; and with her was a large crowd from the town.13When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her, “Do not weep.” 14Then he came forward and touched the bier, and the bearers stood still. And he said, “Young man, I say to you, rise!” 15The dead man sat up and began to speak, and Jesus gave him to his mother.16Fear seized all of them; and they glorified God, saying, “A great prophet has risen among us!” and “God has looked favorably on his people!”17This word about him spread throughout Judea and all the surrounding country.

Here we see Jesus   at work exercising compassion for a widow.  In the preceding account (7:1-10) a centurion’s request for Jesus to heal the former’s slave is honored.  In that case the accent falls on the faith of the centurion and the centurion’s request in the text is more developed than in the healing itself.  In the present situation with a widow and the death of her son it is the widow that is at the center of the account.  As Joel Green observes the focus of attention falls on her: “she was a widow; Jesus had compassion on her, spoke to her, and, finally, gave the dead man brought back to life to her.”[Joel Green, The Gospel of Luke (William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1997), 289.  The emphases are Green’s.]  Green goes on to say that the son’s healing in this case is really about the restoration of the widow within her community.

With the death of the son, the woman is without a visible means of support and lacks any significant standing within the village.  In several respects the widow is reminiscent of the widow who Elijah encounters, in I Kings 17:8-24 (cf. Lk. 4:25-26).  In both cases a dead man is identified as the only son of a widow.  The widow meets a prophet at the gate of the city with the result being the return of the son to his mother.  But where Elijah pleads with God on behalf of the widow, Jesus speaks directly to the corpse.  Jesus is more than a prophet; indeed the text in Luke describes him in terms of “Lord.”     

Similarly, the care of Jesus is evident in the text. The Galilean village of Nain is about six miles southeast of Nazareth.  Jesus arrives “with his disciples and a large crowd.”  What stands out in the narrative is the dramatic turning point in verse 13 after Jesus sees the widow.  

“When the Lord saw her, he had compassion for her and said to her: ‘Do not weep.’”

This affectional response on Jesus’ part “does not accord privilege to Jesus as someone capable of powerful acts” (Green).  In Luke the power of Jesus has been demonstrated with tales of his powerful healings and deeds already having spread in a number of places.

This event may be less about healing and more of a disclosure of Jesus’ mission and redemptive activity.  Jesus is a compassionate, caring benefactor. That Luke’s concern is the widow is seen in the inclusio in verses 13-15.  Initially Jesus saw, had compassion and spoke.  At the close the son is restored to the widow and her life is again made whole.  The people’s response in praise to God insures that the word about Jesus as a “great prophet” will spread in Judea and the surrounding countryside.  

Care’s Praxis  

Richard Foster has a book entitled Streams of Living Water: Celebrating the Great Traditions of Christian Faith.  Foster describes six ways in which the imitation of Christ has been lived out in the history of Christianity.  One of those ways he calls “the Social Justice Tradition: Discovering the Compassionate Life.”  In the chapter dealing with social justice Foster relates the life and influence of John Woolman (1720-1772).  Woolman is described as one who “spoke as powerfully through his actions as through his words.”  He was a man of compassion who cared for people created in the image of God.  An example is given from Woolman’s journal.[For additional examples, see The Journal of John Woolman and A Plea for the Poor (New York: Corinth Books, 1961).]  After preaching against slavery at a Quaker meeting, Woolman was taken to the home of Thomas Woodward for dinner.  In Foster’s words:

Upon entering the house, [Woolman] saw servants and inquired as to their status.  When he was told that they were slaves, he quietly got up and left the home without a word.  The effect of this silent testimony upon Thomas Woodward was enormous.  The next morning he freed all of his slaves. . . .[Richard Foster, Streams of Living Water: Celebrating the Great Traditions of Christian Faith (Harper San Francisco, 1998), 139.]

As followers of Jesus, we are called upon to be caring, compassionate believers who are concerned for others.  Baron von Hügel used to say: “Caring is the greatest thing; Christianity taught us to care.”  However a line in T. S. Eliot’s poem, “Ash Wednesday,” reads as a point of caution: “Teach us to care, and not to care.”[Quotations in this and the final paragraphs are derived from Eugene Peterson’s essay, “Teach Us to Care and Not to Care,” in The Crisis of Care, edited by Susan Phillips and Patricia Benner (Georgetown University Press, 1994), 66-79.]  

Suffer us not to mock  

ourselves with falsehood

Teach us to care, and not to

         care.

Teach us to sit still

Even among these rocks.

These two quotations are a reminder of how easily caring can curve in upon one’s self.  Eugene Peterson observes that parents of children are about the only people who early come to realize this curvature upon one’s self.  For over a period of time,

at the same time they have been bandaging knees, wiping away tears, buying designer jeans, running interference for breakaway emotions that they have, at the same time, been feeding pride, nourishing greed

. . . and cultivating envy (p. 69).

Perhaps our prayer request on this First Sunday of Lent could be something like this recommendation from Peterson (p. 79):  

Lord, teach us to care.  Lord, teach us also not to care!  Teach us to be reverential in all those occasions of need that provide access to the neighbor.  Bring to our consciousness the reminder that you are already at work, long before we even become aware of the need of this person, this problem or tragic situation.  

Teach us to be in wonder in the presence of those who have suffered loss, been degraded or violated or rejected so that in our eagerness to do good we have time and energy and space to realize that all our work is done on holy ground in your holy name, that people and communities in need are not a wasteland where we feverishly and faithlessly set up shop but a garden in which we work contemplatively.  Lord, teach us indeed to care and not to care.

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