Compassion vs. Guilt

I recently watched the movie Seven Pounds. I actually liked it (most unusual for me, seems lately I find fault with every movie I see). For once I believed the two people could actually like or even love each other.

Anyway, without giving away the movie, its' theme is guilt and attempts at redemption. After watching the film and then discussing it with my wife, I was reminded of something I wrote several years ago, while I was still in grad school. So here it is.


I attend a Christian university that recently raised over one-hundred million dollars to ensure its future. I preach at a church where many people aren't sure if they will have enough money this month to pay the rent on their rundown apartment. And I feel guilty.

I go to class in a multi-million dollar teaching facility, carrying hundreds of dollars worth of theological textbooks. I teach the high school class at my church, and kids beg me to take them by McDonald's afterwards because there is no dinner waiting at their house. And I feel guilty.

I watch churches spend millions of dollars on buildings that are used less than a fourth of the week. I see kids from my church who live in two bedroom homes that house 8 people. And I feel guilty.

To be honest, this guilt is part of the reason I do what I do. (You can only say no the "Homeless, Please Help, God Bless!" signs so many times.) Eventually, you either stop looking, or you feel guilty enough to hand a couple of bucks out the window. That's me, the guilty one with the hand out his car window, holding up traffic.

Guilt is a highly underrated motivator. Guilt makes people sponsor children in Africa. Guilt gets Dad home from his office in time for dinner. Guilt increases the offering at church. Guilt can get things done.

But in spite of its effectiveness, I praise God it wasn't guilt that prompted Jesus to leave the Father's side, come to earth, and take on flesh. Had it been guilt, not long after his arrival he would have left, with us to fend for ourselves. Guilt can only take you so far. Jesus might have left his home in heaven because he felt guilty that he had it so good while we had it so rough. But it wouldn't have taken long for him to see that we are to blame for so much of the pain and hurt around us. Seeing us as we truly are would have dried up the guilt. A couple of good deeds would have soothed his conscience. Guilt may heal a few sick people and feed a few poor people, but guilt won't take you to the cross.

Compassion will.

Compassion lies at the intersection of love and people. Compassion is not about your lack and my wealth. Wealth and lack are only the surface. Compassion is not interested solely in the surface. It is about deeper things. Compassion sees people, not positions. To compassion that's not a homeless man, it is a person. A human being. Created in the very image of God. Loved by the Father. The Son gave his life for just such a person.

Guilt is about me. Compassion is about you. Guilt may give two dollars. Compassion gets out of the car for a conversation. Guilt can't see past the moment at hand. Compassion sees the big picture of a person's life and soul. Guilt desires relief. Compassion desires goodness. Guilt cares about making me feel better. Compassion cares about the ultimate good of the other.

Recently, a woman stole some money from my wife's purse. We have no doubt she took it, but we can't prove it. This has been very difficult for my wife. You see, this lady goes to our church. This lady stole the money at church. And she has stolen from others, we are sure of it. My wife was extremely angry and hurt. Again and again we have helped this woman financially. Then she does this to us. Trust me, we feel no more guilt about this woman's situation. So how do we respond to the woman now? What do we do next time we see her at church? I'm not sure what the perfect answer would be, but I know that guilt will not longer cut it.

This week I looked over and my wife was handing our four month old son to this very same lady. The woman was smiling and cooing at our son. Our son was smiling back. My wife was smiling. Was it the exact right way to handle the situation? I'm not sure. But I am sure of this; at the moment when my wife handed this woman our son, the One who left heaven because of his compassion for us became flesh once again.