In the days to come I will preach on the subject of compassion which forms the core of some of the scriptural theming that our church will contemplate. You're a learned bunch, so you will know that our word 'compassion' is derived from a middle-English term used originally by churches to mean 'to suffer with...', and we all have a sense of its meaning to us in our own lives.

Earlier this week we had our beloved crazy hound put to sleep – our ever-enthusiastic, oft grumpy, endlessly bossy dog that has been the bane of many a fellow dog-walker along the river path in the mornings. For those who have endured the unique agony of losing a pet, it is cursed by the transactional nature of the decision with the vet concerned and the lingering sense of ‘Did I do the right thing?’ shortly after “Sign here please, sir”.

Being in the room – being truly present convinced me that we made the right decision. We saw the suffering, we heard the whimpering and we did what we did out of compassion to her and in the context of a real connection.

It strikes me how disconnected we are from one another. Everything happens through a screen (computer or car) and I notice how compassion is dwindling and finger-pointing in increasing. How readily we can be angry about someone or something until we find ourselves sitting in the same room – when much of that anger dissipates in many cases.

Christianity is predicated upon human contact – not theological treatise. ‘God is love’ is practically outworked, not the subject of a neat essay. Christians who don’t engage ‘in person’ with other humans cannot, I believe, be truly compassionate people. As summer comes, and we contemplate the harvest let us remember that the harvest of compassion is found most keenly in the faces of real people – not
their glass bound simulacrum.

Revd. David Cloake