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Background Information: Mischievous compassion
Three Faces of Compassion by Jaco . ten Hove, guest minister
Service at UUCSS on March 4, 2007
Sermon
The Golden Rule may just be “the simplest of all principles”—and perhaps one
of the oldest. It sounds so easy: just do unto others as you would have them do
unto you. As a guiding, if often unobserved ideal, it has pervaded the planet’s
civilized history, within and beyond religion.
An influential and older contemporary of Jesus, Rabbi Hillel, was once asked
by a skeptic to sum up the whole of Jewish teaching while standing on one leg
(in other words, briefly). Hillel assumed the position and said only this:
That which is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the Torah;
the rest is commentary.
In a similar vein, the Dalai Lama’s breath mediation of cherishing self
[inhale], cherishing others [exhale] is a reflection of the Buddha’s ancient
teachings that encouraged followers to send out positive thoughts to all living
creatures without exception. And a helpful page in one of our Unitarian
Universalist religious education curricula shows how the Golden Rule is
expressed in most of the world’s religions. At an early age we seem to grasp
the essential law of the Golden Rule.
But oh, the rigors of a consistently compassionate path! Thomas Aquinas
allowed as how such loving practice “has nothing to do with feelings,” it
“simply requires that we seek the good of another.” Sounds reasonable enough,
but it’s that requirement of consistency—so clearly enunciated by Jesus—that is
the real hurdle.
We are not to just seek the good of another when it happens to suit us. No, a
truly compassionate ethic suggests that we are to seek the good of ALL others,
all the time. That is the enduring spiritual theory and discipline that stands
before us still, inviting and challenging us to live out a vision of our
species in peace, locally and globally.
And Karen Armstrong reminds us that purely secular efforts have not generally
been any more effective at attaining peace. The gift of the Golden Rule is that
it transcends any sectarian angle; it is both within and beyond religion, a
deeply unifying ethic, bound up in the human heart.
But have you tried loving your enemies lately? Ever? How much do you feel
with people who will never feel affection for you? This is no minor challenge.
It might even be the most demanding of all teachings by the revolutionary
Jesus. Here it is, in Matthew 5:43+44—
You have heard it said, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor and hate thine enemy.”
But I say unto you: Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to
them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use and persecute you.
This, he says unequivocally, is the route to the holy, the path to oneness,
and Karen Armstrong agrees, as do I. I understand and accept—intellectually, at
least—how a radical compassion toward all other life could indeed steer one
toward great holiness, of any religious flavor. Every time I see the Dalai Lama
in action I think I see a living being about as close as possible to the ideal.
This leader of Tibetan Buddhists is truly impressive in his non-materialistic
compassion, which certainly stands out whenever he interacts with our culture.
(I remember a while back, when a friend and UU colleague of mine near Boston
was chosen by his local interfaith group to represent them in welcoming the
Dalai Lama to their small town, where there was a Tibetan Buddhist temple. My
friend wanted to be hospitable and offer the Dalai Lama a gift, which was
surprisingly hard to do, and about which a story appeared in a local newspaper,
with the title “What Do You Get For the Man Who Has Nothing?”)
So alas, most of us are probably not as able as the Dalai Lama to achieve
radically consistent compassion. Any of us might struggle to meet the mighty
expectation of this ideal. I know I fall short all too regularly. I rise in
anger and curse back at aggressive strangers. I have trouble not hating
bullies. My instincts are not to turn the other cheek and I barely wish the
good for what enemies I have. My ego is often on the throne at the center of my
world. I forget to practice compassion, locally and globally.
So allow me to also preach to myself here a bit this morning, with a few
stories and suggestions that might at least improve the odds for us all
stepping in the right direction. This is idealistic material, to be sure. Even
the Dalai Lama would say that it takes many lifetimes to get it right, so we
are also called to be gently compassionate toward ourselves, to cherish
ourselves as we strive for the good. That is what ultimately matters, anyway, I
think—the intention, the striving, stepping forward along the ethical path—not
necessarily any final destination.
It may seem very unrealistic to practice consistent compassion. It may feel
stupid, even, or self-defeating. We are surely not taught to value this path by
our competitive, violent, escapist culture—except to throw money at needy
causes every now and then (which is nonetheless important, of course).
But Karen Armstrong’s reminder persists: “We live in one world,” and “need
the compassionate ethic more desperately than ever before.” Despite the depth
of the challenge, anyone can assist this noble evolution at any moment. Like
many things, it begins with our immediate interactions locally, and only then
projects globally. This very afternoon, we each might make an important
contribution to a future of more peace by stepping further along our own path
toward more consistent compassion.
But I want to suggest that there is no “one-size-fits-all” for this kind of
spiritual work. As our species has evolved to its current social complexity, so
has embodying the Golden Rule become more complex, with at least three “faces”
of compassion that we might recognize, in ourselves and in others. I give credit
here to Episcopal priest and leadership trainer, Robert J. Voyle, who in turn
honors the work of Stephen Gilligan for his developing understanding of
compassion. But it was Rob Voyle who first enumerated these three helpful
distinctions for me, and I draw gratefully from an article he wrote on the
subject [“Compassion and the Crazy Wisdom of Jesus, or One Person\'s Way to
Transform the World,” 2004, Robert J. Voyle, Psy.D. The Clergy Leadership Institute].
READ THE MIDDLE OF THIS ARTICLE
Which is the third face—a MISCHIEVOUS or playful one. This was initially
quite a leap for me to make—“mischievous compassion”—and it may be for you,
too, but stay with me here. “Mischievous” can be defined rather negatively, but
think of it as playfully disturbing the status quo, or paradoxically shifting
energy—in this case with an open heart, compassionately.
In fact, the use of mischievous compassion in this spirit requires that one
cherish and delight in whoever is being tweaked. Otherwise, an unethical
arrogance can take over, with one’s controlling ego back on the throne. Two
examples may prove the best illustration of this third, mischievous face of compassion.
A Zen teacher named Bankei would hold secluded weeks of meditation, attended
by pupils from all over Japan. During one such gathering, a student was caught
stealing, which was reported to Bankei, but he ignored the case. This happened
again, involving the same student, and again Bankei chose to disregard the
crime.
This upset the other pupils who petitioned for the dismissal of the thief,
threatening that otherwise they themselves would leave as a group. After
reading the petition, Bankei called together all the students. “You are wise
brothers,” he told them. “You know what is right and what is wrong. You may go
somewhere else to study if you wish, but this poor brother does not even know
right from wrong. Who will teach him if I do not? I am going to keep him here
even if all the rest of you leave.
A torrent of tears cleansed the face of the guilty brother. All desire to
steal had vanished. [Adapted from Feldman and Kornfield, ibid, pg. 228.]
This teacher took a very unexpected, even risky angle, but it was heartfelt
and it probably accomplished more than being tenderly or fiercely
compassionate.
Meanwhile, Episcopal priest Rob Voyle tells a story from his parish ministry
experience, in which he is called in to sit with distraught elder and longtime
volunteer caregiver Muriel, who is now herself sidelined by a head injury
resulting in some paralysis. This has “radically impaired [both] her ability to
care for others and her underlying sense of herself and her worth. As a result
she had begun to experience increasing episodes of depression…
Her husband, Albert—a delightful, soft hearted, caring man—[said] to her with
great tenderness that for 50 years she had cared for him and now it was time
for him to care for her. Rather than bringing comfort, his words brought forth
shrieks of lament and tears, because they reinforced Muriel’s view that she was
[now] incapable of caring for others, consequently worthless, and just taking
up space on the earth.
“It was clear by [this]…that [more] tenderness would be an inappropriate
[approach] to her suffering. She was in great distress, so a fierce response
challenging her sense of reality would also have been inappropriate.” So Voyle
slowly hatched a plan of mischievous compassion, remembering [to himself] that
there had recently been some high profile crimes involving uzi machine guns in
the area, which also included a convalescent-retirement home called Oak Manor.
“My response to Muriel,” he goes on, “was…to help her find a new way of
viewing herself so that she could live with renewed meaning and hope despite
her limitations. I did not know what that view would be but I [said to her], ‘I
imagine that if I were in your situation I would feel the same way, that if I
felt really useless and incapable of helping and caring for others I would also
just want to die.
‘But here is the thing, Muriel: before you die I think you and I need to get
some uzis and go down to Oak Manor and just clean the place out. There are
people down there that are so useless they can\'t even care for themselves…
They are just…taking up space and requiring other people to waste their time by
caring for them.
“By this time Muriel had stopped crying, [and] was now angry that I could
think that she was capable of such a callous act upon defenseless people who
need our caring and not such cruelty. Then she stopped and I could see the
light go on in her mind. I didn\'t need to say another thing or explain what I
was saying,…her perception of herself as worthless was transformed.
“Several days later she was back in church with her husband and she was
clearly back to caring for him even if it was not as robust as she had done in
the past. She was, however, content in her abilities and in herself. She
outlived Albert by quite a few years…” [Voyle, ibid, pg. 13-14].
We are facing a shortage of compassionate responses to the issues of our
time, locally and globally, but we can increase our repertoire of ways to make
peace and be peace. In our own lives, we can “be tender in the face of pain,
fierce in the face of injustice, and mischievous in the face of resistance or
immobility” [Voyle, ibid, pg. 8-9].
Compassion and the Golden Rule breed peace. That much is simple and hopefully
easy to remember, even if the challenges to truly embody such an ethic are
demanding. But compassion can be transformative, especially if consistent. It’s
a tall order, but each step on that path begins by simply breathing in to
cherish self; breathing out to cherish others.
And with each life-giving cycle, we spiritually connect with all else that
breathes, since the Latin word spiritus means breath. “We just have to open our
hearts.” The rest is commentary.
* * * * *
Three Faces of Compassion
The most notable models of human compassion might be Jesus and the Buddha.
But even they did not have a way that was “one-size-fits-all.” There are at
least three kinds of compassion, which may help us be more creatively present
to the demanding realities of our relationships and our world.
Service at UUCSS on March 4, 2007
Sermon
The Golden Rule may just be “the simplest of all principles”—and perhaps one
of the oldest. It sounds so easy: just do unto others as you would have them do
unto you. As a guiding, if often unobserved ideal, it has pervaded the planet’s
civilized history, within and beyond religion.
An influential and older contemporary of Jesus, Rabbi Hillel, was once asked
by a skeptic to sum up the whole of Jewish teaching while standing on one leg
(in other words, briefly). Hillel assumed the position and said only this:
That which is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor. That is the Torah;
the rest is commentary.
In a similar vein, the Dalai Lama’s breath mediation of cherishing self
[inhale], cherishing others [exhale] is a reflection of the Buddha’s ancient
teachings that encouraged followers to send out positive thoughts to all living
creatures without exception. And a helpful page in one of our Unitarian
Universalist religious education curricula shows how the Golden Rule is
expressed in most of the world’s religions. At an early age we seem to grasp
the essential law of the Golden Rule.
But oh, the rigors of a consistently compassionate path! Thomas Aquinas
allowed as how such loving practice “has nothing to do with feelings,” it
“simply requires that we seek the good of another.” Sounds reasonable enough,
but it’s that requirement of consistency—so clearly enunciated by Jesus—that is
the real hurdle.
We are not to just seek the good of another when it happens to suit us. No, a
truly compassionate ethic suggests that we are to seek the good of ALL others,
all the time. That is the enduring spiritual theory and discipline that stands
before us still, inviting and challenging us to live out a vision of our
species in peace, locally and globally.
And Karen Armstrong reminds us that purely secular efforts have not generally
been any more effective at attaining peace. The gift of the Golden Rule is that
it transcends any sectarian angle; it is both within and beyond religion, a
deeply unifying ethic, bound up in the human heart.
But have you tried loving your enemies lately? Ever? How much do you feel
with people who will never feel affection for you? This is no minor challenge.
It might even be the most demanding of all teachings by the revolutionary
Jesus. Here it is, in Matthew 5:43+44—
You have heard it said, “Thou shalt love thy neighbor and hate thine enemy.”
But I say unto you: Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to
them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use and persecute you.
This, he says unequivocally, is the route to the holy, the path to oneness,
and Karen Armstrong agrees, as do I. I understand and accept—intellectually, at
least—how a radical compassion toward all other life could indeed steer one
toward great holiness, of any religious flavor. Every time I see the Dalai Lama
in action I think I see a living being about as close as possible to the ideal.
This leader of Tibetan Buddhists is truly impressive in his non-materialistic
compassion, which certainly stands out whenever he interacts with our culture.
(I remember a while back, when a friend and UU colleague of mine near Boston
was chosen by his local interfaith group to represent them in welcoming the
Dalai Lama to their small town, where there was a Tibetan Buddhist temple. My
friend wanted to be hospitable and offer the Dalai Lama a gift, which was
surprisingly hard to do, and about which a story appeared in a local newspaper,
with the title “What Do You Get For the Man Who Has Nothing?”)
So alas, most of us are probably not as able as the Dalai Lama to achieve
radically consistent compassion. Any of us might struggle to meet the mighty
expectation of this ideal. I know I fall short all too regularly. I rise in
anger and curse back at aggressive strangers. I have trouble not hating
bullies. My instincts are not to turn the other cheek and I barely wish the
good for what enemies I have. My ego is often on the throne at the center of my
world. I forget to practice compassion, locally and globally.
So allow me to also preach to myself here a bit this morning, with a few
stories and suggestions that might at least improve the odds for us all
stepping in the right direction. This is idealistic material, to be sure. Even
the Dalai Lama would say that it takes many lifetimes to get it right, so we
are also called to be gently compassionate toward ourselves, to cherish
ourselves as we strive for the good. That is what ultimately matters, anyway, I
think—the intention, the striving, stepping forward along the ethical path—not
necessarily any final destination.
It may seem very unrealistic to practice consistent compassion. It may feel
stupid, even, or self-defeating. We are surely not taught to value this path by
our competitive, violent, escapist culture—except to throw money at needy
causes every now and then (which is nonetheless important, of course).
But Karen Armstrong’s reminder persists: “We live in one world,” and “need
the compassionate ethic more desperately than ever before.” Despite the depth
of the challenge, anyone can assist this noble evolution at any moment. Like
many things, it begins with our immediate interactions locally, and only then
projects globally. This very afternoon, we each might make an important
contribution to a future of more peace by stepping further along our own path
toward more consistent compassion.
But I want to suggest that there is no “one-size-fits-all” for this kind of
spiritual work. As our species has evolved to its current social complexity, so
has embodying the Golden Rule become more complex, with at least three “faces”
of compassion that we might recognize, in ourselves and in others. I give credit
here to Episcopal priest and leadership trainer, Robert J. Voyle, who in turn
honors the work of Stephen Gilligan for his developing understanding of
compassion. But it was Rob Voyle who first enumerated these three helpful
distinctions for me, and I draw gratefully from an article he wrote on the
subject [“Compassion and the Crazy Wisdom of Jesus, or One Person\'s Way to
Transform the World,” 2004, Robert J. Voyle, Psy.D. The Clergy Leadership Institute].
READ THE MIDDLE OF THIS ARTICLE
Which is the third face—a MISCHIEVOUS or playful one. This was initially
quite a leap for me to make—“mischievous compassion”—and it may be for you,
too, but stay with me here. “Mischievous” can be defined rather negatively, but
think of it as playfully disturbing the status quo, or paradoxically shifting
energy—in this case with an open heart, compassionately.
In fact, the use of mischievous compassion in this spirit requires that one
cherish and delight in whoever is being tweaked. Otherwise, an unethical
arrogance can take over, with one’s controlling ego back on the throne. Two
examples may prove the best illustration of this third, mischievous face of compassion.
A Zen teacher named Bankei would hold secluded weeks of meditation, attended
by pupils from all over Japan. During one such gathering, a student was caught
stealing, which was reported to Bankei, but he ignored the case. This happened
again, involving the same student, and again Bankei chose to disregard the
crime.
This upset the other pupils who petitioned for the dismissal of the thief,
threatening that otherwise they themselves would leave as a group. After
reading the petition, Bankei called together all the students. “You are wise
brothers,” he told them. “You know what is right and what is wrong. You may go
somewhere else to study if you wish, but this poor brother does not even know
right from wrong. Who will teach him if I do not? I am going to keep him here
even if all the rest of you leave.
A torrent of tears cleansed the face of the guilty brother. All desire to
steal had vanished. [Adapted from Feldman and Kornfield, ibid, pg. 228.]
This teacher took a very unexpected, even risky angle, but it was heartfelt
and it probably accomplished more than being tenderly or fiercely
compassionate.
Meanwhile, Episcopal priest Rob Voyle tells a story from his parish ministry
experience, in which he is called in to sit with distraught elder and longtime
volunteer caregiver Muriel, who is now herself sidelined by a head injury
resulting in some paralysis. This has “radically impaired [both] her ability to
care for others and her underlying sense of herself and her worth. As a result
she had begun to experience increasing episodes of depression…
Her husband, Albert—a delightful, soft hearted, caring man—[said] to her with
great tenderness that for 50 years she had cared for him and now it was time
for him to care for her. Rather than bringing comfort, his words brought forth
shrieks of lament and tears, because they reinforced Muriel’s view that she was
[now] incapable of caring for others, consequently worthless, and just taking
up space on the earth.
“It was clear by [this]…that [more] tenderness would be an inappropriate
[approach] to her suffering. She was in great distress, so a fierce response
challenging her sense of reality would also have been inappropriate.” So Voyle
slowly hatched a plan of mischievous compassion, remembering [to himself] that
there had recently been some high profile crimes involving uzi machine guns in
the area, which also included a convalescent-retirement home called Oak Manor.
“My response to Muriel,” he goes on, “was…to help her find a new way of
viewing herself so that she could live with renewed meaning and hope despite
her limitations. I did not know what that view would be but I [said to her], ‘I
imagine that if I were in your situation I would feel the same way, that if I
felt really useless and incapable of helping and caring for others I would also
just want to die.
‘But here is the thing, Muriel: before you die I think you and I need to get
some uzis and go down to Oak Manor and just clean the place out. There are
people down there that are so useless they can\'t even care for themselves…
They are just…taking up space and requiring other people to waste their time by
caring for them.
“By this time Muriel had stopped crying, [and] was now angry that I could
think that she was capable of such a callous act upon defenseless people who
need our caring and not such cruelty. Then she stopped and I could see the
light go on in her mind. I didn\'t need to say another thing or explain what I
was saying,…her perception of herself as worthless was transformed.
“Several days later she was back in church with her husband and she was
clearly back to caring for him even if it was not as robust as she had done in
the past. She was, however, content in her abilities and in herself. She
outlived Albert by quite a few years…” [Voyle, ibid, pg. 13-14].
We are facing a shortage of compassionate responses to the issues of our
time, locally and globally, but we can increase our repertoire of ways to make
peace and be peace. In our own lives, we can “be tender in the face of pain,
fierce in the face of injustice, and mischievous in the face of resistance or
immobility” [Voyle, ibid, pg. 8-9].
Compassion and the Golden Rule breed peace. That much is simple and hopefully
easy to remember, even if the challenges to truly embody such an ethic are
demanding. But compassion can be transformative, especially if consistent. It’s
a tall order, but each step on that path begins by simply breathing in to
cherish self; breathing out to cherish others.
And with each life-giving cycle, we spiritually connect with all else that
breathes, since the Latin word spiritus means breath. “We just have to open our
hearts.” The rest is commentary.
* * * * *
Three Faces of Compassion
The most notable models of human compassion might be Jesus and the Buddha.
But even they did not have a way that was “one-size-fits-all.” There are at
least three kinds of compassion, which may help us be more creatively present
to the demanding realities of our relationships and our world.