I grew up in a small, loving congregation in Lakewood, Ohio, USA. Here, I experienced my first sense of true belonging, where I could be myself without fearing rejection or ridicule.

It is where I first discovered I had gifts to share, first received opportunity to serve, first saw all of life as a gift from God, first envisioned a larger world beyond my family and congregation in need of hope and healing, and where I first experienced the joy of being known and loved in Christ.

I experienced my first sense of true belonging, where I could be myself without fearing rejection or ridicule.

It changed the way I saw myself, others, and the world around me. It changed my heart forever.

In the story of the Good Samaritan, we don’t know much about the Samaritan, priest, or Levite. We know the priest and Levite chose to pass by the injured man on the roadside. In Jewish culture, contact with the dead was defiling. Did they avoid him to keep themselves ritually clean?

I am less interested in attaching motives to these individuals than I am in understanding the impulse behind the Samaritan’s decision to not play it safe and risk compassionate action.

It is this divine, disruptive impulse that nudges us dangerously close to the heart of God, where as President Steve Veazey shared, “something not fully explainable but utterly transforming” is occurring, changing us and the way we see everyone we encounter.

It changed the way I saw myself, others, and the world around me. It changed my heart forever.

I use the word dangerous because this divine encounter is unsettling, disruptive, and life-changing simultaneously. It becomes what theologian and author Richard Foster describes as a deeper burning within that makes each choice to respond clearer, moving us to share courageously the generous love and peace of Jesus Christ.

I have experienced this change of heart as a willingness to make room for the Spirit to work in and through us. It is reflected in the first two lines of the Mission Prayer: God, where will your Spirit lead today? Help me be fully awake and ready to respond.

This takes courage when sometimes the world seems hostile to God’s movement of generous compassion and love. The temptation to withdraw is real at times. It is why we travel together as communities of Christ.

During his Communion message at the 2023 World Conference, President Steve Veazey asked if we have the courage to reorient our beings to see “through the eyes of God by incorporating the mind of Christ”? Or, how are we joining the movement of God’s generous compassion and love?

My most unsettling but lucid moments have been amid human suffering, where instead of obligation I saw myself in the suffering victim on the side of the road.

Ilia Delio, a Franciscan sister and scientist, shares:

Love is a consciousness of belonging to another, of being part of a whole—to encounter the other, not as stranger, but as another part of oneself.

Courage comes from a willingness to encounter the other as part of oneself, move through our weaknesses, and trust we do not go alone.

It is in this place of deep connection with the suffering of another—one human heart to another—I am changed and find courage to share when the world says I should look the other way.

We never leave fear behind. Courage comes from a willingness to encounter the other as part of oneself, move through our weaknesses, and trust we do not go alone.

Wendy Farley, practitioner in the field of spirituality, explores the incredible depths of God’s compassion, sharing that the Greek and Hebrew words for mercy or compassion mean “to be moved deeply.” She further explains, “in both languages, compassion is so intense one can do nothing other than act. It is like the spontaneous and fervid desire for a child’s well-being that a mother holding her infant feels. It is visceral and irresistible.”

I have experienced this deep compassion, when all boundaries fade, and we encounter the other—not as stranger, but as part of oneself—and can do nothing other than act.

Several years ago, a woman approached my wife, Barb, outside this Auditorium and said, “I need a place to stay. Can you help me?” In a moment of divine disruption and compassion, we brought her and her little dog into our home. As we fed her and did her laundry, we learned she was a sex-worker and addict in withdrawal. As she became agitated and aggressive, she hysterically sobbed, “I just want a better life for me and my dog.”

She eventually fell asleep, but we did not sleep all night. Were we afraid? Yes. We recognized the complexity and potential danger of the situation. She chose to leave the next morning, the pull of her addiction more compelling than the plea of her own heart.

Is this how God’s generous movement of compassion grows—as we risk simple acts of compassion, it grows within and around us, an unstoppable movement of goodwill, gradually enveloping our interconnected planet?

We don’t know the rest of her story. She wouldn’t take our phone number when she left. I want to acknowledge that the courage to share our home and resources was accompanied by a good dose of fear. But, that night in her presence was a divine encounter that indelibly changed our hearts.

What compelled the Samaritan to stop? Why did he decide not to play it safe but risk something new? Was he caught in the generous movement of God’s compassion? Did that change how he saw the victim on the side of the road?

Is this how God’s generous movement of compassion grows—as we risk simple acts of compassion, it grows within and around us, an unstoppable movement of goodwill, gradually enveloping our interconnected planet?

Bishop Carla Long reflects, “even dipping our toe in the river of God’s generous compassion is enough to change who we are.” I love this image of a powerful river of generous compassion fully enveloping our interconnected planet.

What does dipping our toe and becoming fully awake to what God is doing around us look like? Is it risking a conversation, assisting strangers in need, sharing a meal or our home, advocating for meaningful change?

I often have wondered how the encounter between the Samaritan and the victim changed them both. How did the movement of God’s generous compassion grow beyond that single act and flow through them to others?

Our compelling vision continues to push us beyond the limits of our current imagination to consider how we are joining the movement of God’s generous compassion in this moment and the next.

We don’t know where the movement of God’s generous compassion will lead us as we courageously open our hearts to share our time, talent, treasure, and testimony with those who yearn for a future of hope.

I am overwhelmed with gratitude for how the church has already joined the movement of God’s generous compassion, offering dedicated ministry and leadership, sustaining church ministries through a global pandemic, honoring our financial commitment to those who have given a lifetime of ministry and service, funding ministries of release through world-hunger projects, and exploring existential issues about how we care for our planet, embrace our diversity, and pursue economic justice for all.

Our compelling vision continues to push us beyond the limits of our current imagination to consider how we are joining the movement of God’s generous compassion in this moment and the next. It is what moves us to expand our true capacity in every dimension of our lives to respond from the deepest desire of our hearts.

How are we joining the movement of God’s generous compassion?

The pursuit of this question will reveal our deepest yearnings to live in the hope and transforming experience of God’s grace and generosity, in a world of abundance where there is enough for all when we courageously share.