My Dear Shepherds,

Ministry compassion takes a toll. Frederick Buechner wrote, “Compassion is the sometimes fatal capacity for feeling what it’s like to live inside somebody else’s skin.”[i] Every pastor knows the slump of compassion fatigue.

Ellis Peters, in her Brother Cadfael mystery, The Raven in the Foregate, tells about a funeral eulogy for a beloved monk, Father Adam.

“A sad, kind man,” said Cynric . . . “a tired man, with a soft spot for sinners.” A sad man, because he had been listening to and bearing with the perpetual failures of humankind for seventeen years, a tired man because endless consoling and chiding and forgiving takes it out of any man by the time he’s sixty, especially one with neither malice nor anger in his own make-up. A kind man, because he had somehow managed to preserve compassion and hope even against the tide of human fallibility.

And all pastors murmur, “God rest his soul.” After their first ministry trip,

The apostles gathered around Jesus and reported to him all they had done and taught. Then, because so many people were coming and going that they did not even have a chance to eat, he said to them, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” (Mark 6:30–31)

Who doesn’t love that verse! But wait . . .

So they went away by themselves in a boat to a solitary place. But many who saw them leaving recognized them and ran on foot from all the towns and got there ahead of them. When Jesus landed and saw a large crowd, he had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. So he began teaching them many things. (Mark 6:32–34)

Sound familiar? Most of us do our best to maintain wise boundaries and safeguards but when we travel with Jesus, his compassion inevitably requires more compassion when we desperately want some peace and quiet. Jesus promised his Paraclete would come alongside his people. Pastors learn that sometimes the Comforter takes us with him.

Sharing Christ’s compassion can be a ministry delight, like surprising some aching heart with roses. Other times God insulates us from the pain we meet because we can serve the sufferer better from some emotional distance. But then there are those seasons when the demands of compassion lay us low. Paul told the Colossians, “I rejoice in what I am suffering for you.” We amend that to, “what I am suffering with you.”

In such times I think we are sharing in the sufferings of Christ, as if we share his graveside tears alongside Martha and Mary. For Jesus’ sake, we “mourn with those who mourn.” Some of those laments are shared silence. Some are tuneless duets.

As our High Priest, Jesus “is able to deal gently with those who are ignorant and going astray, since he himself is subject to weakness.” We are his priestly acolytes, and we know from personal experience the need for Jesus’ gentle intercession.

While some rarely hesitate to step into someone’s hurt, others are prone to compassion avoidance. A layman told me once how he hated seeing keypad locks outside the office suite at his church. Whether or not they were necessary, it makes for a lousy ministry metaphor. We can’t always be available by appointment only.

When compassion doesn’t come naturally to us or when we’d prefer the protection of a locked door, our recourse is prayer and the bolstering of Scripture. Surely “the compassionate and gracious God” stands ready to come to our aid.

Be ye glad!

[i] Frederick Buechner, Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC, Harper & Row, 1973.

Lee Eclov recently retired after 40 years of local pastoral ministry and now focuses on ministry among pastors. He writes a weekly devotional for preachers on Preaching Today.