Why Are You Under the Bed?

“Amanda? Amanda! Where are you?”

I could hear my great-grandmother Cleta Mae, but my five-year-old self didn’t come out from hiding under the bed.  I don’t really remember why I was hiding in the first place, but when I didn’t come out after the first or second or third calls, I knew I was going to be in trouble.  My grandmother, Charlie Marie, arrived, and it didn't take long after that for them to find me.  I think I tried to pretend like I had fallen asleep, but there was no need to try to avert punishment.  Their relief was enough for them to spare me. I don’t know what my grandmother said when my mother arrived, but I clearly remember my amazement that I suffered no consequences from any of them.

I imagine this is just a fraction of what the prodigal son would have experienced in the parable Jesus told. After squandering his father's wealth, the youngest son decides to return home with hopes of his father hiring him as a servant for the household.  I have always loved the detailed description of the father, "But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him, and kissed him" (Luke 15:20 NIV). 

He ran to him!

Running required a Jewish man to pull up his tunic, revealing his bare legs, which was shameful in their culture. However, learning about the kezazah ceremony in Jewish culture made me realize just how much shame the father took upon himself.

Ruth Cho Simons, in her book When Strivings Cease, writes, "Kezazh is a ceremony in Jewish culture that was performed when a Jewish boy lost his inheritance to Gentiles...Upon his shameful return, the older men of the community would meet the younger man at the city gates and throw a pot down onto the ground, signifying the broken relationship and the state of being cut off from his family...the father ran in order to save his son, to redeem his son before the kezazah ceremony could even occur.  He preemptively rescued his sinful son by bearing shame himself" (98-99).

The father in the parable is described as "filled with compassion," and it is interesting to me that this is the first characteristic God ascribes to himself when speaking to Moses after the Exodus. The Israelites have experienced God's rescue, but it takes no time at all for them to disobey and worship an idol rather than God.  Moses, after witnessing his people worshiping the Golden Calf, asks the Lord “...teach me your ways, so I may know you…show me your glory” (Exodus 33:13, 18 NIV). Moses writes down what God proclaims about himself: “The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness" (Exodus 34:6 NIV).

It is as if God knows the first thing we must know about Him is His compassion if we are ever going to come out from underneath the bed or take a chance on returning home.

Apostle Paul says to the church in Corinth, “Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the father of compassion..." (2 Corinthians 1:3 NIV).  The English word compassion breaks down “com” meaning together and “passion” meaning to suffer, so literally suffering together or co-sufferer. We suffer because there is loss and death. We suffer because of our sin and the choices we make.  We suffer because of the choices of others. We suffer because we live in a fallen world.  But we do not suffer alone.  Because of God’s greatest act of compassion, in the substitutionary death of His son Jesus Christ, we don’t have to live in shame or guilt but can receive forgiveness of sins, be restored to right relationship with God the Father, and be accepted by adoption into God's family. The Israelites, the prodigal son, and myself are truly stiff-necked children who do stupid, sinful things, but God meets our sin, guilt, and shame with mercy and grace because He is a compassionate Father who loves us more than we can even imagine.

God is compassionate with us, and He calls us to be compassionate to others. Paul continues describing God not only as the "father of compassion" but also "the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God” (2 Corinthians 1:4 NIV). This verse reminds me of the importance of really listening to the stories of others to know the troubles they are facing, as well as being willing to share my own story that God is writing.

I recently heard this little nugget from the Rule of Life podcast: “compassion is the fruit of proximity...to really care, you have to be close.”

It resonated deeply because in my relationships where we have shared our stories, there is a closeness that produces the fruit of compassion. It is easier to act in love because I really care.  It also resonated because our holy, sovereign God is imminent, coming as Immanuel, God with Us. Jesus, the embodiment of compassion, entered into the suffering of humanity and cared deeply about his friends but also the hungry, the sick, and the outcasts.

How often are we missing out on comforting others because we are not willing to silence the distractions and remove the boundaries to get close? Are we trying to provide comfort in our own strength rather than pointing those in trouble to Jesus? Are we forgetting our calling as His chosen ones, holy and beloved? Do we need to clothe ourselves with more compassion (Colossians 3:12 NIV) that we might serve our husbands in love, remain fully present as we raise little disciples, and sacrifice willingly to love our friends and our neighbors well?

May we not be scared of proximity, but allow God to use us as we point others to the comfort that only He can provide. 

May we share that God sees us in our suffering.

He doesn't leave us under the bed.

He calls us out of darkness and into His marvelous light.

He bears our shame and runs after us when we are a long way off. Again and again, we rebel and follow after idols of the heart, like the Israelites with the Golden Calf, and he says, I’m a compassionate God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness.