Compassion. Adam and *Oscar.
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Hello Friends,
How is your summer season going so far? Are you noticing anything new or life-giving? Do you see any shifting of habits, thoughts, or routines?
Summer tends to slow us down as we naturally step out of routines especially if we have children, live or work within a school calendar or take a vacation. It is my hope you are enjoying some time(s) of leisure, rest, and reflection.
Awhile back, I shared a new thing that has been a helpful practice called word shift.
Here in this summer season the shift is with the word Compassion = Voluntary Displacement. This new phrase I received recently from reading the book titled Compassion: A Reflection on the Christian Life by Henri Nouwen and his friends D. McNeill and D. Morrison.
The way of compassion has been a strong area of question and prayer, rethinking, participation, and wondering. In reading Compassion, the authors offer helpful insights, and guidance in ways to live with greater awareness of compassion = voluntary displacement. This shift has invited a relook at the example of Jesus as described by the apostle Paul, “Jesus as the one who voluntarily displaced himself “ (Ph 2:6-7) thus meaning:
“God displaced himself so that nothing human would be alien to him and he could experience fully the brokenness of our human condition.” (Compassion 65)
“Jesus continuously moves away from power, success, and popularity in order to remain faithful to his divine call.” (65)
“Voluntary displacement leads to compassionate living precisely because it moves us from positions of distinction to positions of sameness, from being in special places to being everywhere.” (66)
Wow! There is so much in this chapter “Displacement” that I’m tempted to just copy it for us to glean from and meditate on. Instead, the invitation is to let the Spirit speak, share, and stir something within us.
Since reading Compassion months ago, I haven’t been able to leave it behind. God has been giving me the eyes to notice both present areas to grow and a recent looking back to a past time of growth that I can now say “Aha!, that was a season of grace from God,” a time where compassion was being formed.
So today, I share with you some of the stirrings of my heart that are drawing in more and more what it means to live with eyes, heart, mind, and body in accordance with Jesus’ way of compassion: learning to listen, reflect, and respond in more loving ways. Each moment and day ahead, the longing is to move closer and nearer to the one whom is worthy of our adoration and beholding, and with hope we become more like—Christ, our redeemer.
Admittedly, I will only be sharing a sliver on this topic. I highly recommend this book for your own reading. The hope is for us to find reflection as a helpful path in opening up ways for compassion to be planted, bud, blossom and reseed in our lives. Or, simply for us to begin recognizing and notice areas within our own life right where we are or have been, not to conjure up or strive, but to let us “be” compassionate companions with others.
In another one of Nouwen’s books titled Adam, he shares in detail his surprising journey at L’Arche Daybreak, and what he learned about compassion through caring for others. The twist or paradox of his story is that he started at L’Arche with the mindset of caring for Adam, but in the course of this time and story, it was Adam’s life that was ‘truly’ revealing compassion towards Henri.
As I have begun looking at my own life in the present, I see daily the challenges and missed opportunities. As I reflect and desire to walk forward on this path of compassion, I am discovering places of my past worth noticing that have led me along this journey, and recently recognized I had my own Adam experience (a four year old boy named Oscar*).
While finishing up my early years of college, I began looking for a steady job with benefits and applied for an educational assistant position working with deaf children. I had experience in education but little practice in communicating with those hard-of-hearing or deaf, except for one college semester of sign language. I had no idea this class would be a stepping stone into my four years with Oscar. I was offered the EA job, and was committed to learning sign language, willing to do whatever tasks were given to me.
I had no idea that I stepped into a place of voluntary displacement and without even a glimpse of how this would be formative in my life. I remember in my interview, I was upfront about my lack of knowledge of sign language, and said “I’m willing to learn.” For some reason, I was willing to embark on the journey anyway knowing full well the discomfort I might experience by risking being vulnerable and feeling embarrassed facing the reactions of the deaf children who knew way more than me, and my slow fumbling fingers and hands trying to interpret what I could. And so my journey began.
Oscar and I met in September 1992. He was this bright, smiling, dark-haired, dark-eyed little boy from Central America. His father brought him to the U.S. (leaving behind his mother) to receive better care for Oscar.
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Delightful Oscar was born not only deaf but also with the challenge of cerebral palsy. I was hired to be Oscar’s companion (to teach him sign language, how to read, write, interact with others, and be at his side while transitioning into a classroom for students without disabilities for part of his school day). At the time, I had no idea what this would entail and this was good!
Oscar’s dad would drop him off every morning for school. I would look down the hallway to see this bright-eyed smiling little boy with a soft-shell blue helmet on and unsteady, but strong legs walking and falling, getting back up smiling, walking and falling, and getting back up again, eager to begin his school day. His passion for life, learning with the challenges he had, and doing everything he could on his own was what taught me compassion.
What did his compassion look like?
Oscar and I learned sign language together. He would laugh because he knew I was not an expert but a sure beginner. When I didn’t have the right hand sign, he would cover his sweet smile with his hand, and then show me the sign. I felt inadequate much of the time, but I learned from Oscar to keep going, to keep trying. We would carry on day by day, week by week for four years.
Oscar and I learned when space to fall and get back up was necessary. He desired to be independent and had the inner determination to grow and for me to let go. He knew I was always there for him and he’d give me a glance clueing me in on his need for help. He wanted to be accepted and treated in the same way as his classmates.
Oscar was my teacher. I learned to let go of doing things for him quite early on and just be with him. Experiences like this help us to see that being with others when we don’t know what to do, when we ourselves feel insufficient, and offering people space to be who they are and grow in their own desires is a beautiful way of offering compassion.
Oscar embraced his classmates, both his deaf and hearing peers in his mainstream classroom. Out at recess or during PE, Oscar engaged in spite of his limitations. He played sports like dodgeball, parachute ball, crawled or climbed his way up the slides, all with the biggest grin.
Oscar was gentle, kind, and compliant, but like all of us, he did learn to be mischievous, only slightly, at times. He could be stubborn, not wanting to finish his homework. What I noticed is he tried his very best on those days to make up for his struggle with diligence at home. He really wanted to do what was right, but also struggled like we all do.
Oscar’s voluntary displacement was intersectional: (dis)ability, culture, language and family. And it was together in this uncomfortable and risky space of school, we both grew naturally and authentically in compassion.
I have always wondered how Oscar grew and where he moved on into adulthood. I’ll maybe never know but I will hold those four years of five-days-a-week learning, not only sign language but compassion, as a gem.
What I am learning and noticing is that voluntarily displacing oneself in others' shoes and in their lives is the most powerful experience of exchanging and receiving love. It transforms us! And it helps us celebrate and cherish our similarities and differences.
We can learn so much from one another and our stories.
May we continue to help one another along in our everyday life and Jesus’ way of compassion.
*Oscar is the name I’ve chosen to protect the privacy of my student
Invitation. When you have a moment, slow down and reflect: How have you been affected by others in receiving compassion? What surprised you about the experience? Pause and listen in prayer for any ways God may be stirring your heart towards compassion=voluntary displacement. Are questions or challenges arising? With your own wondering take some time to journal if you wish your own noticing. Close your time offering God a prayer of thanksgiving.
