When Plans Trump Compassion: A Mirror to Our Faith
I had plans. Leave work. Hit the gym. Handle a few tasks. Kick up my feet and indulge in some well-earned rest.
But on that drive, I saw him—hands raised, desperation written across his face. His car had broken down. His wife tended to their child in the backseat. And me? I felt my heart close like a locked door.
I reasoned: “I’m not a mechanic.” I hoped my tinted windows would conceal my indecision. I didn’t stop. I didn’t even acknowledge him.
It took me days to realize I didn’t just ignore his problem—I ignored his humanity. Not because I lacked the ability to help, but because I didn’t want to risk my comfort. I could’ve offered five minutes of reassurance. Helped him make a call. Asked if he had someone en route. But I drove away, safeguarding my schedule instead of being a servant of grace.
We claim we live by a doctrine that edifies, uplifts, and reconciles—yet who are we edifying if we never pause to see, listen, or serve? How can we proclaim a self-sacrificing Savior while preserving our own agendas at all costs?
The truth is that our faith works best when it steps outside the confines of convenience and moves into action toward others. We’re not called to efficiency—we’re called to compassion. It is in these unscripted interruptions that the gospel takes form, not just in words but in presence.
And more than that—people in need, people in crisis, are often the ones most ready to receive truth. They are open to a seed of hope. To a gesture of grace. To the gospel itself. These are not disruptions to avoid—they are opportunities to embrace. These are divine appointments in disguise.
Let’s hold up this mirror and look with clarity and self-examination:
- Are you sacrificing anything of yourself for others?
- Is your time being redeemed or hoarded?
- Is your schedule interruptible by compassion, or fortified against it?
- Are you living to be a blessing, or simply living to feel blessed?
Jesus didn’t say “love when it's convenient.” He said, “lay down your life” (John 15:13). Paul didn’t command us to master productivity, but “redeem the time, because the days are evil” (Ephesians 5:16).
Think of the parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25-37): Are we the priest or Levite—walking past with priorities intact and hearts detached? Or are we the Samaritan—interruptible, available, gracious?
We don’t need perfect solutions, just willing hearts. The gospel is not just theology to proclaim; it’s compassion to embody. Faith doesn't shine most in routine—it radiates in interruptions.
So today, tomorrow, whenever your plans clash with someone’s pain… Make time. Make space. Make your life interruptible. Let the love of Christ be more than a message in your mind—let it be your purpose and presence that flows through your time, touch, and tenderness.
