Moved with compassion — what Jesus felt when He saw the crowd

From a sermon · Mark 6:30–56

The longest day

Put yourself in Jesus' place in Mark 6. The disciples have just come back from preaching, healing, and casting out demons. The news of John the Baptist's beheading has just arrived — John was His cousin, and Jesus thought the world of him. So He takes the disciples away by boat to a remote place to rest. The people see them leave, figure out where they're going, and run around the lake on foot to get there first. When He steps out of the boat, a crowd is waiting.

"When he went ashore, he saw a large crowd and had compassion on them, because they were like sheep without a shepherd. Then he began to teach them many things." (Mark 6:34)

He teaches all day. When it's late, He feeds them — five thousand men, five loaves, two fish, twelve baskets left. He sends the crowd home, sends the disciples ahead by boat, and goes up a mountain to pray. He sees them straining at the oars against the wind, walks out to them on the water, and calms the storm. They land at Gennesaret, people recognize Him, another crowd gathers, and He heals everyone who touches His clothes.

Tired? Emotionally spent? Grieving? Surely. And the thing that kept Him going through all of it was compassion.

Sheep without a shepherd

Matthew 9:36 uses the same phrase: "When he saw the crowds, he felt compassion for them, because they were distressed and dejected, like sheep without a shepherd." A shepherd's job was to keep the sheep fed, watered, comfortable, and safe — Psalm 23 is the description. He knew his sheep by name, and they knew his voice (John 10:27). He carried a rod to protect them, a staff to guide them, and a sling to drive off predators and nudge wanderers back. A sheep without a shepherd isn't fed well, may have no clean water, is uncomfortable, and is desperately vulnerable.

That's what Jesus saw — a multitude wandering through life with no purpose, no direction, no safety, no fulfillment. He saw them the way you'd see a lost animal and worry about it, and He was deeply concerned for their souls.

I've lost dogs before. One wandered for days and came home because of a flyer I left on a neighbor's door. Another was gone a week while people tracked her and called us with sightings. And one got out and was hit by a car. So why do I stop for stray dogs? Because I've lost one, because I've had one die, and, honestly, because my wife makes me. It moves me. That's a small picture of what Jesus felt looking at people.

What compassion is

The Greek word is splagchnizomai, and the first part of it means "inward parts" — the bowels, which the ancient world considered the seat of love and pity. It literally means to be moved so deeply that you feel it in the pit of your stomach. Webster calls compassion "a suffering with another; painful sympathy... compounded of love and sorrow."

You know the feeling. The knot in your stomach before a big game, or on a first date. The sick feeling of guilt. The wince when you see a bad injury. The ache of seeing an abused animal, a starving child, a war, a child in a terrible home. That's what compassion feels like. And in Mark 6 we get a glimpse of the humanity of Christ: the people in front of Him physically affected Him. He was moved inside. He felt it in His body, because of what He felt for lost people.

Do you ever get that? Not because someone is sick, or poor, or abused — but because they need Jesus?

It's supposed to be natural for a Christian. "If there be therefore any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any fellowship of the Spirit, if any bowels and mercies..." (Philippians 2:1). "Put on therefore, as the elect of God, holy and beloved, bowels of mercies, kindness, humbleness of mind, meekness, longsuffering" (Colossians 3:12). "Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these... ye have done it unto me" (Matthew 25:40). And 1 John 3:17: "If anyone has this world's goods and sees a fellow believer in need but withholds compassion from him — how does God's love reside in him?" How can we claim the love of God lives in us and not have the compassion of Jesus?

Did you notice them?

Here's the danger. We hear about a church that's seeing people saved and changed, and we think: "I give to that. I'm part of a church that does that. I've been coming for years, I'm in my seat every week — I've done enough. I don't need to look for ways to be compassionate."

Hurting people don't only live on the mission field. They walk into church. A single mom with three kids who wants something different. A husband fighting an addiction who doesn't want to lose his family. An older woman who moved back to the area and feels abandoned. A couple new to town giving church another try. A grandmother who wants her granddaughter to hear the gospel. A dad who came for his daughters. Sheep without a shepherd, sitting a few rows over. Did you notice them? Did you care enough to notice?

It's His church

My concern is that we've become consumer-minded about church. We make it about us. It's "my church." Here's a reminder: it's His church. "I will build my church." "Christ is the head of the church." The room is His, the chairs are His, the seat you think of as yours is His. Church should be all about Jesus, and Jesus was all about others. We come to church for ourselves — "am I being fed?" — while Christ's chief concern was that others were fed.

So lose the possessive mindset and take up the ambassador's. How could we let a visitor sit alone? Think of every step it took for them to walk through the door, and we won't take one step to sit beside them. How could we make someone feel bad for sitting in "our" seat? Go find a visitor and sit by them instead. How can we expect God to send more people when that's how we treat the ones He sends? Complacency and comfort are the killers of compassion.

"Have mercy on those who waver" (Jude 22). Some people need compassion. Will you be like Christ — see the need, and be moved?

Maybe you're the one sitting a few rows over. Nobody said much to you, and you left about the way you came in. So hear this: Jesus saw that crowd and His gut turned over, and He sees you the same way. That's what put Him on the cross. Not a crowd. People, one at a time, sheep with no shepherd and no way home. He died for your sin, He got up on the third day, and He takes in every person who asks Him. You don't have to clean yourself up first. Sheep never do.

Christian, this Sunday you've got one job and it isn't complicated. Find the person sitting alone and go sit down. Don't wave from across the room. Don't send somebody else over. Get up out of the seat that was never yours anyway, walk over, and learn their name before you learn one other thing about them.

Compassion that stays in your chest is just a feeling. Move.

Related: Encouraging — building one another up and 1 John 3 — love in deed.