"Divine compassion, however, the unlimited recklessness in concerning oneself only with the suffering, not in the least with oneself, and of unconditionally recklessly concerning oneself with each sufferer – people can interpret this only as a kind of madness over which we are not sure whether we should laugh or cry. Even if there had not been any other obstacle for the inviter, this alone would have been sufficient for him to come to grief in the world.
"Let someone make just a little venture in divine compassion – that is, be just a trifle reckless in being compassionate, and you will promptly see how people will judge it. Let someone who could have better conditions in life, let him not, remaining in such a difference of conditions, give much to the poor, philanthropically (that is, superiority) visit the poor and sick and miserable – no, let him completely give up his difference and earnest seek the company of, completely live with, the poor and lowly of the people, the workers, the manual laborers, the cement mixers, etc.!
"[...] For people are willing enough to practice compassion and self-denial, willing enough to seek after wisdom etc., but they want to determine the criterion themselves, that it shall be to a certain degree. They do not wish to do away with all these glorious virtues; on the contrary, they want – at a cheap price – to have as comfortably as possible the appearance of and the reputation for practicing them. Therefore as soon as the true divine compassion appears in the world it is unconditionally the sacrifice. It comes out of compassion for people, and it is people who trample it down."
- Soren Kierekgaard, Practice in Christianity, pp 58, 60.
When the Christian feels the need to be convicted, when she feels as if she is doing Christianity "right," she should go straight to Kierkegaard. I've rekindled my love for him the past few days, and this passage in Practice in Christianity hit me with a particularly powerful conviction. To strive towards this sort of unlimited recklessness, I think of my beloved prayer attributed to St. Francis:
Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace;
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;
Where there is injury, pardon;
Where there is error, the truth;
Where there is doubt, the faith;
Where there is despair, hope;
Where there is darkness, light;
And where there is sadness, joy.
O Divine Master,
Grant that I may not so much seek
To be consoled, as to console;
To be understood, as to understand;
To be loved as to love.
For it is in giving that we receive;
It is in pardoning that we are pardoned;
And it is in dying that we are born to eternal life. Amen.
[I am, however, curious as to what Susan Wolf, who wrote the fantastic essay "Moral Saints," would have to say about Kierkegaard on this one. ]
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