What if the problem isn't that we don't love people, but that we've become selective about who deserves our love?
Most of us would describe ourselves as compassionate people. We care when others are hurting. We're moved by stories of suffering. We want to help people who are struggling.
But let's be honest. Some people are easier to love than others.
It's easy to feel compassion for someone who's grateful, kind, respectful, and trying to improve their situation.
But what about someone who's angry, demanding, irresponsible, or difficult to get along with?
What about someone whose lifestyle you disagree with? Someone whose political opinions offend you? Someone who's made terrible decisions and is now suffering the consequences?
What about someone who has hurt you?
Suddenly, compassion becomes a little more complicated.
And that's where we need to confront an uncomfortable possibility.
We may believe everyone deserves compassion while behaving as though only certain people qualify.
The Question Jesus Refused to Answer
In Luke 10:25–37, an expert in religious law approaches Jesus with a question about inheriting eternal life.
Jesus directs him to the Law, and the man correctly identifies two commands: Love God with everything you have, and love your neighbor as yourself.
But then Luke tells us something revealing. "The man wanted to justify his actions, so he asked Jesus, 'And who is my neighbor?'" (Luke 10:29, NLT).
Notice what he's asking.
He isn't asking how to love people better. He's asking Jesus to define the boundaries of his responsibility. Who qualifies as my neighbor? Who am I actually obligated to love? And perhaps, more importantly, who can I legitimately exclude?
Jesus responds with the story we know as the Good Samaritan.
A Jewish man is attacked, beaten, robbed, and left for dead along the road.
A priest sees him and passes by. A Levite sees him and does the same. Then a Samaritan comes along.
To understand the significance of this story, we need to remember that Jews and Samaritans had a long history of religious and cultural hostility. They disagreed about worship, ancestry, and religious identity. Prejudice and resentment existed between the two communities.
Yet Jesus deliberately makes the Samaritan the example of genuine love.
The person His audience might have been inclined to dismiss becomes the person who demonstrates what it means to obey God's command.
Jesus wasn't simply teaching people to help strangers. He was confronting their assumptions about who deserved to be loved.
The People We've Disqualified
We rarely admit that we've decided someone doesn't deserve our compassion. Instead, we find ways to justify withholding it.
"They brought this on themselves."
"They should have known better."
"I'm tired of dealing with people like that."
"They wouldn't appreciate my help anyway."
"They don't deserve another chance."
Sometimes these statements contain legitimate observations. People do make destructive decisions. Some repeatedly take advantage of others. Some refuse responsibility for their behavior.
But here's the question.
When did someone's behavior become the determining factor in whether we treat them with Christlike compassion?
Romans 5:8 (NLT) reminds us: "But God showed his great love for us by sending Christ to die for us while we were still sinners."
God didn't wait until we became lovable before demonstrating His love. He didn't wait until we corrected our behavior, understood our mistakes, or proved we deserved another opportunity. He loved us while we were still sinners.
That's grace.
And if we've received that kind of grace, shouldn't it influence how we see other people?
Now, this doesn't mean we ignore destructive behavior, eliminate accountability, or allow someone to repeatedly abuse us.
Compassion doesn't require us to approve of someone's choices. Forgiveness doesn't automatically restore trust. And loving someone doesn't mean giving them unrestricted access to our lives.
But we can refuse to excuse someone's behavior without refusing to recognize their humanity.
That's an important distinction.
When Our Preferences Become Our Principles
One of the more subtle dangers in following Jesus is allowing our personal preferences to masquerade as biblical convictions.
We naturally gravitate toward people who think like us, believe like us, and share our values. There's nothing inherently wrong with that. The problem begins when our preferences determine the extent of our compassion.
We become patient with people we like and impatient with those we don’t. We excuse the failures of people we identify with while condemning the same failures in others. We generously interpret the motives of our friends while assuming the worst about people who disagree with us. And sometimes we don't even realize we're doing it.
James confronted a similar problem in the early church.
In James 2:1–9, he challenged believers who treated wealthy visitors with honor while humiliating those who were poor.
Their treatment of people was being determined by outward appearances and social standing. James called it favoritism. And he made it clear that favoritism was inconsistent with the command to love our neighbors as ourselves.
The issue wasn't simply poor manners. They were allowing human distinctions to determine the value they assigned to people. We can do the same thing today.
Not necessarily because of someone's wealth, but because of their appearance, background, reputation, beliefs, or behavior. And every time we do, we risk seeing people through the lens of our preferences rather than through the eyes of Jesus.
Compassion Isn't the Same as Agreement
Here's something we desperately need to understand. You don't have to agree with someone to love them. And you don't have to abandon biblical truth to demonstrate biblical compassion.
In fact, Jesus consistently demonstrated that truth and compassion belong together.
Consider His encounter with the Samaritan woman in John 4.
Jesus didn't ignore the realities of her life. He addressed them directly. But He also refused to allow cultural hostility, social expectations, or her personal history to prevent Him from engaging her. He saw a person worth reaching.
Or consider Zacchaeus in Luke 19. As a chief tax collector, Zacchaeus belonged to a profession associated with corruption and exploitation. Yet Jesus invited Himself into Zacchaeus's home.
That encounter didn't result in Jesus compromising His principles. It resulted in Zacchaeus changing his behavior. Jesus didn't wait for Zacchaeus to become a different person before showing him personal attention. His willingness to engage Zacchaeus became part of the transformation that followed.
We sometimes get that backward. We want people to change before we're willing to demonstrate love. But love may be the very thing that opens the door for change.
The Real Test of Compassion
It's easy to be compassionate toward people who make us feel compassionate. The real test comes when compassion requires us to overcome our own attitudes.
When the person is difficult and the situation is messy.
When we don't understand their decisions.
That's when we discover whether our compassion is rooted in our feelings or in our commitment to follow Jesus.
In Matthew 5:46–47, Jesus challenged His followers by pointing out that loving people who love us isn't particularly remarkable. Even those who don't follow God do that.
His followers are called to something greater. Not because we're naturally better people. But because we're learning to reflect the character of our Heavenly Father.
And that brings us to a question worth considering.
Are we becoming more like Jesus, or are we simply becoming more comfortable loving people who are like us?
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