At times, when we see others walking a dangerous path, we long for better things for them. It may be a grown son or daughter, or other family member. Or simply a close friend. We know something of the trouble that awaits on the road they've taken, and desire that they turn back, and choose another way.
Perhaps the problem is a sinful habit, or an abusive relationship, or some false teaching they have espoused. We may have tried to warn them, only to have the warnings cast aside. So we grieve. Sometimes, in love, we'd even be willing to absorb the coming consequences ourselves, if only that would set them free.
The Apostle Paul felt that way. Raised in a strict Judaic tradition, and trained as a Pharisee, he'd been an enemy of Christ and His church (Gal. 1:13-14). But he came to realize that Jesus was the Messiah Israel had so long awaited. In an instant, on the road to Damascus, his theology was transformed (Acts 22:3-10). He began to serve the Christ he had once despised, longing to see other Jews put their faith in Him too. He said, "I have great sorrow and continual grief in my heart. For I could wish [if it were possible to help them this way] that I myself were accursed from Christ [cut off from Him] for my brethren, my countrymen according to the flesh" (Rom. 9:2-3).
And if we sorrow for others who are on the road to ruin, think of how the Lord Himself must feel. We are given a look at that, from His days on earth. Rejected by the Jewish leaders, and shortly before He was crucified by the Romans, Christ grieved for what was going to befall His nation. Looking out over Jerusalem, He cried, "How often I wanted to gather your children together, as a hen gathers her chicks under her wings, but you were not willing!" (Matt. 23:37).
A similar picture of compassion is conveyed in the parable of the Prodigal Son (Lk. 15:11-32). The young man demanded his inheritance right away - what he would have received after his father died. It was graciously given, at which point he immediately moved far away. Squandering the money foolishly, he reached a point of destitution. Then he determined to return home, even if it meant being a servant in the household and no longer a privileged son.
But we read (vs. 20), "When he was still a great way off, his father saw him" (suggesting he was watching for him, day by day, and lovingly hoping for his return). "And [he] had compassion, and ran and fell on his neck and kissed him." Had his dad been praying for his return? Surely he had. And that's one thing we can do. When our loved one is off course and refuses to turn back, we can keep praying that God will bring about the needed change.
In 1860, a beautiful poem on that theme was written by Samuel Cluff. Samuel O'Malley Gore Cluff (1837-1910) was an Irish pastor, first serving in the Anglican Church, and later associated for a while with the Plymouth Brethren. Ira Sankey (1840-1908), the music director in D. L. Moody's evangelistic work, came across Cluff's poem in 1874 and set it to music. The song was mightily used by the Spirit of God to bring many to faith in Christ.
It begins: "I have a Saviour, He's pleading in glory, / A dear, loving Saviour though earth friends be few; / And now He is watching in tenderness o'er me; / And oh, that my Saviour were your Saviour, too. / For you I am praying...I'm praying for you." And "I have a Father; to me He has given / A hope for eternity, blessèd and true; / And soon He will call me to meet Him in heaven, / But, oh, that He'd let me bring you with me, too!"
