The Power of Compassion: Love in Action

“When He saw the crowds, He felt compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd.”— Matthew 9:36 (TLV)

A Morning of Mercy

It was a winter morning when the dining hall began to fill—nearly two hundred people, most of them men, a few women, all drawn by the promise of warmth and food. The air was cold, but there was expectancy, a quiet hope that compassion would meet them before the day began.

At the Mission, we never required anyone to sit through a sermon before the morning meal. My grandfather, Morris, was steadfast in that conviction. “You shouldn’t preach to someone on an empty stomach,” he would say. He believed that compassion meant caring for both the body and the soul, that meeting someone’s physical needs was just as important as tending to their spiritual ones. To feed the hungry was not just charity—it was a sacred act, an expression of the love of God Himself.

This conviction echoed God’s own words to Moses on Mount Sinai:

“Adonai, Adonai, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, and abundant in lovingkindness and truth.”— Exodus 34:6 (TLV)

This isn't merely a verse, it is a revelation of God’s character. And it became the heartbeat of everything the Mission did.

When it was time to go in to the dining hall for the meal , the smell of soup and the days main entee filled the air. Volunteers and staff joyfully prepared to serve the meals at the tables. After one of us said a short prayer of thanks for the meal, Israel, an elderly Jewish man who had once been my father’s schoolteacher, sat at the old organ and would usually play show tunes or Hava Nagila. The music mingled with laughter and prayer. It felt like a glimpse of heaven—divine compassion wrapped in human kindness.

Compassion: The Heart of Messiah

The Gospels tell us that when Yeshua looked at the crowds, He was moved with compassion. The Greek word, splagchnizomai, means to be stirred deeply inside—to feel love that moves you to act. In Hebrew, the closest term is rachamim, from rechem, meaning “womb.” It’s love that protects, nurtures, and brings life.

Every miracle of Yeshua the Messiah flowed from that love—every healing, every feeding, every word of comfort. His compassion was not emotion alone; it was divine action.

True compassion doesn’t just feel—it restores.

The Compassion That Built the Mission

From the very beginning, compassion defined the Scott Mission. My grandparents, Morris and Annie Zeidman, didn’t set out to start a social agency. They simply lived their faith in action.

In More Than Miracles, Ben Volman relates that my aunt, Elaine Zeidman Markovic, spoke of her parents’ belief that serving others was an act of worship and a reflection of divine mercy

When someone came in hungry, they saw more than an empty stomach they saw a soul loved by God. When someone was angry or addicted, they didn’t see a problem—they saw a person made in His image.

Morris would often say,

“We feed the hungry and preach the Gospel—both are parts of the same ministry.”

That sentence still defines the theology of compassion: love must be tangible, and truth must be compassionate.

When Compassion Costs You Something

Real compassion is not easy, it costs you something. Annie Zeidman knew this well. Some days she faced drunk or violent visitors. She prayed with them, bandaged their wounds, and went home exhausted. She sometimes wondered if anything was changing.

Elaine often said,

“It’s not glamorous work. You just keep showing up, and God keeps meeting you there.”

That’s the hidden side of compassion—faithfulness in the unseen moments. As Paul reminded the Galatians:

“Let us not lose heart in doing good, for in due time we will reap if we don’t give up.”— Galatians 6:9 (TLV)

Compassion means showing up again tomorrow—trusting that God’s love will bear fruit in His time. The official slogan, or motto, of the Misison at one time was: Putting the Messiah's Love Into Action.

God’s Compassion Through His People

In Jewish thought, compassion (rachamim) is not merely a human virtue—it reflects the very nature of God. The prophet Isaiah spoke of this kind of worship:

“Is not this the fast I choose: to release the bonds of wickedness, to share your bread with the hungry, to bring the homeless poor into your house?”— Isaiah 58:6–7 (TLV)

For Morris and Annie, the Mission was a living sermon on Isaiah 58, a “fast” of compassion that continues to this day. It wasn’t abstract; it had names and faces, tears and laughter. It meant sacrifice but also joy.

When Compassion Becomes Revival

I’ve learned that compassion can do what sermons alone cannot. A meal offered in love, a prayer spoken in kindness, a name remembered—these open hearts that logic cannot reach.

One man who came to the Mission every winter once said,

“I came here for food, but I found family.”

That is revival—not loud or flashy, but quiet renewal. Compassion is God’s love in human form, transforming people one act at a time.

Lessons from a Life of Compassion

Over the years, a few truths have become clear:

• Compassion begins with seeing. Yeshua saw the crowds. We cannot love what we refuse to notice.

• Compassion moves us to act. Real compassion finds expression—feeding, listening, praying, serving.

• Compassion costs something. It’s not comfortable, but it’s where miracles begin.

• Compassion reveals God. When people encounter compassion, they encounter His heart.

The Heart That Still Beats

While recently walking through the Mission, I still felt it—the heartbeat of compassion that began with Morris and Annie Zeidman. Faces change, programs evolve, but the heart remains the same.

The Mission still beats with rachamim—compassion—the pulse of God’s people. As the prophet Micah said:

“He has told you, humanity, what is good, and what Adonai is seeking from you: to practice justice, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.”— Micah 6:8 (TLV)

That is the heart of the Gospel. That is the power of compassion.