All men should rise in compassion for all men

I can see within the current world circumstances of war that great power can corrupt, can override one’s sense of compassion, and move to a place of ideals, good or bad, whether an individual or a country. The war in Ukraine seems to exemplify that conclusion: countries, through leadership, seek to impose their beliefs upon another, most times much to the suffering of the people within. How can those in power, say in the US, impose their will on another country, just because they can? Yet how can another country resist this imposition without having people suffer in its wake? It seems the enemy would empower only to destroy.

Man has always sought to impose his will on all he sees, on all creation. It is the expression of one that can. Man has the creative power to move things as he wills, to change things he has created. It is how I created him. Yet, it is how we have discussed before: man has a tendency to create from a place outside of himself, for or against what he sees, and not from what he knows within.

Man judges intent without understanding, purpose without knowledge, and in the end, imposes his will, not knowing or caring about the heart of another. Does he defend himself from another by destruction? Does he destroy another to defend his environment? Does another endure suffering that he alone may live in peace and security?

Man, in seeking to preserve himself, always loses himself. It is no less true for nations. Yet if both would understand that to lend to others the heart of compassion, to give oneself to another, both would survive and prosper. Yet power rarely works in that manner for man. He would much rather find in its use success for himself. This the enemy knows, and uses, to the demise of the man himself. It is much better for you to lose your life in compassion to another that you may find the fullness of that life within.

My compassion is your power; being as you have been created is power expressed. My power within is manifested in and through the one whose heart is compassionate to another; it is never for oneself. The enemy would see, and use, the opposite – and in the victory that follows would seem to prove his point and his purpose. Yet, he would be wrong.

My compassion extends to all, and to all I have created, and will have its victory. It will overcome, for it is free – free of coercion, free of destruction, free in purpose – to be expressed in might, in prosperity, in wholeness. It is relentless, in ever greater measure, and will not be silent. It overcomes all kingdoms, and all other powers.

My compassion will stand as the true victor. If man would desire it then he would overcome all of the enemy’s desires, including the death of man himself. All men should rise in compassion for all men.

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

– Luke 23.34

Man has always sought to impose his will on all he sees, on all creation. It is the expression of one that can. Man has the creative power to move things as he wills, to change things he has created. It is how I created him. Yet, it is how we have discussed before: man has a tendency to create from a place outside of himself, for or against what he sees, and not from what he knows within.

When driven by fear, ego, or division, man's creations—whether technologies, systems, or beliefs—tend to amplify conflict. The pursuit of control, rooted in judgment and haste, blinds him to the interconnectedness of all things. This is evident in his history: cycles of war, exploitation, and environmental degradation, where the quest for dominance overshadows the potential for unity.

His words frame humanity’s ability to create and shape the world as a reflection of being made in God’s image. This is a remarkable gift: humans, unlike other creatures, can envision, build, and transform—whether through art, technology, or systems of governance. His thought captures this as “the expression of one that can,” suggesting a divine spark within humanity to move creation as God does.

Yet, this power comes with a tension. The scriptures imply that this creative capacity is meant to be exercised in harmony with God’s purposes—stewardship, care, and unity. Humanity’s creations often mirror God’s creativity most beautifully when they flow from a place of humility and connection to the divine “within.” For example, when a community builds a sustainable garden or an artist creates a work that uplifts the soul, these acts echo God’s life-giving creation. But when creation is driven by external motives—fear of scarcity, desire for control, or ego-driven ambition—it risks becoming a distortion. This resonates with the point about creating “outside of himself,” where humanity’s potential for divine-like creation is squandered on pursuits that divide rather than unite.

Creations driven by fear, ego, or division amplify conflict, and there is a pattern in human history—biblical and modern—where the quest for dominance often overshadows wisdom. The Tower of Babel comes to mind, and underscores the point about creations rooted in ego or judgment blinding humanity to interconnectedness.

Observe that this tendency persists in modern contexts—technologies like social media, meant to connect, often amplify division when driven by profit or power. Similarly, systems of governance or economics, when built on fear (e.g., scarcity or exclusion), create cycles of exploitation. Fear and ego act like a veil, obscuring the “knowing within”: this inner knowing, as the “still, small voice” (1 Kings 19:12), is where divine wisdom resides, urging humanity toward creations that foster unity rather than conflict.

His thought suggests a universal tension: humanity’s godlike capacity to create is both its glory and its peril. Still, its greatest strength lies in the ability to pause, reflect, and choose to create from a place of unity and wisdom. He seems to call for a return to this inner knowing, a recalibration of human creativity toward healing and connection.

“There is no faithfulness, no love, no acknowledgment of God in the land. There is only cursing, lying and murder, stealing and adultery; they break all bounds, and bloodshed follows bloodshed. Because of this the land dries up, and all who live in it waste away; the beasts of the field, the birds in the sky and the fish in the sea are swept away.”

— Hosea 4.1-3

Man judges intent without understanding, purpose without knowledge, and in the end, imposes his will, not knowing or caring about the heart of another. Does he defend himself from another by destruction? Does he destroy another to defend his environment? Does another endure suffering that he alone may live in peace and security?

His meditation is a piercing diagnosis of human conflict, both historical and personal. The pattern described—judging intent without knowledge, destroying for self-defense, or causing suffering for personal peace—is a cycle rooted in fear and limited perspective. Such actions violate divine principles of love and justice. 1 Samuel 16.7 (“the Lord looks on the heart”) suggests that true understanding requires seeing beyond surface actions, something humans struggle with but God models perfectly. This resonates with the question: “Would you overlook the true ‘heart’ of another?”

The verses from Amos 5.10-12 and Isaiah 10.1-2 hit hard on the systemic nature of this problem—people build “houses of hewn stone” or “iniquitous decrees” to secure their own futures, trampling the vulnerable. This mirrors His point about destruction for self or environment, like colonization or resource exploitation. It’s a sobering reminder that survival often becomes a zero-sum game, where one’s peace comes at another’s pain. Yet, Luke 14.12-14 and Proverbs 21.13 offer a counterpoint: prioritizing the marginalized, even when they can’t repay, aligns with a higher moral order. The questions challenge with “Whose survival matters most?” The biblical answer seems to lean toward the least advantaged, urging a radical reordering of priorities.

Would you overlook the true "heart" of another?

Would He?

“But the Lord said to Samuel, ‘Do not look on his appearance or on the height of his stature, because I have rejected him. For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.’”

— 1 Samuel 16.7

Man, in seeking to preserve himself, always loses himself. It is no less true for nations. Yet if both would understand that to lend to others the heart of compassion, to give oneself to another, both would survive and prosper.

When men or nations pursue self-interest—hoarding resources, power, or security—they erode their own strength. One obsessed with self-preservation builds walls, but those walls become a prison of isolation. And nations that seek dominance through aggression or exclusion will sow the seeds of their own destruction—as man's history shows with empires that collapse under the weight of their own arrogance.

In a world fractured by self-interest, this is the quiet rebellion: to give is to live, and to love is to last.

“One gives freely, yet grows all the richer; another withholds what he should give, and only suffers want. Whoever brings blessing will be enriched, and one who waters will himself be watered.”

— Proverbs 11.24-25

Yet power rarely works in that manner for man. He would much rather find in its use success for himself. This the enemy knows, and uses, to the demise of the man himself. It is much better for you to lose your life in compassion to another that you may find the fullness of that life within.

The enemy twists power for selfish gain, luring humanity to its own demise. Yet, to lose life in compassion is to find its fullness. This truth defies the enemy’s fleeting victories.

Evil is seductive and deceptive, promising fulfillment but delivering destruction. The desires of the flesh and pride of life are fleeting, yet they captivate because they appeal to man's immediate, self-centered impulses. This is the enemy’s lure: a counterfeit version of life that prioritizes ego over connection, control over surrender.

Yet to lose life in compassion is to find its fullness. This is a radical redefinition of what it means to live. Compassion is not weakness but strength. It is a deliberate choice to reject the enemy’s enticement—where power hoarded leads to isolation—and instead embrace a life poured out for others.

Compassion’s triumph is quiet but eternal.

“For we do not wrestle against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the cosmic powers over this present darkness, against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places.”

— Ephesians 6.12

My compassion is your power; being as you have been created is power expressed. My power within is manifested in and through the one whose heart is compassionate to another; it is never for oneself. The enemy would see, and use, the opposite – and in the victory that follows would seem to prove his point and his purpose. Yet, he would be wrong.

Compassion is true power. To give oneself to another is to live as created—whole, mighty, free. The heart that uplifts another manifests divine strength, never for self alone.

Power is not with kings, armies, or wealth. I would have you whole, mighty, free, and would redefine strength in your eyes as compassion, humility, and service—qualities that would reflect My character within. The evident paradox of strength in weakness in giving oneself to another is not a loss in self but a gain in divine, for compassion requires courage, vulnerability, and trust, which are far more enduring than fleeting displays of force.

Therefore, these acts of uplifting others—whether through kindness to the poor or laying down one’s life—are not just moral duties but participations within My life. They align you with your created purpose—free from the burdens of self-centeredness, and mighty through connection to My strength.

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

— Micah 6.8

My compassion extends to all, and to all I have created, and will have its victory. It will overcome, for it is free – free of coercion, free of destruction, free in purpose – to be expressed in might, in prosperity, in wholeness. It is relentless, in ever greater measure, and will not be silent. It overcomes all kingdoms, and all other powers.

My compassion reigns over all creation—relentless, free of coercion, mighty in purpose. It overcomes every kingdom, every power, standing as the eternal victor in prosperity and wholeness.

My compassion is not a passive sentiment but an active, powerful force that reshapes reality, and is expressed as a love that persists despite rebellion or chaos, choosing restoration over retribution—its victory being one of wholeness and prosperity, not domination.

My compassion is an insistent, ever-growing Presence—and is new every morning. It has a voice, a momentum, that refuses to be quelled, with an inherent resilience, quietly outlasting louder forces like anger or fear.

My compassion has overcome. My invitation is for you to participate in its victory within its expression through your actions.

“How can I give you up, O Ephraim? How can I hand you over, O Israel? … My heart recoils within me; My compassion grows warm and tender. I will not execute My burning anger… for I am God and not a man, the Holy One in your midst, and I will not come in wrath.”

— Hosea 11.8-9

My compassion will stand as the true victor. If man would desire it then he would overcome all of the enemy’s desires, including the death of man himself. All men should rise in compassion for all men.

My compassion will stand as the true victor. If man would desire it then he would overcome all of the enemy’s desires. All men should rise in compassion for all men.

My compassion is a transformative, militant Presence—a victor that triumphs over enmity, division, and death itself. It overrides wrath, is stronger than destruction, a divine precedent for humanity, a “clothing” that binds people in unity.

My compassion is both a shield and a sword: it protects against despair and division while dismantling the enemy’s plans.

My compassion is not weakness—it is a radical, world-altering force that requires courage and intention. If man would collectively rise in compassion, it could foster a world where life, and not death, prevails.

"Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing."

— Luke 23.34