A Hermeneutic of Compassion

I want to assure you I am not assuming ignorance here. I offer this definition of hermeneutics so that any unfamiliar with the term will not have to look it up. “A hermeneutic is simply the lens through which we interpret meaning—especially in texts that carry weight, authority, or sacred significance. It acknowledges that no one reads neutrally; we all bring assumptions, experiences, and values to what we read. A hermeneutic asks how we interpret before arguing what we believe. In matters of scripture, it determines whether a text becomes a source of wisdom and transformation—or a tool of fear and control.”

I no longer believe fear is a reliable guide to truth—especially spiritual truth. If God is truly the source of life, then God cannot be fundamentally opposed to love, mercy, or human flourishing. Any image of God that relies on fear to shape behavior deserves careful reexamination. Fear may control behavior for a time, but it does not transform the heart.

Sacred texts were never meant to be read as legal transcripts dictated from heaven. They are records of human encounters with the divine—filtered through history, culture, trauma, hope, and awakening. Treating every line as equally prescriptive flattens what was meant to be lived, wrestled with, and discerned. Depth is not disrespect; it is a sign of spiritual maturity.

Within these sacred writings exist laws meant to restrain harm, stories meant to carry wisdom, and warnings shaped by moments of crisis. But woven quietly through them are moments of genuine mystical insight—visions of unity, compassion, and divine nearness. These moments were never meant to be overshadowed by fear-based interpretation. They are the heart of the text, not its margins.

When God is framed primarily as judge, ethics become about compliance and conformity. When God is understood as a benevolent source, ethics flow naturally from identity. People care for one another not because they are threatened, but because harm no longer makes sense. Relationship accomplishes what rules never could.

I do not believe God is interested in a legal or constitutional relationship with humanity. Love does not operate by contracts, and grace is not a reward for correct belief or perfect behavior. A truly gracious source does not need constant surveillance to remain sovereign. Trust, not fear, is the foundation of genuine transformation.

The problem was never that sacred texts exist. The problem is how we were taught to read them—without layers, without context, and without compassion. Symbol became statute, poetry became policy, and mystery became control. In that process, something essential was lost.

A compassionate reading does not discard difficult passages; it situates them. It asks what fear, survival, or historical pressure shaped them. It distinguishes between eternal wisdom and temporary scaffolding. Discernment is not rebellion—it is responsibility.

I believe the highest revelation is not law but love, not sacrifice but mercy, not obedience but transformation. Any interpretation that hardens the heart or justifies harm has missed the point, regardless of how religious it sounds. Truth that diminishes compassion is not truth fully seen. The divine does not contradict itself.

Sacred texts were meant to be companions on the journey, not weapons in cultural or theological battles. They invite reflection, humility, and inner change—not domination or exclusion. When read through compassion, they regain their power to heal. When read through fear, they lose their soul.

The ultimate test of any spiritual interpretation is not how strictly it enforces belief, but what kind of humans it produces. Does it make us kinder, more patient, more generous, more aware of our shared origin? If it does, it is moving toward the divine—regardless of tradition or label.