Why We Do Hard Things

Luke 19:28-40

After Jesus had said this, he went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem. When he had come near Bethphage and Bethany, at the place called the Mount of Olives, he sent two of the disciples, saying,

“Go into the village ahead of you, and as you enter it you will find tied there a colt that has never been ridden.

Untie it and bring it here. If anyone asks you, ‘Why are you untying it?’ just say this, ‘The Lord needs it.’ ” So those who were sent departed and found it as he had told them.

As they were untying the colt, its owners asked them, “Why are you untying the colt?” They said, “The Lord needs it.” Then they brought it to Jesus, and after throwing their cloaks on the colt, they set Jesus on it.

As he rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road. Now as he was approaching the path down from the Mount of Olives, the whole multitude of the disciples began to praise God joyfully with a loud voice for all the deeds of power that they had seen, saying,

“Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!

Peace in heaven, and glory in the highest heaven!”

Some of the Pharisees in the crowd said to him, “Teacher, order your disciples to stop.” He answered, “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

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Why do we do hard things? Why do we voluntarily endure pain, like summiting mount everest, writing a novel, or finishing all the New York Times games, including Sudoku! I don’t understand for the life of me why people run marathons… 26.2 miles? Hours of running just to run? And people pay money for that?! Why do we choose things that will undoubtedly bring us pain?

Most of us are wired to pursue pleasure and avoid pain. We tend to choose activities with low cost and high reward. Effort is hard; pain isn’t fun—so we try to reduce both whenever possible.

We say we want things to be easy. But strangely, we often value the things that cost us something—things that ask more of us than we thought we had. We want some place or thing to pour our effort into. But why?

There are a few theories. One is called the Effort Paradox. Ian Hutchinson wrote about it in The Atlantic recently. While effort is typically something we shy away from, it can paradoxically draw us in and enhance the value of what we’re doing.

Hutchinson gives the example of the Comrades Marathon - a 55 miles race in South Africa.

But here is the kicker, you have twelve hours to complete it. Right at the twelve hour mark, a group of people link arms and block the finish line! You’re not even allowed to complete the hell you’ve put yourself through. And yet, those who don’t finish often come back year after year—because the effort itself is satisfying.

We see this paradox elsewhere, too. Kids at play make up extra rules or obstacles, just to make the game harder—and more fun.

Now Hutchinson admits the appeal of hard work varies among people. Some are motivated by the joy and purpose derived from tackling difficult tasks. But the Effort Paradox doesn’t explain which hard things we choose, or why. Yes, effort can make us feel good and imbue a sense of value. But is that enough to explain the hard things we really choose? Things like parenting. Marriage. Leading a team. Starting a business. Caring for a dying parent. The pain isn’t part of the appeal—so why do we stay in it?

This is where our friend David Brooks offers a deeper take. He asks: how do people endure the most severe challenges and overcome the most alluring temptations? It’s generally not through heroic willpower and self-control. If those faculties were strong enough, diets would work, and New Year’s resolutions would be kept. No, we tend to endure great pain only when we are possessed by something more gripping, namely love.

When something or someone seizes us, we can’t help but fall in love. And love demands devotion. It animates us — but it also conquers us. It calls for persistence, obedience, and sacrifice.

This is not just why folks get married but how they stay married. It's why you make a third breakfast for your toddler after he fed the first one to the dog and threw the second one across the table.

It’s why after decades you continue in the same vocation, no matter how maddening it may be at times. It’s this kind of love—not satisfaction from a completed task—that makes hard things meaningful. And paradoxically, Brooks argues, the more we embrace difficulties in this life, rather than avoid them, the more meaningful, passionate, and purposeful this life becomes.

So all week I kept asking myself: what seized Jesus? What love compelled him?

Because that’s the only way to make sense of what he does. Why would Jesus willingly make his way into Jerusalem? Why does he choose the pain that lies ahead? He doesn’t just allow it—he pursues it. Why is he determined to face death?

All week as I read the text, it just made little to no sense to me. Why would anyone get on a young donkey that has never been ridden and ride it down the side of a mountain? Have you ever ridden a horse or a donkey downhill? I have. It’s terrifying. And that was on a trained animal!

Jesus zigzags an untrained donkey down a steep slope to the very city where he knows he’ll be crucified, all while seemingly celebrating the ceremonial chants of his kingship? What kind of king chooses this? What kind of God volunteers for death? Why would anyone, Jesus included, go through such effort? And, is there any effort greater than bearing the sin of the whole world with open arms? Than defeating death once and for all?

It can’t just be about grit. This isn’t the kind of effort that brings satisfaction just because it was difficult. No, it has to be something else. It has to be that for some reason Jesus is captivated by love, a deep irradiating love for you, me, and all the world. A love that is beyond our logic of pleasure and pain. A love that is so animating and self-denying that it demands devotion and obedience, obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross. That’s what Palm Sunday is all about. It’s not just the triumphal entry, but the choice to love us all the way to suffering and death. It’s a celebration of such all-consuming love.

This Holy Week, allow yourself to be consumed by that love. Let this story, which is about to unfold over the next few days, grip you. Let it captivate you, whether you’ve heard it eighty times or it’s your first. Brooks says, “The capacity to be seized is a great and underappreciated talent.”

So be seized—by this God in flesh, riding on a donkey to his death in order to give you and me life. Don’t turn from the pain thats coming. If anything lean into - ponder it, see it for what it is - effort! Effort on your behalf. As one psychologist wrote, “effort is one of the things that gives meaning to life. Effort means that you care about something”. And it is Jesus' effort that gives meaning to our life, to your life.

All through Lent, we try our best to do hard things, painful things; not because we want the satisfaction of doing something difficult, but because the effort is a sign of devotion, an outpouring of love. This week, take your practice one step further. If it’s fasting, add a day, if it’s not eating something, remove something else. If it’s prayer, add more time.

If it's generosity, give even more. And if you didn’t start a practice—don’t worry. It’s not too late.

Come to the prayer vigil. Make Maundy Thursday a priority—hear again the Last Supper and Judas’ betrayal. Witness the pain of Good Friday. Feel it. It will make Easter Sunday all the more joyful!

We do all of this not so that we will be loved, but to see and experience just how much you are loved already. Maybe—just maybe—you’ll begin to feel the devotion that led Jesus to his death.

Yes, I’m asking you to voluntarily choose pain this week. But paradoxically I think it will make the week all the better. As C.S. Lewis said “When pain is over, it is over, and the natural sequel is joy.” The same is true for this week. There will be pain. There will be death. And there will be resurrection. But let’s not skip over the first two.

Why do we do hard things? Because love demands it. And this week, Love rides in on a donkey, walks through betrayal, bears a cross, and cracks open a tomb.

Let this love seize you.

Amen.

Prodigal Empathy

Luke 15:1-3, 11b-32

Now all the tax collectors and sinners were coming near to listen to him. And the Pharisees and the scribes were grumbling and saying, “This fellow welcomes sinners and eats with them.” So he told them this parable:

“There was a man who had two sons. The younger of them said to his father, ‘Father, give me the share of the property that will belong to me.’ So [the father] divided his property between them. A few days later the younger son gathered all he had and traveled to a distant country, and there he squandered his property in dissolute living. When he had spent everything, a severe famine took place throughout that country, and he began to be in need. So he went and hired himself out to one of the citizens of that country, who sent him to his fields to feed the pigs. He would gladly have filled himself with the pods that the pigs were eating; and no one gave him anything. But when he came to himself he said, ‘How many of my father’s hired hands have bread enough to spare, but here I am dying of hunger! I will get up and go to my father, and I will say to him, “Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son; treat me like one of your hired hands.” ’ So he set off and went to his father. But while he was still far off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion; he ran and put his arms around him and kissed him. Then the son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and before you; I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’ But the father said to his slaves, ‘Quickly, bring out a robe—the best one—and put it on him; put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. And get the fatted calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate; for this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found!’ And they began to celebrate.

“Now [the father’s] elder son was in the field; and when he came and approached the house, he heard music and dancing. He called one of the slaves and asked what was going on. He replied, ‘Your brother has come, and your father has killed the fatted calf, because he has got him back safe and sound.’ Then [the elder son] became angry and refused to go in. His father came out and began to plead with him. But he answered his father, ‘Listen! For all these years I have been working like a slave for you, and I have never disobeyed your command; yet you have never given me even a young goat so that I might celebrate with my friends. But when this son of yours came back, who has devoured your property with prostitutes, you killed the fatted calf for him!’ Then the father said to him, ‘Son, you are always with me, and all that is mine is yours. But we had to celebrate and rejoice, because this brother of yours was dead and has come to life; he was lost and has been found.’ ”

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Two Cross of Gracers, in two weeks’ time, sent me two different social media posts about something that was entirely new to me – but that is apparently picking up steam and support in certain circles of Christianity. And since then – over just the last couple of weeks – various expressions of this same idea, this belief, this theological notion keep showing up in the world around me. Have you heard people talking lately about the proposition that “empathy is a sin?”

Yeah. Empathy has been deemed a “sin” in some fundamentalist, “conservative Christian” circles of the faith. Empathy … which, according to most dictionaries means something like “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another person.” Empathy … the willingness to learn about and have compassion for the experiences of somebody else. Empathy … which sounds something like – oh, I don’t know – loving your neighbor as yourself, perhaps?

Again, in certain Christian circles, this thing called empathy is being warned about as an expression of sin.

There are books. One is called The Sin of Empathy: Compassion and its Counterfeits and another is called Toxic Empathy: How Progressives Exploit Christian Compassion. One podcaster proposed that the very word “empathy” should be struck from the Christian vocabulary, because it’s just too dangerous. And, be careful, ladies. The same guy who suggested that said that “women are especially vulnerable to this” whole empathy thing.

Another theological pundit posted this recently, which seems to come from the same cesspool of corrupt theology:

“Jesus is not a bleeding heart liberal. He did not ultimately save you out of pity for you. He saved you for his own glory. And he saved you from the infinite wrath He had against you for insulting His glory. This is the masculine theology of the Bible. Learn to love it.”

Now, the Seven Deadly Sins aren’t any more “scriptural” in that they aren’t laid out explicitly as such, like the Ten Commandments, for example. But it’s worth considering why, in the name of Jesus, anyone would add “Empathy” to a list that includes things like Pride, Gluttony, Sloth, Wrath, Greed, Lust, and Envy. Does it seem like Empathy has anything in common with the evil and brokenness on that list?!

From what I can tell, the logic/the rationale/ the theology behind all of this is a sort of self-serving, pop-psychology-inspired effort at “tough love.” It implies that being empathetic – having the capacity to share another person’s feelings, experiences, or emotions – or taking the time and doing the work of trying to accomplish that to the degree that it inspires your ability to care about and love them … that all of that is an expression of brokenness in that it looks like weakness on your part and results in harm toward others because it may allow them to keep living in their own sinfulness.

And this seems to be the case because, from what else I can tell, this way of thinking is being used very deliberately to dissuade Christian people from caring about or tending to the hurt and harm of those with whom they disagree; those they want to dislike; those that some factions of the faith are working really hard to disenfranchise. And it seems to me that, by calling Empathy a sin, they can do all of that dirty work in the name of Jesus.

It’s as if they’re saying, “Close your eyes and stop your ears to the cries of the LGBTQ+ community because your empathy, your willingness to see them as people – as Children of God, created in God’s image, just like you – only affirms, encourages, and perpetuates their capacity to sin.”

It’s as if they’re saying, “Don’t listen to the very real struggle, concerns, or need of that woman or girl who is considering an abortion, because you risk understanding her very real struggle, concern, or need, thereby facilitating her capacity to make a decision you should already disagree with.”

It’s like they’re saying, “Don’t listen to the stories and experiences of those sex workers. It might soften your heart and encourage their poor choices.”

It’s like they’re saying, “Don’t get to know the story behind those migrants who have crossed the border to save the lives of their children, as you might very well choose to do, if you were in their shoes; just keep pretending they’re all gang members and drug dealers and psychopaths so that you can more easily despise, deport, and fear them with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.”

It’s like they’re saying, “Don’t dig too deeply into the stories of those people who are homeless or you might learn about the mental illness, addiction, loss of healthcare, neglect, abuse, bad luck and broken social networks that landed them on the streets and keeps them there.”

This is a ruse. It’s a lie. It’s a trick. It is fake news that empathy is a sin.

It’s also a grand expression of cognitive dissonance for anyone who’s ever heard today’s parable. It’s like their saying, don’t pay any mind to what is probably the most popular, well-known story in all of Scripture that comes straight from the mouth of Jesus himself – this little ditty about the Prodigal Son – and, more importantly, the parables’ prodigal dad…

…this story where Dad had every right to offer some tough love to the punk ass kid who ran off with his inheritance, squandered it recklessly, and had the nerve to come back for more.

…this story where a Dad – had he been worried about committing the so-called “sin of empathy” – would have sent his long-lost-son back to the wilderness of those pig pens to slop it up with the hogs until he learned his lesson, got his act together, groveled, apologized, and learned to live right.

None of that is the story Jesus tells today, because it’s not God’s story. That is not God’s way.

Jesus tells the story where Dad – God, the Father – is overcome by empathy and compassion, lifts up his robes, runs to his child, embraces him because of his lostness – not in spite of it. Where he slaughters the fatted calf, throws a party, and then calls for some empathy from the other son who’s too busy being mad and selfish and self-righteous to understand what it means to be really, truly lost in this world. That other son – the elder brother – the one who gets corrected, if not reprimanded – by the father, was like one of these 21st Century Theo-Bros who would have called his father’s empathy a sad, sorry, sinful expression of something other than the faithfulness, mercy, and LOVE that it was.

People, do not be fooled, deceived, or tricked into seeing empathy as a sin, or as a weakness, or as something God doesn’t desire from each and every one of us. And please pay attention to and pray for the pastors, politicians, and people who proclaim otherwise.

And if you need a touch point – a reminder – some encouragement about the Truth of the worldview Jesus’ parable proclaims, please continue making your way to Calvary in the days to come.

God, in Jesus, climbing onto the cross that we find there is the greatest sign, symbol, and source of empathy the world has ever known. It is The Way. It is God, in the person of Jesus, personifying the power and blessing of empathy by living, moving, breathing, and dying his way into the shoes of the world’s people. It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t easy. And it wasn’t a sin, for God’s sake.

It was faithfulness. It was virtue. It was grace. It was tough love turned inward so that the fullness of that cosmic mercy could be poured outward for the sake of all people … all people … all people. And, it was and remains to be THE calling and cause and claim upon any of us who want to faithfully follow Jesus, in this life, for the sake of the world.

Amen