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Luke 3:7-16

John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, ‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.’

And the crowds asked him, ‘What then should we do?’ In reply he said to them, ‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’ Even tax-collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, ‘Teacher, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’ Soldiers also asked him, ‘And we, what should we do?’ He said to them, ‘Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.’

As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, ‘I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.

This weekend, I introduced my son Clive, who is not yet two, to one of my favorite holiday classics: The Grinch - the Dr. Seuss version. Clive was unimpressed. He couldn’t care less about the green antihero but loved the singing from all the Whos down in Whoville. He lasted about twenty minutes before toddling off to find some mischief of his own. But even in those twenty minutes, I couldn’t help but think: John the baptist and the grinch sure do have a whole lot in common.

Hear me out: both live out in the wilderness, far from everyone else. Both have bizarre diets - one eats locust and honey, the other chows down on trash and glass. Both shout strange things at the townspeople. Both are hairy, at least the Jim Carey version. But most importantly, and oddly enough, both the Grinch and John the Baptist have something to teach us about empathy.

Much like the grinch, John the Baptist wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy. Crowds came out to him near the Jordan river for baptism. And just like walking into a family holiday gathering, John greets them with name calling and chastisement. Maybe you can relate.

You children of snakes, John says, you think my baptism or being children of Abraham will save you?” he asks. “No, live a life worthy of repentance.” In other words, the messiah is coming and your judgement is not based on who your ancestors are or where you come from, but on how you live your life.

And so the crowds ask him, “What then should we do?” John replies: “If you’ve got two coats, give one away. If you’ve got food, share it.” Then the tax collectors—despised, likely wealthy—ask, “What about us? What should we do?” John says, “Don’t take more than you’re supposed to. Be fair.” Finally, the soldiers ask the same thing, “And what about us, what should we do?” John answers, “Be content with what you have. Don’t threaten. Don’t bully.”

Share. Be fair. Don’t bully. In other words: Have a heart, you grinches! See the pain of your neighbors. And then try—try a little—to make it better. Or at least, don’t make it worse. Give, not just have, some empathy.

This Advent, as we wait for the messiah, we’ve been asking the same question the crowds asked John: What should we do? How should we live? John’s advice is as good now as it was then. Have some empathy. And if there’s one thing we desperately need, it’s that.

A couple of weeks ago at the Racial Justice reading circle, Franci Kissel mentioned an article first published in the Detroit free press entitled, Civility Failed, so let’s try empathy. Nancy Kaffer, the author, says, “I don't think anyone likes how America feels these days… we all know that times are hard, but we don’t agree on why, who’s to blame, or what’s to be done. We cast our fellow Americans in absurd extremes, assuming the worst possible motivations.” Civility would be nice, but if we are accusing each other of horrible things, does it matter whether we are doing it nicely? What we really need, if we are going to get along and see each other as fully human as ourselves, is empathy.

The good news, says both Kaffer and David Brooks, is that empathy can be learned. The bad news is that you have to want to learn it. Most of the time, we don’t. We build and rely on defenses instead. Some of us avoid connection altogether, retreating into work or shallow interactions to protect ourselves. Others feel unworthy of love, carrying scars from neglect that undermine relationships and self-esteem. Some overreact, seeing threats where there are none and escalate conflicts. Still others rely on passive aggression, avoiding direct communication and manipulating through guilt, which erodes trust. These defenses, while once protective, now block us from truly knowing and being known by others.

If we want connection, if we are going to see others as the child of God they are, we need empathy. But empathy isn’t just having a bigger heart like the grinch. It’s not a gush of feeling that washes over you while watching a tearjerker movie. By this definition, empathy feels simple, natural even: I feel for you. But that’s not quite right. Empathy is work. David Brooks describes it as three deliberate acts.

First is mirroring. This is recognizing and reflecting someone’s emotions. A person good at mirroring is quick to experience and express the emotion someone else is feeling. My friend Kyle is great at this: when I laugh, he laughs; when I’m tired, he yawns; I’m angry and suddenly his voice takes on an edge. Mirroring helps us understand what someone is feeling because we experience it in our body too, at least a little bit.

Next is mentalizing. Once you know what someone is feeling, you try to understand why they feel the way they do. We do this by reaching back into our own experiences and relate their feelings to a time when we felt similar. You remember what it was like starting a new job, losing a loved one, or getting devastating news. It won’t be exactly the same, but it gives you some insight into their struggles.

Finally, caring. Empathy isn’t just feeling someone’s pain; it’s stepping in to help. Con artists, Brooks points out, are very good at reading people’s emotions, but we don’t call them empathetic; they take advantage of the emotion rather than offer support. Children are good at reading emotions, but not good at knowing what to do. I stubbed my toe the other day and Clive went and did the same thing. While sweet now we were both crying.

Truly caring is not only knowing how someone feels, but understanding what they need; not what you would need. When I am anxious, Katelyn doesn’t care for me with what she wants, a hug; she gives me what I want, which is space. That’s caring.

Some folks are naturally good at this. But empathy is a skill that can be learned, improved upon, just like a sport or running. It takes practice. Small things, like reading more or acting classes, anything that gets us focused on others and not ourselves, helps. Sometimes it just takes enduring the hardships of life so that you can relate to others better.

Yet, we all have received empathy. Someone has mirrored your emotions, understood your struggles, and stepped in to help when you needed it most. That kind of love changes us.

And isn’t that exactly what God does for us in Jesus? The incarnation, the very act of Christmas, is the most radical act of empathy the world has ever seen and that we’ve ever received. God doesn't stay distant, shaking God’s head at our mess and pain. Instead, God steps into our skin, literally mirroring our humanity. God feels hunger, exhaustion, grief, and rejection. In Jesus, God knows what it is to long for connection only to be met with our defenses. But God doesn’t stop there. God doesn’t just feel what we feel; God acts.

Knowing exactly what we need, God bridges the gap with a grace so powerful that it takes away our sin, breaks through every defense we put up, and restores the connection we so desperately need. Jesus hung on the cross, removed our sin, and each new day pours out grace to draw us back into relationship. That is empathy in its truest, boldest form.

So, this Christmas, I hope your heart grows like the Grinch’s—three sizes bigger and ready to love. But don’t stop there. Empathy isn’t just about a bigger heart; it’s about action. It’s about seeing someone’s pain, understanding their story, and stepping in to help.

It’s what God has done for you in Jesus, and it’s exactly what your neighbor needs from you now more than ever. This Christmas, give the gift of empathy. It might be the best gift they receive.

Amen.

John 1:6-8, 19-28

There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might come to believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.

This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent the priests and Levites to ask him, “Who are you?” He confessed and did not deny it, but he confessed, “I am not the Messiah.” They asked him, “What then, are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” Are you a prophet? He answered, “No.” “Who are you? Give us an answer for those who sent us? What do you say about yourself?” He said, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘make straight the way of the Lord,’ as the prophet Isaiah said.”

Now they were sent from the Pharisees. And they asked him, “Why then do you baptize, if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” He said, “I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know; the one coming after me. I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals.” Now, this took place in Bethany, across the Jordan where John was baptizing.

So much of what we think we know of John the Baptist is wrapped up in the very little bit we learn about him in the Gospels…all that stuff about what he wore – camel’s hair coats and leather belts; the things he ate – locusts and wild honey; …and the notion that he was doing all of this baptizing in the wilderness somewhere on the outskirts of Jerusalem, down at the Jordan River. He comes off as kind of an oddball and a kook, really.

So, we get the impression that John the Baptist was a renegade, of sorts. This one voice crying out in the wilderness… this lone wolf preaching and teaching and calling people to change their ways… this rebel down by the river, trying to persuade and prepare the hearts and minds of whoever would listen to him for the coming of this Jesus who was on the way. And that’s all true, I suppose.

I heard someone refer to John the Baptist a carnival barker, once. And I kind of liked that at the time, so I’ve tended to think of him as a hot-head, a loud-mouth, a street-preacher-type like you might find outside the stadium on game day with a microphone and a cheap amplifier – or a bull horn, maybe – with pamphlets about how to find your way to a straighter, more faithful and righteous path, you brood of vipers!

But those guys – those street-preacher-types – are loud and pretentious and more sure of themselves than they should be and more sure of themselves than I found John the Baptist to be this time around. And there’s enough yelling in the world these days… and noise... and anger... and certainty about this or that. And I confess to thinking the most un-Christ-like things when I get scolded by those carnival barking street preachers.

So I wondered, for a change, this time around, if John the Baptist might be different than all of that. And when you listen to what we heard this morning, that seems entirely possible. And maybe just as faithful, too, I’ve decided.

What I mean is, John doesn’t pretend to be any more than he is or any greater than what he’s up to – testifying to the light of grace and good news he’d apparently found in Jesus. When the powers-that-be from the synagogue in the big city come asking him to fess up … to explain himself … to give an account for his actions down there by the river … he doesn’t seem to shout or scream. He confesses, humbly, it seems to me; he doesn’t pretend to be anything other than just some guy. He says, “I am not the Messiah. I’m not Elijah. I’m not even a prophet. I’m just one voice, out there in the wilderness, trying to convince people that there’s a better way.”

“I’m just sharing what I’ve learned from scripture … from the prophet, Isaiah. I’m just baptizing with water, because that’s all I have and all I know to do. I’m just trying to give people some hope in something greater than what this world has to offer.”

And this new way of wondering about a humble, compassionate, quieter John the Baptist feels like good news to me. Because I think John the Baptist isn’t just someone we should merely listen to, in this day and age. I believe John the Baptist is someone we should emulate; someone we’re called to imitate; someone we would be blessed to learn from and follow and be more like, in a lot of ways.

And this seems more likely – more possible – when I consider him differently, because I’ve never been as cool or as loud or as certain as the John the Baptist I’ve always pictured and preached about before. And I become less and less cool the older I get – just ask my children. I threw out my camel’s hair coat years ago. I’m good with wild honey, I suppose, but you can keep the locusts, thank you very much. And besides all of that, the “wilderness” of New Palestine, Indiana, just isn’t all that “wild” by the world’s standards, if we’re honest. So when I think about what it would mean to emulate or imitate John the Baptist, I’ve never felt equal to the challenge.

How… here… am I – how are we – supposed to go about “preparing the way of the Lord?” How… here… are we called to go about “making God’s paths straight” for the world around us? How do people like you and me “testify to the light so that others might come to believe” and how do we do it, now, where we are, in the world as we know it, in the days leading up to Christmas? And into what wilderness are we being called to do any of this?

Well, there are relationships in jeopardy that would surprise you. There are kids in the school cafeteria – or in the dorm next door – who are lost and lonely in ways they can’t put into words. There are some illnesses waiting to be diagnosed and others that seem like they’ll have the last word, sooner than we’d like. There are jobs on the line and paychecks that just don’t cut it. There are people in this room holding it together really well on the outside, but falling apart behind the closed doors of their heart of hearts, believe me. (Those social media feeds are a big fat lie a lot of the time.) And there are skeptics and cynics and sinners around every corner – and in our own mirror more often than we’d like to admit it.

And I don’t believe the best way to address all of that wilderness is loudly … or with words at all, even. It can’t be explained away with even the most perfectly chosen verses of Scripture. And it can’t be preached away from the pulpit, or barked into oblivion from the street corner, either.

It might soften, though, with some quiet companionship. The wilderness might feel less desperate with some persistent, patient friendship. It might dissipate with some humble confession about our shared experience and common ground. The wilderness might not feel so scary if we – and others – didn’t have to walk through it alone. And I wonder if all those people were drawn to John the Baptist, because he wasn’t afraid to be himself. He wasn’t pretending to be anything more than who he was. And because who he was – with all of his awkward, strange, oddball ways – was just right for the grace he came to proclaim.

So, maybe we can bring the good news – you and I – like John did. We can be the love of God, crying out in the wilderness, not just with loud words of judgment, but maybe with quiet tears, for a change, of understanding and empathy, too. Like John, we can be a voice for the Word of God that shows up in Jesus, that speaks of comfort for the lonely; forgiveness for the sinner; new life for the dying; hope for the brokenhearted – because we need, hope and long for all of those things, too; just like John did, I’m sure.

I think that’s our call these days … to be one voice … each of us … among many … walking the crooked road of life as we know it in and alongside this crowded, broken world, until the One comes, finally – the One who makes all things new, all paths smooth, all sins forgiven, all life redeemed, all joy forever, all fear relieved, all peace eternal, and all grace for all people in the name of the Father, +Son and Holy Spirit.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

The Art of Empathy

A Voice Among Many