The Art of Empathy

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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.

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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.

The Right Questions

Mark 8:27-30

Jesus went on with his disciples to the villages of Caesarea-Philippi. Along the way he asked them, “Who do people say that I am?” They said to him, “John the Baptist; and others, Elijah; and still others, one of the prophets.” Jesus said to them, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter answered him, “You are the Messiah.” And Jesus sternly ordered them not to tell anyone about him.

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I hope you remember we’re focusing our time during these Advent days on a book by David Brooks called How to Know a Person: The Art of Seeing Others Deeply and Being Deeply Seen, in which he talks about pragmatic, practical practices to achieve spiritual, holy ways of living in the world.

And Brooks devotes a whole chapter to the idea of and the power behind questions. With the aim of growing into the kind of people who want to know others more deeply – to see them for who they really are and to care about that – Brooks proposes that we should be the kind of people who ask questions. And not just any questions, but good, curious, open-ended, thoughtful questions that invite others to respond comfortably … in ways that reveal something about who they are, how they see and experience the world, and how they want to be seen and received by others around them.

Brooks goes so far as to say that he’s, “come to think of questioning as a moral practice. When you are asking a good questions, you are adopting a posture of humility. You’re confessing that you don’t know and you want to learn. You’re also honoring a person. We all like to think we are so clever that we can imagine what’s going on in another’s mind. But the evidence shows that this doesn’t work. People are just too different from each other, too complicated, too idiosyncratic.”

I learned a long time ago – either from my Psychology and Counseling classes or from watching Oprah – about the danger of certain kinds of questions. Questions like “Where do you work?” or “Where do you live?” or “If you went to college and where?” aren’t the best things to ask when you’re just being introduced to someone.

Brooks says those questions imply that you’re about to make a judgment about a person based on their responses. Someone pointed out to me once that, asking someone what they do for a living – which is probably a first inclination for many of us, right? – implies and perpetuates a false notion that what we do for work is the most important, valuable, interesting thing about us. (That may be true for some, but surely isn’t true for most.)

We all know, too, how superficial and worthless it is to ask most folks how they’re doing when we greet them – the answer is almost always “fine,” or “okay,” or “good, how are you?” Which is to say, the answer is always incomplete, at its best, and it’s often a lie, at its worst. We’re rarely 100% “fine,” “okay,” or “good.” And there are plenty of days when we offer those answers when we are feeling everything but “fine,” “okay,” or “good.”

If you’ve ever participated in our CrossRoads class for folks curious about the ministry here, you know that one of my favorite ice-breaker questions is, “Where did you live when you were in the 8th grade?” I always like the surprising geographical connections made between whoever is in the room. It’s fun to see who has landed in Indiana from the farthest distance. We’ve had people realize they grew up in the same or neighboring towns in other states. We’ve had people who knew the same pastors or who went to the same church, way back in the day. But the connections and common ground are often deeper than that, because it’s hard to talk about where you lived in 8th grade without also, perhaps, mentioning why; or how long ago that was for you; or what your life was like in those days.

David Brooks offers up some really good questions in his book that I hope you’ll consider asking folks at your next office Christmas party or family gathering in the days ahead:

“What’s working really well in your life at the moment?”

“What are you most confident about?”

“When was a time you adapted to change?”

“What has become clearer to you as you’ve gotten older?”

“What’s a Christmas tradition your family keeps?

Again, consider those questions in the days to come and be bold about asking them of others to see what comes of the answers you receive and share.

Because, remember – and here comes the spiritual, holy part of it all – the point of this sermon series and of this Advent journey together, is to open ourselves to the birth of Jesus in ways I believe God intended from the very beginning. In a world where people are increasingly distant from one another and divided by so many things … In a world where we increasingly let technology do the talking and the working for us … In a world where it’s easier to hide behind screens and so tempting to stick to our cultural, political, theological silos … I believe the Gospel of the incarnation – the good news of God showing up among us as a human being – is as holy, as challenging, and as relevant as it ever was.

David Brooks closes his chapter on questions by saying, “Each person is a mystery. And when you are surrounded by mysteries … it’s best to live life in the form of a question.”

And I think that’s something Jesus teaches us, too … to live life in the form of a question. People like to pretend that having faith and living a life of faith is about being certain and knowing answers and having black-and-white, yes-and-no, right-and-wrong views on life’s most pressing questions.

But more often than not, it seems to me, Jesus responds to the request for those things – certainty… answers… yes/no, black/white, right/wrong propositions – with more questions, or stories, at least, that leave a whole lot up to our interpretation and imagination.

When his followers come to him asking that he interpret the signs in the sun, the moon and the stars… when they come hoping for a sign, telling them that the end is near … Jesus doesn’t give a hard and fast answer. He says, “no one knows; neither the angels in heaven, nor the son, but only the Father,” so just keep your eyes peeled, be curious, and get ready.

When that lawyer asked Jesus once, “Who is my neighbor?,” Jesus doesn’t give him a list of addresses or a litany of names. He tells him a story about a particular Samaritan that contradicted everything they’d ever been taught to believe about any Samaritans – that they could be good, merciful, kind, loving neighbors – and better and more righteous, even, than a priest and a Levite.

And this morning, while he’s milling around the region of Caesarea-Philippi, he asks his disciples to let him know what the word on the street is about him. What are people saying? What have you heard? “Who do people say that I am?”

And they tell him what they think he’s after – the rumor, the gossip, the wrong answers and assumptions of the people on the street. And I imagine they take great joy in the foolish things people are saying. “Those idiots think you’re John the Baptist!” “I heard some knucklehead say you were Elijah, come back to life!” “I think people are so dumb and desperate they’ve painted you as some prophet like back in the day.”

But all of that just sets the stage for what Jesus is really after – for the question he really wants an answer to: “Who do YOU say that I am?”

Because Jesus knows he’ll be able to tell a whole lot about how … whoever … answers that question. And Peter does. And Peter gets it right. Which took some guts. It took some courage. It took some wisdom and understanding and a whole lot of faith. Peter calls Jesus the Messiah, without apology or hesitation, it seems. And it earned Peter a place of honor and respect in the eyes of Jesus. He became “the Rock” on which the Church would stand.

And this question matters for us, still. Who is this Jesus we’ll celebrate at Christmas? Who is this Jesus we’re waiting on? Who do we say that he is, was, or will be? There may be as many answers to these questions as there are people listening to me now: He is a Comforter, a Redeemer, a Judge. He is a Savior, a Brother, a Healer. He is a Friend, a Stranger, a Mystery, and more.

And what if we were as curious about the way our friends, family and neighbors might answer that question as Jesus seemed to be? What if we sincerely wondered who Jesus is – if anything – to the people in our lives and in this world? And how might their answers impact our relationship to them?

So let’s not go about asking any of these questions because we want to prove who’s right and who’s wrong. Let’s ask more and better questions. And let’s be genuinely curious – not at all judgmental – about the answers we might hear from each other and from our neighbors. And let’s listen for the wants, needs, hopes, and longings of those around us – like Jesus would.

And let’s respond, through our very lives, with who and how Jesus calls us to be: utterly human; afraid sometimes; hopeful, when we can muster it; full of grace; offering mercy; praying for peace; extending forgiveness; doing justice; and shining light into the darkness of this world God loved enough to show up in it.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.