Pastor Mark

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.’ ”


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

Buddha, Jesus, and the Wilderness of Lent

Luke 4:1-13

Then Jesus, full of the Holy Spirit, returned from the Jordan and was lead by the Spirit into the wilderness, where for forty days he was tempted by the devil. He ate nothing at all during those days and when they were over, he was famished. The devil said to him, “If you are the Son of God, command this stone to become a loaf of bread.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘One does not live by bread alone.’”

Then the devil led him up and showed up in an instant all the kingdoms of the world. And the devil said to him, “To you I will give their glory and all this authority; for it has been given over to me, and I give it to anyone I please. If you, then, will worship me, it will all be yours.” Jesus answered him, “It is written, ‘Worship the Lord your God, and serve only him.’”

Then the devil took him to Jerusalem, and placed him on the pinnacle of the temple, saying to him, “If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down from here, for it is written, ‘He will command his angels concerning you, to protect you,’ and ‘On their hands they will bear you up, so that you will not dash your foot against a stone.’” Jesus answered him, “It is said, ‘Do not put the Lord your God to the test.’”

When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.


I read a story in the desert of Phoenix last week about the Buddha, which made me think differently about the story of Jesus’s temptation in the wilderness – or desert, as some versions tell it. Their stories sound similar in some ways, actually, and I love it when the world’s religions share some common ground.

Before he became the enlightened teacher and Buddha, of Buddhism, he was Prince Siddhartha. He wanted to see more of the world, but had never stepped out of the protection and opulence of his own city’s limits, because his father, the King, wanted to protect him from the world’s suffering. One day, though, when he was about 30 years old, I believe – the prince asked his chariot driver to take him as far out and far away from the city gates as possible. And when he did, the story goes, he encountered – not so much temptation, like the story of Jesus goes, necessarily – but the prince encountered the four realities of life: old age, sickness, death, and renunciation.

Ultimately, the prince came to see that an enlightened life is, in fact, a form of suffering, lived between the extremes of his former life of opulence and self-indulgence and the life of self-denial he experienced and practiced in his own wilderness wandering. Enlightenment lies somewhere between the extremes of indulgence and self-denial.

Hold on to that story for a moment, if you could, I’ll come back to it. Because I also came across a poem this week that was written by Michael Coffey, a Lutheran pastor, probably many years ago. I’m not sure exactly when I first read it. But I saved it in a file because it’s all about the beginning of Lent – these wilderness days for us as Christian-flavored people in the world. It’s called “Ash Thursday.”

Ash Thursday

He did the yearly, black, solemn ritual
and got smeared and humbled, though he
didn’t like it much, with the flecks falling down
in his eyelashes and the soul’s grief exposed, so
he got home and stared at his conundrummed face
for five minutes, give or take, in the bathroom mirror.

It wrecked him to be so humiliated, so mortified,
he washed away the ashen cross and dreamed of dying.
He woke up Thursday and after peeing and scratching
looked in the mirror and there it was, like a Mardi Gras drunken tattoo,
his forehead graffitied, black, sooty,
haunting him. He wore it all day like an unbandaged wound.

At bedtime that night, he washed and slept like a storm-tossed boat,
woke up to his sunrise reflection, his sleet eyes squinted again.
It was back – his skin tagged with midnight streaks – and he walked the day,
mortal through to his marrow.

After that first Ash Thursday, and Ash Friday,
and Ash Tomorrow, Ash Next Week,
Ash March, Ash Autumn, Ash Solstices,
never a day went by when he didn’t see it, let it have its way.
Never a day went by, thereafter, that he didn’t
rise to bless himself with Wednesday’s words:
remember you are dust and to dust you shall return,
and every day then on he was his free earthy self until he died.

“…every day then on he was his free earthly self until he died.”

I think this is something like what Jesus was up to during his own wilderness wandering back in the day – and something like what the Buddha learned, too. And I think it’s what we’re called to, still, so many centuries later as we begin another season of Lent, making our way through these days of repentance and reflection, remembering Jesus’ journey to and through the Cross at Calvary – and our invitation to something similar.

And when I read this Gospel again this time around – with that story of the Buddha in my head – I was reminded about the fact that, unlike the Buddha’s dad, the King, God the Father, by way of the Holy Spirit, was the one who moved Jesus into that wilderness. All of this wilderness wandering was God’s idea – it was the very notion and inspiration of the divine, in the first place.

Day after day, Jesus was tried and tested. Day after day, for a significant chunk of time, he fasted and he fought; he struggled, he suffered, he sacrificed. And it was the Holy Spirit – he was full of it, we’re told, right from the start – and it was the Spirit of God that sent Jesus out of town. It was the Spirit of God that opened him up to this time of trial. It was the Spirit of God that pushed Jesus to embrace and to engage this dealing with the dark side of life in this world – to spend some time being tempted by opulence, glory, and power; living in the midst of that and his denial of it, too.

But, so often, we’re inclined to believe that any encounter with the “darkness,” whatever that might be for us, is to be avoided, to be escaped, to be run from, to be feared at all costs. But as we begin another Lenten journey, I can’t help but see Jesus, led by God’s Holy Spirit, into the wilderness of darkness and danger, and wonder why and where God might be leading you and me this time around, too.

Now, I don’t want to suggest we put ourselves in harm’s way. None of us is the Messiah, after all, as far as I can tell. So I’m not suggesting that, if you’re a recovering alcoholic you spend your weekends at the bar, just to see if you can resist. If you struggle against internet pornography, I’m not proposing you go buy a new computer. If the darkness of depression is a struggle for you, please follow your doctor’s orders and keep taking your meds.

But I am suggesting that, like Buddha, and Jesus, and the guy in that poem show us, we not be afraid to look our struggles and our sin, our greatest temptations and the world’s suffering full in the face – and that we use these days before Easter to see all of that in the light of God’s power, instead of continuing to see it only through the fog of our own brokenness and fear.

See, I’m under the impression that Jesus engaged those 40 days in the wilderness so he could get about the business of who he was, following his baptism, and of what God called him to do and to be for the sake of the world because of that baptism. And I think that’s just exactly what God means for our forgiveness and God’s mercy to be for us every day that we live.

The blessing of being baptized and claimed as children of God – as little Caden Keiffner will remind us soon enough – is that we don’t have to fear our brokenness – or the broken darkness of this world. We don’t have to hold fast to all the reasons we have to be sad or ashamed or embarrassed or full of regret about our sins. We don’t have to be consumed or overcome by the world’s grief and suffering – or our own. Instead, we can let it give us some perspective, we can see it all in light of something more, something better, something different – which God promises us just the same.

Because, this wilderness and temptation business isn’t about our ability to resist and to choose what’s right at every turn. (Remember, again, none of us is Jesus, our even Buddha, as far as I can tell.) Instead, we are enlightened and liberated by the Truth and Good News that even when we don’t resist the temptations; even when we do take the bait; even when our sinfulness wins; even when we choose the darkness; or when the darkness of this life chooses us more often than we’d like – the love, mercy and hope of God, in Jesus, continues to choose us, all the more.

Amen