Sermons

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

What's Deserved?

Luke 13:1-9

At that very time there were some present who told him about the Galileans whose blood Pilate had mingled with their sacrifices. He asked them, “Do you think that because these Galileans suffered in this way they were worse sinners than all other Galileans?

No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish as they did. Or those eighteen who were killed when the tower of Siloam fell on them—do you think that they were worse offenders than all the others living in Jerusalem? No, I tell you; but unless you repent, you will all perish just as they did.”

Then he told this parable: “A man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard; and he came looking for fruit on it and found none. So he said to the gardener,

‘See here! For three years I have come looking for fruit on this fig tree, and still I find none. Cut it down! Why should it be wasting the soil?’

He replied, ‘Sir, let it alone for one more year, until I dig around it and put manure on it. If it bears fruit next year, well and good; but if not, you can cut it down.’”


Did they deserve it? That’s the question Jesus poses to the people reporting a recent tragedy under Pilate's rule. Pilate was known for cruelty and contempt toward the Jewish people. In this case, some Galilean Jews were offering sacrifices when Pilate’s soldiers slaughtered them, mixing their blood with that of the animals, desecrating the sacred rite. It was as if Pilate declared: these Jews are no more human than the animals they slaughter.

The people came to Jesus to confirm what they already believed: “Did you hear about that horrible death? What did they do to deserve it?” They wanted an explanation. Surely, there had to be a reason. The common explanation was sin: divine punishment.

That was the belief of the day: suffering was punishment for sin, your own or your parents’. But Jesus pushes back. It’s not their sins that caused this, which feels like good news—until Jesus warns them not to think themselves better. To drive the point home, he tells them about a tower that collapsed and killed 18 Jerusalemites. Did they deserve it? Were they worse sinners than others? No, Jesus says, but unless you repent, you will perish just as they did. Is that a threat? A promise? A prophecy?

Jesus doesn’t explain, just like he doesn’t explain suffering. Isn’t that hard for us too? We long for explanations for suffering—ours and others'. We’re often gentler on ourselves, but when it comes to others’ pain, we’re tempted to look for fault.

When tragedy strikes—a plane crash, a tornado, a terrible car accident—we don’t think those people had it coming. We think: tragedy, bad luck, not divine punishment.

But what about poverty? What about homelessness? We see a tent compound, trash scattered around. We might not say they deserve it—but we think: if only they made better decisions, if they avoided addiction, if they took care of their health, maybe they wouldn’t be in this situation.

This year, we’ve been learning and talking a lot about homelessness, especially here in Indianapolis. Our high school students and I have spent this semester diving deep into the issue as part of their Sunday School curriculum. The advocacy workshop we hosted focused on two Indiana bills addressing homelessness. So I was eager to attend the Spring Faith and Action conference at Christian Theological Seminary, which focused on that very topic.

The keynote speaker was an author and activist I hadn’t heard of before: David Ambroz.

He started by sharing a bit of his own story. Born into homelessness, he, his mother, and two siblings roamed the streets of New York City, living mainly in Grand Central station. He recounted one particularly cold night, Christmas Eve, when David was just five years old.

It’s frigid and they are wandering the streets for hours, ice forming on their faces, as his mom flees the people she believes are chasing them. It’s only after David has peed himself and pleaded profusely that she relents and they go to a men’s shelter, where they are given a single cot for all four of them.

Laying on that cot, David remembers his mom, the caring mom now, asking him “do you want this”, gesturing to the lost souls in the shelter. “No!” he cried. “I don’t want this. I don’t want to sit here in my own urine, surrounded by nameless, homeless shadows.” But in the dark, Mom sparks something: hope. I’m five, but I know this—I want a roof, a bed, blankets. I want to protect my siblings. I want to protect Mom from mom. “Good,” Mom says softly. For a moment, she’s the mom I dream of. We pile together on the cot, and I fall asleep, held by hope.

The story was as powerful as the rest of his keynote. David talked about his time in foster care, he offered solutions, but he ended by asking, “Do you think I deserved to be homeless, to be grinded up in the foster care system? Do you think the people who live on your streets deserve such suffering? No! But until we change our thinking, until we don’t believe these people and children in utter poverty deserve this, nothing will change. We have the capability to end childhood homelessness and poverty—we just don’t have the willpower, because in our heart of hearts, we still believe they deserve this.”

That's exactly what Jesus is getting at. People living in poverty, living on the streets, are not suffering because of divine judgment. Jesus may not explain why suffering happens, but he makes clear it is not a punishment from God for one’s sins. That’s not to say sin doesn’t have consequences; surely it does. But I would ask: What sin is worse—the ones that contributed to being homeless, or having the means and resources to help but choosing not to? And I don’t just mean individually, but as a community, as a society.

In greater Indianapolis, we have spent over a billion dollars on sports stadiums and parks in the last 15 years, most of it coming from tax increases. Not even 4% of that has gone toward housing and homelessness. If anything, people are suffering more from our sin: from the slow, unjust systems we have created, from having the means as a society and as individuals to help, but choosing not to. From the self-righteous thought that they must be worse sinners than us, that they deserve this suffering.

Yet, thankfully, the trying task of deciding which sins are worse, which deserve punishment and which don’t, is an unnecessary and unfruitful task—one Jesus is uninterested in.

What I hear Jesus saying is: the people you assume are worse sinners than you are not. And unless we repent, unless we change our thinking, unless we turn to help, we will suffer too. As Bonhoeffer said, “We are bound together by a chain of suffering which unites us with one another and with God.” Because God doesn’t explain suffering; God shares it. To redeem all the suffering of the world, God did not command suffering to stop but rather became flesh in Jesus and suffered with us. It is by his suffering that we are redeemed and given the opportunity to lessen the suffering of others.

We are the fig tree, given another year, another day, another moment to bear fruit, to lessen the suffering of others. In Jesus’ eyes, we are not a waste of soil, of resources, opportunities, or time—and neither are those who live in tents, stay in cars, or sleep on sidewalks.

What does bearing fruit look like in our time and place? It’s simple, but not easy: It means doing what we can and acknowledging the humanity of those suffering around us. If you’re wondering how to begin, here are some ways you can bear fruit in this community.

Next Sunday after second service, I am taking our high school students to Horizon House, an organization dedicated to helping our neighbors experiencing homelessness get permanent, safe housing. We’ll get a tour and make some sandwiches for their guests. You are welcome to come; just please let me know if you’re interested.

And if that doesn’t work for you, consider reaching out to Lutheran Child and Family Services. They run the only long-term housing program for kids aging out of the foster system, many of whom are at the highest risk for homelessness. I learned just this week that their on-site pantry is running low and could use food donations. If you can help, reach out to me, and I’ll connect you with the right person.

Lastly, I leave you with the same charge David Ambroz gave at the conference: we may not be able to help every person we see on the streets, and he can’t either. But he does acknowledge them. He looks them in the eye and says, “I’m sorry I can’t help today, but good luck.” If nothing else, we can do that—acknowledge their humanity with kindness and respect. When that happened to David as a child, it let him know, if even for a moment that he mattered, that there was hope. Our neighbors certainly deserve that.

And what about us, do we deserve all that God gives us? The second chances, the boundless love, the endless grace with no strings attached?

No. But thank God we don’t get what we deserve. Amen.