Empathy Over Apathy

I’m a crier. Not a silent, pretty crier, either. I’m a loud, sobbing, puffy-eyes and a headache that lasts for hours, nose full of snot kind of crier.

Trust me, I’m much more like a creature from the deep than I am a Disney princess when the dam breaks.

I cry a lot. Books with sad endings make me cry. Books with happy endings also make me cry. Movies that involve someone else crying make me cry. Hallmark previews make me cry. Sappy commercials make me cry. Thinking about that one thing I read about that happened twenty years ago makes me cry. Being nervous makes me cry. Thinking about my son growing up fast makes me cry. A sweet gift makes me cry.

I’m pretty sure God made me this way to keep me humble. It’s hard to think too much of yourself when you are constantly rocking the puffy-eyed, snot monster look.

When I was younger, I loved crying. Ok, I didn’t really love the act of crying, but I loved emotional stories, which caused me to cry. Back then, it didn’t bother me.

I once went with a friend to see the movie Love and Basketball in the theater on an off night, and luckily, not many people were there. I was a basketball player, and my teenage dreams were up there on that screen. I don’t remember why, exactly, (it might have been that I was being too loud for my friend), but I ended up sitting cross-legged in the middle of the theater aisle, sobbing.

Another time, I was listening to an audiobook on my drive home from work, and I was so moved by the storyline of a mother thinking about how fast her son was growing up, that I started bawling and didn’t realize I was speeding. The cop who pulled me over was very kind as I sobbed my explanation of what was happening in the story and how I had a little boy and I didn’t even realize I was speeding. He let me go with a warning and a suggestion to hold off on that particular book until I got home.

I know, I know. I’ve lost all my macho points. Here, take my card. It’s yours.

For a few years, though, I really tried to close down the waterworks. Somewhere along the way, shortly after college, when married life and adulting set in, I started closing myself off. I’d actively avoid things that might make me cry. A student would recommend a book, and before they’d get far, I’d ask, “Is it sad?” If they said yes, I would respond with something like, “Thanks for the recommendation, but I don’t ‘do sad.’”

For years, I didn’t ‘do sad.’ At least…if I could help it, I wouldn’t. I felt life was too hard by itself. I didn’t need any more sadness added to it. I only intended this to apply to entertainment or news/information I consumed. I wouldn’t watch the news - too sad. No heartbreaking books or movies - too sad. If a sappy commercial came on, I’d turn it off immediately.

Somehow, though, my avoidance of crying bled into my interactions with people. Where once I would cry along with someone, I would now just listen stoically as I erected a sort of mental wall to keep my emotions at bay. I wouldn’t think too deeply about their troubles because I didn’t want to hurt the way they were hurting. It was easier to try to listen, compartmentalize, and then put that bit of info away and move on. It was safer for me.

The byproduct of this mental shielding was I didn’t have to do much to help others. If I didn’t let myself feel their pain, then I didn’t have any real urgency to help.

The word is empathy. Although by nature, I am a very empathetic person, I had turned that part of me way down, and there were consequences to my faith and witness. A cold, hard apathy started growing in my heart, giving me permission to walk away from those who were hurting and in need.

Thankfully, God was able to get through to me, eventually, and my empathy dial started moving up again.

The heartbreaking tragedy in Ukraine brought this all back to mind.

Tears have been very near the surface these days. When Russia invaded Ukraine, I was in disbelief, like many of us were. I checked updates constantly, and my heart broke for some of the stories being shared: Civilians hiding in bunkers, a kindergarten being bombed, a teacher taking up arms to defend her people, a maternity ward destroyed, normal families trying to escape war being shot down.

Even now, I can’t. I can’t think about this without the tears coming. But, it’s okay. It is hard, but that’s okay too.

After a couple of days of reading updates and being emotionally spent, I was tempted to rebuild my mental shield, to close off the part of me that hurt for the Ukrainians and allow myself to turn again to apathy under the guise of self-preservation. Before I let my desire to protect my own emotions harden my heart, I remembered a story from John 11.

Jesus arrived in Bethany to the news his friend Lazarus had died. Lazarus’s sisters, Mary and Martha, were both clearly hurting. Both seemed to blame Jesus in a way, each telling Jesus in verses 22 and 33 if he had been there, Lazarus wouldn’t have died.

Even so, Jesus grieved with them. He didn’t rebuke them or respond stoically, instead, “When Jesus saw [Mary] weeping, and the Jews who had come along with her also weeping, he was deeply moved in spirit and troubled” (John 11: 33).

Shortly after, Jesus was invited to go see where Lazarus had been placed. At that moment, John tells us “Jesus wept” (John 11:35).

Again, when Jesus arrives at the tomb, we are told he was “once more deeply moved” (John 11:38).

Spoiler alert - Jesus was about to raise Lazarus from the dead. He does not need to mourn the death of his friend here. Lazarus was about to walk right out to everyone, very much alive.

So, why was Jesus weeping then? Why was he “deeply moved and troubled”? Jesus’ emotions are center stage for five verses. In this picture of Jesus, we don’t see the hardened conqueror and macho man many wanted Jesus to be. Instead, we see a leader, our God, who cries with us. He hurts as his people hurt.

Jesus is empathic. He is our perfect friend. He doesn’t just see us and hear us; he feels with us. He mourned because Mary and Martha and those around him mourned. As their hearts broke, so did his. He shared in their grief, even though he knew it would turn to rejoicing.

Even today, he doesn’t turn away when we have big feelings or experience pain. Psalm 34:18 says “the Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit.” We serve a God of empathy.

If Jesus can cry for Lazarus, I can cry for Ukraine. I can bear witness to their suffering, and I can let the pain and sorrow I feel for them lead me to action, to do good. For me, that has meant praying for them regularly, leading our church in prayer and raising awareness, and giving monetarily to support compassionate ministries going on in the country and with refugees.

It’s more than just Ukraine. I can cry with my neighbor when they’ve lost a loved one. I can cry with my students when they share their struggles. I can share in their joys, too, of course, but the bigger idea is that, instead of guarding myself, I open myself up to the needs of others, to listen, pray, and act. Whatever the need is, I can’t serve others well if I don’t love them. How can I love them if I won’t let myself feel for them?

Your empathy doesn’t have to lead to tears, but I do hope it leads to action. I hope instead of shielding yourself, you allow yourself to feel the depth of need and you respond accordingly.

I leave you with this.

Paul says in 2 Corinthians 1:3-4, “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God."

Comforting in these verses sounds a lot like empathy to me. Where apathy isolates and weakens, empathy unites and empowers us to do God’s work in the moment. It lets us love.

Empathy is something we can choose because it has been gifted to us. As God comforts us, we are to comfort others. We can choose to let others impact us. Then, we can let our empathy move us to action.

We can do this. We can ‘do sad’ if we need to. Empathy beats apathy any day, but we have to make that choice.

Bring on the tissues.