The Call to Empathy

Pain is inevitable. At some point in this life, everyone will experience pain. Some may experience it more often than others; some may experience it more deeply than others. But absolutely no one escapes it.
It is easy to feel alone in pain, as if no one else could possibly understand the level of hurt that another is dealing with. But as a Christian, it doesn't need to be this way. The beauty of the body of Christ is that it provides a family of other believers who feel for one another. We celebrate each others' triumphs. We mourn each others' losses. Or at least we ought to.
Sometimes we forget that this is our duty to one another, but Galatians 6:2 specifically commands us as followers of Christ to "bear each other's burdens." This is more than a command to feel bad for what another person is experiencing, but is a call to actually feel pain on behalf of what the other is experiencing. This is always an inconvenient, and at times even a seemingly impossible task. Even when a friend desires me to share in joy, I find it difficult to take my focus off of myself long enough to actually feel joy with them. I may easily fake brief happiness for another's sake, but to take the time to genuinely rejoice alongside someone else requires an amount of energy I rarely feel comfortable giving.
And if that is what it takes to relate to the joy of another, then feeling pain on someone else's behalf must be drastically more difficult. It is one thing to inconvenience myself enough to feel joy, but how much more burdensome it is to take my focus off of myself for the purpose of feeling pain. Let alone pain that is not mine. To many, it would seem unnecessary to put themselves through that.
But as brothers and sisters in the family of believers living in a world in which we do not belong, I would argue that it is absolutely necessary for you to feel my pain, and for me to feel yours. Because that is what Jesus did for each of us.
As Christians look to Christ's death for salvation, we ought to look to His life for sanctification. One of the most powerful chapters in the Bible is John 11, which describes the scene shortly after the death of Jesus' dear friend, Lazarus. It is here that we see our savior at His most human. He cries out in His own pain at the loss of His friend. He is "deeply moved" with grief on behalf of Mary and Martha who lost a brother. He hurts with them and for them. In this we see that God came to us to weep with us. We cannot seek to be like Christ and miss this critical aspect of His humanity.
It is also through Christ's example that we see that empathy is much more than an emotion; we find that the call to "bear each other's burdens" is a call to action. We cannot do for the hurting what Jesus did for Lazarus, Mary, and Martha. We cannot heal wounds or restore loss. But we can lead them to the One who does.
In Jesus' first encounter with Martha after her brother's death, we see an exchange of truth. She states her knowledge of His power. He confirms it. She remembers that He is the Messiah.
Faith doesn't come easily in pain. Sometimes, even when one knows the truth deep down, it is difficult to believe it. When a friend is hurting, one of the most powerful things that can be done is to speak truth to one another. To say it out loud over and over until it is believed again. And to not grow impatient with the one struggling in pain for belief.
Next, as Jesus asks for Martha's sister, Mary, we see a crucial aspect of Christlike empathy. The passage says that Jesus was "deeply moved in spirit and troubled" when He saw Mary's pain. After He asks her to take Him to the grave, He offers her no words. The Bible simply states that "Jesus wept."
I will never forget a time shortly after my mom's death, I was sitting in the car with a friend telling her what I was feeling, telling her about my pain and my fears. She hadn't said anything in a while, so I looked over at her. She was crying. Strange as it may seem, I was comforted to see her tears. She wasn't crying out of her own sadness. She knew she hadn't experienced the loss. She was crying for me - on behalf of my pain. There was nothing she could say to make it better, she offered no vague promise that "it will be OK," she just cried. We should never overestimate the power of empty words, or underestimate the power of compassionate tears.
The last thing Jesus does before returning life to Lazarus, is pray. He prays to express His own praise to God, but He also does this for the benefit of those around Him. He does something for them that they could not do on their own. This is huge.
Many people tell hurting friends that they are praying for them, but how many actually get down on their knees and cry out to God for the sake of those hurting? Sometimes pain is so deep that words can't be found for it. That all one can bring to God for himself is tears. This is why God gave us each other. So that you can pray for me when I cannot pray for myself, and so that I can do the same for you.
Finally, Jesus does the impossible: He raises Lazarus from the dead. And with this restoration of life comes restoration of hope, joy, and faith to the mourning. It is crucial to remember that healing will come, whether in this life or the next. We are promised that this world is not all there is; Jesus has more for us than the pain we experience here. And though it may not seem possible, He will return the hurting to the joy of their salvation, to the joy of the truth of who He is - the Christ who performs miracles. 

Why It's Hard to Write These Days...

One of my goals for the year was to be more disciplined in my writing. My purpose in making this goal was to write more frequently and on a wider variety of topics. Well, we're two months into 2014 and this is my first post this year. And guess what I'm going to write about...

I would have thought that by this time. things would be different. I would have thought that in the nine months since Mom's death my feelings would be different, and maybe I'd have a hard time writing because those feelings would be hard to put into words; but in actuality, the opposite is true. In actuality, I have a hard time writing because my feelings are the same, and it's hard to find new words with which to describe them. In actuality, I dread writing another blog concerning my grieving process, but what else is there to write about? I realize that life around me is going on - seasons are changing, friends are getting married, new lives are being born. Yet I also realize that life is going on without her, and with that realization comes a flood of grief that is just as fresh as the day that she left this life. 

Soon after Mom's passing, someone told me, "You never really stop grieving, you just change the way you do it over time." I know that this is true, as I have experienced it in the past. But everything I know about grief has been different with this experience. No other event in my lifetime has been so crippling, so heart-wrenching, so life-changingly painful as the loss of my mother. No other event has affected my every single day life the way that her death has. No other event has taken so much time to change the way I grieve. With each new day comes new experiences I wish I could share with my mom, and that never feels any less painful.

This is why it's hard to write. I hate to be redundant. I hate to draw attention to an event that happened so many months ago. But I guess that's my point - it didn't just happen so many months ago, it's still happening for me. So for now, I will keep saying what I've been saying all along: life is hard, but God is good.