I am fortunate to have a family who taught empathy well. They knew the sound of unheard cries and it's them that taught me to listen so intently. I don't claim to be Snow White, lifting a dainty finger to catch all the broken souls. But I often cringe when reading an embarrassing moment of my favorite character. I've hid clenched fists when I couldn't protect someone from injustice. I know the stinge of a rising throat-lump.
Good grief. I can't even watch elderly people spill something. I'm a sap, you guys.
There's something to be said for the empaths. Among us all exists a generation of people who severely need someone to walk beside them in the valley of the shadow of death. In silence. In support. The more words thrown in their direction, the deeper their wounds. I save a soft spot for broken hearted people. And yet...there's also a generation in need of guidance, or advice, or a push. It's these things in which my skill level runs out. A focus of pure empathy can lead to lack of progress. An overcompensation of no-enablement policy can lead to a lack of healing. So what do we do, exactly?
The story of Job fascinates me. He's a man who's lost everything and yet maintains his righteousness, a feat in itself. What baffles me about this particular book is that so many people focus on one instance in the entire expanse of his story:
"“Who is this that darkens counsel by words without knowledge?
Dress for action like a man; I will question you, and you make it known to me."
(Job 38:2-3 ESV)
Translation: "man, Job was such a whiner."
Can I offer an honest perspective, though? ...what the heck?! God broke Job's spirit and tested his heart in every way possible. He took his home, his family, his finances, his health...dude was in misery, and now he's getting yelled at for voicing that? Again, I say...what the heck?!
A child of the Most High expresses his pain and the reaction is something I don't understand. Sure Job complained. Sure Job was speaking from a bitter wellspring. Sure God is God, and we are not. All of these are known facts. But an individual was experiencing the greatest wound he'd ever endured, and this was what he received in return? A lecture?
But consider, possibly, the story of Lazarus. Mary and Martha ask Jesus to come. And He does...after it's too late. He arrives, and all the sisters know is that the One they've put their hearts' trust in did not come through. Lazarus a beloved brother, is gone. And both deliver a statement so bold, so loaded, and so vulnerable that's it's impossible not to hear the strain of their grief:
"Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died."
We all know what happens to Lazarus, but it's Jesus' reaction beforehand that leaves me stunned. He doesn't put them in their place. He doesn't explain that everything happens for a reason. He doesn't accuse them or communicate every way in which they are wrong.
He weeps.
Two similar grievances. Two pointed statements. Two very different reactions. Why?
I have so much more to explore in these stories, many more details to consider. But if there's one difference I notice above them all, it's this: the sisters were vulnerable. They actually wanted an answer.
It seems as though Job spoke from a different sort of brokenness, one that was not inviting. He spoke with knowledge that he didn't have, blew hot air that was a thing of stuffed shirts and copped attitudes. He cried out from a humid soul that was fed up, and not about to endure anymore. God gave Job the honest answer that he didn't know he was seeking. As if to say, "you are not as big as you think you are. But it's ok. Because I Am."
But Mary and Martha...I'm not saying they did it better, but they invited Him into their sorrow. They communicated the depths of their grief. They continually asked Him to be a part of their loss. And that makes me wonder, honestly, possibly, if God is someone who wants to be invited.
So often I only offer Him my passing thoughts. But intimacy is not cultivated by shallow poetry and off hand requests. He knit us together. He knows our innermost being. He is trustworthy with our deepest troubles. His strength can handle our diciest instances of humanity. Perhaps it's neither an issue of over-empathy nor strict anti-enablement. We may be afraid of our pain, but He is not. He is the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Yesterday, and today, and always. The one who spans time and universe arrived in a crowded body to understand everything it is we endure. He experiences with us. He does life with us.
I urge you lovelies--step into the biggest risk you will know, but do not be afraid. It's alright. Open up.
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