Eco-philosopher David Orr describes hope as “a verb with the sleeves rolled up.”1
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We have our eye on the ball, nose to the grindstone, and shoulder to the wheel. It is cumbersome to keep working in that position!
Despite the wonder of mixed metaphors, each of these phrases speaks of focus and not giving in to distraction. They also avoid what the ABC names this morning as “time confetti.”2 On the other hand, the focused task in itself can divert our attention from something important. It can help us avoid something we don’t want to think about.
The 24-hour news cycle suggests plenty of issues we don’t want taking up rental space in our heads. So we choose a diversion. Something else to focus on, a project over which we have some measure of control.
But the idea of hope as a “verb with its sleeves rolled up” causes me to pause. In a world where polarisation and tyranny is gathering speed like a runaway train, expressions of hope seem futile. A children’s book is banned because it “wokenly” depicts a girl who accepts that freckles are part of her individuality.3 I am then tempted to focus on some activity that diverts me from such absurdity. Hope rolls its sleeves up. I can think of richness of diversity in my own context and ways that I can enhance and celebrate it. This is how it’s done!
Some walk the Camino de Santiago to focus in such ways. A pilgrim reports a challenge from a priest in a chapel along the way. “You are light. Go and be light to others.” Hope with its sleeves rolled up!
When I turned 18, the looming lottery of National Service was on the horizon. In the year males turned 20, marbles were drawn from some mysterious government barrel. If your birthday was on a selected marble, you were “called up” to be a Nasho. This involved 10 weeks of boot camp and two years of military service. It included the possibility of tours of duty in the controversial US war with North Vietnam. It was the era of “All the Way with LBJ.”
My calling to ministry was nascent but not yet formed, and my nature was pacific but not yet articulate. Nevertheless, my boyhood obsession with Mahatma Gandhi and his non-violent approach to peace-building lingered in my adolescent psyche.
I recall studying Bernard Shaw’s “Major Barbara” around the same time. Retrospectively I am struck by the similarity of the dilemma that the playwright explores. A Salvation Army officer’s ideals are in conflict with those of her wealthy arms-manufacturing father. His war profits are offered to fund her failing mission. Ultimately, Barbara transforms, realizing that her father’s power can be used for good. She decides to work with him to effect change from within the system.
I decided to take the passive-aggressive option of applying for a non-combative role in the Citizen Military Forces (CMF).
CMF was considered an alternative to National Service in Australia. Individuals might choose to serve six years in the CMF. This provided a part-time service option for those who did not want to commit to full-time national service. This allowed individuals to fulfil their national service obligations while maintaining their civilian lives and careers.
At the appointed time, I rocked up to the recruiting office. I submitted to physical and psychological examinations. They gave me a time to return to Keswick Barracks to complete registration and collect my kit with further instructions.
A nervous two weeks later I attended the barracks. Immediately, I was drawn aside by a crusty sergeant who said, “We are not proceeding with your registration. Go home, your eyesight is no good and you are colour blind. I don’t know how you can see to drive!”
Did I feel relieved or insulted? Perhaps a bit of both. Certainly bemused. Sure I wore coke bottle glasses but I could see perfectly well through them. And colour blind? I can see colours and shades that others are oblivious to! (I’ve discovered since that this may be due to an extra cone that expands my spectrum.)
The long arc of time reveals that my pathway to study for ministry was not impeded by the distractions of compulsory government obligations to which I had formed an ambivalent posture.
And today I have many words for conscientious objection. The purpose of this reminiscence however, is not to initiate an old debate, but to reflect on how unexpected twists and turns on our pathways inform and influence our destinies.
Following more than fifty years of Christian ministry, I heard this phrase for the first time only a day or two ago. As a somewhat amateur confessor long familiar with the seven popular labels for sin (plus some extras), I was intrigued to see how or where empathy might fit in terms of the original meaning of sin, i.e. “missing the mark.”
After all, every virtue has its corresponding vice.
It seems to have emerged from objections to Bishop Mariann Budde’s recent plea for mercy for those who are vulnerable to the proposed execution of the 47th President’s Executive Orders.
One needs to sift through the backlash to the Bishop’s request, dividing those protests that cannot abide any implied criticism of a freshly minted president from those that genuinely object to empathy as a worthwhile virtue.
My brief research reveals the following points and counterpoints about empathy being considered sinful:
The term “sin of empathy” doesn’t have a well-documented origin or a specific date when it was first coined. However, the idea gained attention in recent years, particularly in discussions among some Christian communities. For example, Joe Rigney, president of Bethlehem College and Seminary, discussed this idea in 2019, drawing on C.S. Lewis’s “The Screwtape Letters” to argue that empathy can be seen as sinful because it involves sharing in another person’s suffering rather than helping them from a position of strength.
It’s a relatively modern term used in theological and philosophical debates rather than an ancient concept.
Empathy vs. Justice: Empathy can be seen as a weakness or manipulation when it conflicts with strict justice. Some believe too much empathy undermines justice and truth. This is similar to how the religious leaders accused Jesus of breaking Sabbath laws by showing compassion. True justice is not just about enforcing laws, but understanding the circumstances and experiences of individuals. Empathy allows us to see beyond the surface and consider the context of actions, leading to more compassionate and fair judgments.
Gender Dynamics: Empathy is sometimes labeled as too feministic, seen as soft and nurturing, in contrast to the masculine trait of enforcing justice. Labeling empathy as overly feministic and contrasting it with a masculine concept of justice is misguided. Mercy and justice are not confined to gender roles. Throughout history, both men and women have demonstrated empathy and justice. Biblical figures like David and Deborah exemplify that tenderness and strength can coexist, regardless of gender.
Manipulation: Some see empathy as a tool to manipulate decisions through emotions rather than logic. True empathy, however, is genuine and selfless, allowing one to understand another’s experience. There is no room for ego, deceit or ulterior motives. It is only possible through a sound balance of heart and mind.
Historical and Religious Context: The “sin of empathy” idea suggests that showing too much empathy fails to uphold strict religious or moral laws. This ignores the core teachings of many religious traditions. Jesus consistently demonstrated empathy and compassion, even when it conflicted with strict interpretations of the law. This approach emphasizes the spirit of the law, which values love and mercy above rigid adherence to rules.
Balancing Empathy and Justice: Critics argue for a balance between empathy and justice, but this does not make empathy a “sin.” Empathy is a crucial component of a just society. It ensures that justice is tempered with compassion and understanding. A balanced approach recognizes that empathy and justice are not mutually exclusive but work together to create a fair and humane society.
So, is empathy sinful, the Achilles heel of bleeding hearts?
Let’s move beyond “Yeah, Nah!” to a resounding “No!”
Let’s celebrate empathy as a vital aspect of human interaction that enriches our understanding and application of justice. True justice is rooted in compassion, and empathy is a powerful force that drives us to be more understanding, caring, and fair.
Up it popped on a nostalgia site South Australia way back when Adelaide Station, I recall this sight From when I was a boy, aged about ten.
Sharing a platform, all agleam The Overland to Melbourne, great delight And a Mt Lofty special getting up steam SAR 522 -mountain engine of might.
As if to answer a young boy’s dream I rode the Overland one fine spring And the hills’ excursions with the idea of steam to Belair picnics; hear the wheels sing.
When I was old enough to extend my range The Red Hen became my frequent ride From Albert Park to the beach at Grange or Adelaide station with its platforms wide.
I remember the concourse with its clock in the centre And climbing the ramp to busy city streets And the staircase offering an extra place to enter Topped by the pie cart with floaters for eats.
All is now changed as years have gone past The station now houses a casino’s glory While suburban trains still hold fast And the platforms tell their story.
A recurring memory of my 15-year-old self, hanging out with some nerdy peers at lunch time in the school quadrangle.
Deputy Principal approaches us. “Why are you boys slouching around here when you could be kicking a football on the oval? And, Ryle, what are you smiling at?”
Me: “I’m not smiling, sir!”
Deputy Principal: “You were born with a most unfortunate face then!”
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Since then, I have generally presented an “unfortunate face” to authority that I intuitively perceive to lack authenticity. Clearly my visage rattled the deputy principal, who mistook my anxious “go to” teenage defense mechanism as defiance.
My unfortunate face unbalanced the Boss’s mate poking fun at the eruption of a “lighthouse” pimple on my adolescent forehead. “At least I’m mature enough to have developed to this stage, unlike some,” I retorted. This was unacceptable behaviour from an underling, but it was worth being “counseled” later that day.
An official leaked to us that he had been instructed to “sit on the heads” of the team I was working with. My unfortunate face retorted, “That’s alright, we’ll just put on our sharp pointy hats!”
My church once went to the licensing court to oppose the granting of a liquor license to a nearby servo chain. The servo lawyer objected to our presence as he deemed a church to be concerned only with “more heavenly matters.” Our unfortunate faces presented our church constitution that expected us to address social justice matters.
I was involved in assisting and advocating for misplaced people who had suddenly become vulnerable to Australia’s reversal of refugee resettlement policies. Dumped in the street with nowhere to go they needed help, and we gave it. The Amnesty badge wearing Minister for Immigration declared my unfortunate face “un-Australian.”
These are just a few instances over decades of my unfortunate face disturbing those who gaze upon it. Oddly, others don’t seem to mind it! My unfortunate face is allegedly retired now. It still remains the only face I have to look out at the world from. Unfortunate as it is, it continues to serve me well.
I take comfort from another “unfortunate face,” my lifelong mentor, guide and inspiration to whom my life is devoted, and who “had no stately form or majesty to attract us, no beauty that we should desire Him.” Isaiah 53:2
“A fragment is part of the whole; the whole contains the fragments.”
During a busy week filled with interruptions to my interruptions, this phrase hit me in the face (yes, another interruption!).
Everything has a place. Everything belongs. We may not understand it now or even strongly disagree with this notion.
If we change our perspective, we begin to see how it all fits together. We begin to see how other pieces, whether seen or still hidden, help complete the picture.
We may not see the final result until we pass into life beyond, and maybe not even then.
It’s reassuring to know that there is a whole, and each of us, despite our difficulties, has a part in it.
My Saturday morning walk to buy a questionable newspaper (solely for the TV guide) takes me past four houses, two apartment buildings, a vacant lot, a tavern, a liquor store, a coffee shop, a florist, and a supermarket, before reaching the Ampol servo where I make my purchase, then return.
At 7 a.m the only person I see today is the cheerful vendor. It is a 5-minute, 365 meter journey, repeated on the way back.
The opportunity for contemplation was exhilarating!
