Personal Blogs

The Question No One Want's To Answer

I have a whole constellation of words flickering through my mind—dancing like the Northern Lights: dystopia-anxiety, eco-anxiety, Weltschmerz, mal du siècle, prolepse hystérique. And perhaps they can all be gathered under one new word: Anthropoklysis—the fear of humanity steering itself toward collapse.

I once lived in what was openly a Christian nation—the United Kingdom. Now it feels as though the day is coming when simply being a Christian will be treated as a crime. Brick by brick, the cultural foundations are shifting, and each shift seems to lean away from anything that affirms Christianity. The devil, as always, is in the details.

Let me frame a paradox.

There’s a moment in the Gospel—Matthew 19:15-18—where a young man approaches Jesus:

Young Man: “Teacher, what good deed can I do to assure myself eternal life?”

Jesus: “Strange that you ask Me about what is good. There is only One who is good. If you want to share in His life, obey the Commandments.”

Young Man: “Which commandments in particular?”

Jesus: “To begin with—do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not bear false witness. Honour your father and mother. And love your neighbour as yourself.”

Now pause and look at your own life. Has anyone in your family ever been the victim of violence—murder, assault, rape, grooming? Have you ever felt the quiet violation of knowing other men imagine your wife or daughter in ways they never should, or other women looking at your husband in a similar way? Has your phone been stolen, your wallet taken, your home broken into? victimised by slander? As a parent, have your adult children lost their respect for you—maybe they never call, or perhaps you haven’t heard from them for years?

Go back and read Jesus’ conversation with that young man who simply wanted to be better.

Then ask the paradoxical question:

Why would governments, lawmakers, and the public ever want to oppose the very people who cherish these commands—people who long to live by laws that forbid murder, theft, adultery, lies, and dishonour?

Go ponder.

Scripture courtesy of The Voice Bible

The Voice Bible Copyright © 2012 Thomas Nelson, Inc. The Voice™ translation © 2012 Ecclesia Bible Society All rights reserved.

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And they have sat each under his vine,

And under his fig tree,

And there is no one troubling him

Micah 4:4

Image generated with the assistance of copilot

There’s a moment when the atmosphere shifts—subtle to most, but unmistakable to me. The air thickens, emotions fill the space, and I feel them as if they’re my own. Unspoken words hang like storm clouds, simmering frustrations quietly churn, and the German word Weltschmerz—the pain of the world—takes hold.

This is life as an empath.

For those of us with finely tuned emotional senses, we don’t just witness others' feelings; we absorb them. When tension fills the room, it engulfs me before anyone speaks. My instinctive reaction is to withdraw, to escape the invisible burden pressing down. For years, I thought this response was something to suppress, but I’ve come to understand it’s a core part of who I am.

Yet, being an empath is often misunderstood. In religious settings, where compassion should prevail, I’ve frequently encountered the dismissive phrase, “You’re too sensitive.” This form of gaslighting dismisses genuine emotional awareness as a flaw rather than recognizing its value. Bible principles are sometimes misapplied, used to invalidate emotions rather than support them, as if being attuned to others' pain is a stumbling block rather than an opportunity for deeper connection.

Sensitivity is both a gift and a challenge. It allows me to connect with people in profound ways, feeling their joys, sorrows, and fears—even when they try to hide them. But that same sensitivity makes me vulnerable to discord. When tensions rise, I bear the brunt of emotional turbulence—whether it’s anger, frustration, or resentment.

I’ve learned to respect the need to step away—not to abandon others, but to protect myself. There’s no shame in leaving an emotionally charged room to regain balance. Staying in such an environment only drains my strength. Sensitivity, while a strength, can become overwhelming when exposed to too much negativity.

For a long time, I envied those who seemed untouched by tension, able to brush off conflict or remain indifferent. But I’ve come to accept that my sensitivity is part of who I am. It enables me to offer comfort when it’s needed most or to understand someone’s pain without them having to speak.

I no longer apologize for who I am. Sensitivity isn’t a defect; it’s a way of seeing the world more clearly. Walking out of a room full of tension isn’t about avoiding people—it’s about restoring my peace so I can continue offering empathy in a world that so often needs it. In this broken world, only God’s future Kingdom will bring the ultimate restoration. Thy Kingdom come.

And they have sat each under his vine,

And under his fig tree,

And there is no one troubling him,

For the mouth of Jehovah of Hosts has spoken.

Micah 4:4