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Empathy: The Lost Language of Connection

Empathy is the ability to feel with another person—not simply to feel for them, which is sympathy, but to enter their world, to stand in their shoes, however briefly, and see life from behind their eyes. It is the quiet miracle of one human heart recognizing another. The word stems from the Greek empatheia, meaning “in feeling,” yet no single culture owns its full expression. In fact, some languages carry richer nuances that reveal empathy’s deeper layers.

In Japanese, the word “omoiyari” conveys a form of empathy that is anticipatory—it means sensing and responding to the unspoken needs of others, especially before those needs are voiced. In the African philosophy of Ubuntu, we find the phrase: “I am because we are.” It suggests our humanity is shared and incomplete without others. The Danish concept of “hjertemøde”, a “meeting of hearts,” implies a silent understanding, a wordless connection. And in Portuguese, “saudade”—a bittersweet longing—often arises from deep bonds, echoing the ache we feel when we miss someone so profoundly that we momentarily inhabit their absence.

Yet in today’s world, empathy is increasingly absent. Despite the illusion of connection via digital media, many suffer in silence, drowned out by noise or passed over in the blur of busyness. Society rewards speed, success, and self-promotion, leaving little room for the slow, sacred act of listening. In such a climate, vulnerability becomes risky. People hold their grief in, suppress their fears, and smile through sorrow. As novelist George Eliot wrote, “What do we live for, if not to make life less difficult for each other?” But this wisdom is too often forgotten.

Empathy cannot be downloaded or manufactured. It must be practiced, cultivated, chosen—especially when inconvenient. We must resist the instinct to judge, to fix, or to rush in with platitudes. Sometimes, the most human thing we can do is simply be there. As Harper Lee wrote in To Kill a Mockingbird, “You never really understand a person until you consider things from his point of view... until you climb into his skin and walk around in it.”

What can we do?

We can pause. We can ask, “How are you—really?” and mean it. We can notice the quiet ones. We can create space for stories to be shared without shame. We can teach our children emotional literacy—how to name feelings and respond to others with kindness. We can choose not to scroll past pain but to hold it gently.

Empathy is not weakness. It is strength under control. It is the soul’s muscle memory, remembering what it is to be human. And in a world aching with loneliness, perhaps the most radical act of love is to say, “I see you. You are not alone.”

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"Neurodivergence is not a deviation but a different kind of brilliance,

 lighting paths others may never see."

Image courtesy of https://unsplash.com/@martinadams

We are all the same, but different. In view of this, one of the greatest challenges we face as humans is the temptation to misjudge others. From a Christian standpoint, we are called to show compassion, understanding, and love, but too often, we fall short. We see someone acting in a way we don’t understand, and instead of asking why or what might be happening in their life, we make assumptions. This is especially true when people are dealing with invisible challenges like manic depression, autism, dementia, or the effects of medications. These conditions, among others, can profoundly alter how a person behaves, and yet, they are often misunderstood.

The Bible speaks repeatedly about compassion, urging us to bear one another’s burdens (Galatians 6:2). This mandate isn’t just for the easy moments, when we can see why someone is struggling—it’s for the hard moments too, when we don’t understand their actions or responses. It’s easy to forget that people dealing with mental health struggles, neurodivergence, or the effects of aging are often not able to present themselves as we expect. They may not be themselves in the ways they or we are used to, and it takes patience and empathy to walk alongside them.

Autism for example can affect how people communicate, express emotions, and relate to others. The differences in behaviour might lead some to mistakenly label someone as aloof or difficult, but these judgments ignore the depth of experience and the richness of personality that lies beneath. When we consider the many ways, God has created each of us, with unique strengths and challenges, we are reminded that differences in behaviour or communication are not deficits—they are simply part of the spectrum of being human.

Consider those with manic depression (bipolar disorder). In their high moments, they may seem full of energy, optimism, and perhaps even reckless enthusiasm. In their lows, they may withdraw into deep sadness and silence, unable to interact or engage as they once did. From the outside, it might be easy to dismiss their behaviours as erratic or confusing, but what we fail to see is the battle they are fighting within their minds. If we could glimpse that internal struggle, perhaps our judgment would turn to compassion.

Dementia, too, presents its own unique set of challenges. A person who was once vibrant and articulate may now struggle with memory, words, and even recognizing loved ones. It can be heart-breaking to witness, but it’s also a powerful reminder of the fragility of life. Dementia strips away the layers we once relied on to understand someone’s personality, leaving behind only glimpses of the person they were. And yet, they are still children of God, deserving of our love and respect. Misjudging them or becoming impatient because they “aren’t who they used to be” reflects a misunderstanding of our Christian duty to care for the vulnerable.

Medication can also alter how people present themselves. Hormone therapies, psychiatric medications, and treatments for conditions like Alzheimer’s can have side effects that change moods, cognitive abilities, or energy levels. When we judge someone solely on the basis of their outward behaviour, we fail to recognize the medical, emotional, or psychological challenges they may be navigating. These individuals may not feel or act like themselves, but that doesn’t diminish their worth or the love they deserve.

As Christians, we are called to follow Christ’s example in how we treat others. Jesus was known for his tenderness toward those who were marginalized or misunderstood. He ate with tax collectors, healed the sick, and showed compassion to those who were often judged harshly by society. He saw beyond the surface, looking into people’s hearts and responding with love. His example reminds us that we, too, are called to love without conditions, to seek understanding before judgment, and to show grace in all things.

It is easy, in our fast-paced and often judgmental world, to forget the humanity behind someone’s actions. When we misjudge people because of things beyond their control—be it manic depression, autism, dementia, or the effects of medication—we are not only failing them, but we are also failing ourselves. We miss the opportunity to show Christ’s love in action, to extend grace, and to see the world through a lens of compassion rather than judgment.

It’s not always easy. When someone’s behaviour doesn’t make sense to us, or when their actions seem frustrating or confusing, our natural inclination might be to pull away or make assumptions. But as Christians, we are called to something higher. We are called to empathy. To patience. To love.

In the end, misjudging others diminishes our shared humanity. The people who seem difficult or different are often the ones who need our understanding the most. They are God’s creation, just like we are, navigating the complexities of life in ways we might never fully understand. But that’s the point—our job isn’t to understand everything, but to love through it all. And when we do, we reflect the heart of Christ in a world that desperately needs it.

"Bear one another's burdens and thus you will fulfil the law of Christ" (BSB).