In a world often marked by indifference, we find ourselves at a crossroads between compassion and apathy. The parable of the Good Samaritan, found in Luke 10:25-37, serves as a powerful reminder of what it truly means to love our neighbor. But beyond its familiar narrative lies a deeper challenge for our hearts and souls.

The greatest threat to our faithfulness isn’t hatred or cruelty – it’s apathy. It’s not that we don’t know how to do the right thing; it’s that we stop seeing, stop feeling, and slowly lose the capacity to care. This erosion of empathy often begins with a quiet, unspoken thought: “If I can’t fix it, I won’t feel it.”

This mindset is a natural response to the overwhelming suffering we encounter in our world. Whether it’s images of starving children in Gaza, families fleeing war in Ukraine, or the homeless person we pass daily on our commute, the scale of human pain can feel paralyzing. In an attempt to protect ourselves from emotional exhaustion, we disconnect. We change the channel, scroll past the article, or avert our eyes from the person holding a sign on the street corner.

But this self-protection comes at a cost. Over time, what begins as emotional self-preservation becomes spiritual numbness. We stop seeing people as people. Their suffering becomes background noise, their faces blur into the crowd, and we move further away from the heart of Christ.

Sometimes, to justify our emotional distance, we shift to blame. We think, “Why doesn’t he just get a job?” or “She’s probably just using the money for drugs.” While these concerns may have a kernel of truth, they often serve as a shield, giving us permission to stop feeling and seeing the human being before us.

Apathy is never neutral. It doesn’t just keep us from helping others; it slowly reshapes who we are as people. It hardens our hearts, training us to look away and feel less until disengagement becomes a habit. Our compassion narrows, reserved only for those close to us or those we deem deserving. In essence, apathy makes us less human, because to be fully human, as God intends, is to feel – to weep with those who weep and to carry one another’s burdens.

The Samaritan in Jesus’ parable offers a powerful counterexample. Unlike the priest and Levite who passed by, the Samaritan was “moved with compassion.” This phrase carries physical weight in the original Greek, meaning to feel something deep in your guts. He didn’t just see the wounded man; he felt his pain. This empathy is what led him to act.

It’s crucial to remember that empathy doesn’t solve every problem. The Samaritan didn’t eliminate all future dangers on the road to Jericho. But he did what he could because he allowed himself to be moved. Empathy is what leads to action – not because it fixes everything, but because it gives us an open heart and activates a love that refuses to walk away.

This willingness to stay with pain, to suffer in solidarity, is not only the beginning of compassion; it’s the beginning of our transformation. For the one who suffers, our empathetic presence can be a doorway to healing, a channel of God’s love and grace. For the one who shows empathy, it becomes an invitation to participate in that redemption and to be formed more deeply into the likeness of Christ.

As Richard Rohr reminds us, if we don’t transform our pain, we will transmit it to others. But pain held in the presence of love has the power to heal. Think of someone lying alone in a hospital bed versus someone surrounded by friends and family while battling the same illness. Who suffers more? Our presence can be powerful, drawing us closer not only to the one who suffers but to Christ Himself, who is already there suffering with them.

This cruciform compassion isn’t always welcomed by our culture, which often labels it as weakness. We’re told to toughen up, not let emotions get in the way. Even within the church, some warn that empathy will make us soft or compromise our convictions. But this is not the message of Jesus in the Gospels. True discipleship resists apathy, even when it’s politically convenient or disguised as faithfulness.

The path of empathy isn’t comfortable. It’s natural to want to disconnect and protect ourselves, especially when suffering feels overwhelming. But if we’re to follow Jesus, we must learn to lean into the suffering of others, not turn away from it. We’re called to feel deeply, to see, and to stay – because that’s what love does. That’s what Jesus did for us and continues to do for others.

So, where have you grown numb? Where has apathy crept in to close your heart? Where might God be calling you to truly see the suffering of others, either in your own neighborhood or at a distance? Where might He be asking you to feel again, to stay present with someone’s pain – not because you can fix it, but because love refuses to look away?

This week, pray for God to soften your heart and open your eyes. Ask for the courage to feel and the grace to stay present. You don’t have to solve all the world’s problems. Like the Samaritan, you just need to be willing to see, to feel, and to do what you can, trusting that it will be enough and that God will use it to transform both you and the one who is suffering.

Remember, Jesus saw us in our brokenness and did not look away. He entered into our pain with compassion and love, and He saved us. Now, He invites us to do the same for others. As we practice empathy, may we be shaped by compassion, transformed by love, and made more like Christ – the One who suffered in solidarity with us all.