Once, I was a young pastor’s wife whose husband returned home broken from a tough board meeting, which would be the catalyst for his eventual resignation from parish ministry.

When Matt started talking about walking away, I wanted to be supportive, but the situation felt unfair. He had been a pastor for nearly ten years, it was the only life we knew together, and we had no idea what we would do next if he quit.

I felt the kids and I were caught in the middle, swept by the tide of circumstances that were not of our doing yet affected us deeply and I couldn’t talk to anyone about this. It was affecting my relationship with God, and my view of the church and its members.

The Sunday after the board meeting, I sat miserable and alone in the fellowship hall after service, praying for God to soothe my hurting soul. I had spent all my energy smiling and chatting with people I knew had hurt my husband deeply and who held our future in their hands, and I was not allowed to show my anger or pain.

As I sat there waiting for Matt to be finished with the Sunday business of a pastor so we could head home, a person who was as far from my position in life as he could be: in gender, ethnicity, age, life situation, profession, and socioeconomic status, but who knew of the situation we were facing, came up to me, saw my dejected face, and said: “I know exactly what you’re going through!”

All the anguish and the loneliness I felt, all the sense of being misunderstood, missed, and mistreated, came rushing out, and I lost it. I exploded with: “No, you DO NOT know what I’m going through!”

How could he? He was not a pastor’s wife whose husband was thinking about leaving the ministry, which meant moving two children from the only home they knew, whose financial future was uncertain, and who was dealing with a broken man trying to understand how his call from God brought him to this place.

So, I got angry. 

He tried to tell me about a painful work situation he had experienced and how it related, but I was not receptive, as my grief consumed me.

Looking back with some years of living under my belt, I can appreciate the heart from where his utterance came: a desire to reach out across the pain and show me empathy and care.

But the breakdown happened because of what I’ve recognized as a misunderstanding of empathy.

Empathy means identifying with the emotion, not the situation.

Even if we’ve lived through something somewhat similar, even if we can relate closely and we can recall the feelings around the experience, we can never fully grasp another’s story and we must allow the person going through the pain to be the expert on their unique situation, follow their lead, and believe them.

Sometimes our stories are superfluous and better left untold. Otherwise, we may inadvertently center ourselves and dismiss their experience altogether.

Empathy can also be described as “sitting with.”

Job’s three friends showed tremendous empathy when they first arrived at his side. The heading under this section of chapter 2 often reads: “Job’s three friends share his anguish,” and describes how, when they saw Job’s misery, they wailed, tore their robes, and threw dust over their heads to show their grief. For seven days and seven nights, they sat with Job and chose silence because “they saw that his suffering was too great for words” (v. 13). They ministered to him with their presence only.

And then, they blew it by opening their mouths. They were uncomfortable with grief, so they tried to make sense of Job’s suffering through their limited understanding.

Like we so often do.

We silver line it with an “at least…”: “Your husband was fired, but at least you still have a job.”

We minimize it with cliched answers: “God is in control.” “Everything happens for a reason.” “This too shall pass.”

We rationalize it: “Well, what did he do to get fired?” “Those people are just jealous of you.” “The devil is attacking you.” “God is testing you.”

Always with good intentions like Job’s friends, and yet Job tells them: “Do you think your words are convincing when you disregard my cry of desperation?” (Ch. 6, v. 26).

Job’s friends’ talking is so unhelpful that Job tells them in chapter 16: “What miserable comforters you are! Won’t you ever stop your flow of foolish words?”

Hurting people just need us to be, to sit with them, to put a hand on their shoulder and say: “That must be so hard.”

Paul invited the Romans to: “Rejoice with those who rejoice and mourn with those who mourn.” Empathy is a biblical concept, a directive to Christians, but empathy must be practiced well to be effective.