Learning to Listen: Empathy in an Age of Outrage
They may call empathy a sin. I still call it sacred.
How Empathy Became Controversial
In certain Christian and political circles, empathy is no longer seen as a virtue—but as a liability. As reported by the New York Times, conservative commentator Allie Beth Stuckey published a best-selling book titled Toxic Empathy: How Progressives Exploit Christian Compassion. A few months later, theologian Joe Rigney followed with The Sin of Empathy: Compassion and Its Counterfeits, further reinforcing the idea that compassion itself has become suspect in some circles.
In a Fox News interview, Vice President JD Vance echoed this sentiment through a selective interpretation of a Catholic doctrine known as ordo amoris. He said:
“You love your family, and then you love your neighbor, and then you love your community, and then you love your fellow citizens in your own country. And then after that, you can focus and prioritize the rest of the world.”
Before his death, Pope Francis rebuked this interpretation, writing:
“Christian love is not a concentric expansion of interests that little by little extend to other persons and groups. The true ordo amoris that must be promoted is that which we discover by meditating constantly on the parable of the ‘Good Samaritan,’ that is, by meditating on the love that builds a fraternity open to all, without exception.”
The recently elected Pope Leo XIV has also signaled a very different understanding of empathy from Vance—one aligned with traditional Catholic social teaching. In his first general audience, he called for humanitarian aid to reach Gaza and for an immediate end to hostilities, particularly those impacting children, the elderly, and the sick.
To understand why the rhetoric of empathy-as-sin is both spiritually and morally dangerous, we need to return to the foundation of Christian teaching itself.
What Christianity Really Teaches About Empathy
Christianity, in its truest form, doesn’t just tolerate empathy—it requires it. Across denominations and centuries, Christian leaders have echoed this same truth: love demands that we enter into the pain of others—not out of indulgence, but out of obedience.
1. Empathy Is Rooted in the Character of God
“For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses…” — Hebrews 4:15
Jesus didn’t just understand human suffering—he stepped into it. The incarnation itself is the ultimate act of empathy: God entering into human pain, joy, and fragility.
2. Empathy Is Central to Jesus’ Ministry
“Jesus wept.” — John 11:35
Not because he didn’t know Lazarus would rise, but because he shared in Mary and Martha’s grief.
In the Parable of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37), empathy becomes action: a man sees suffering, is moved by it, and does something.
“When he saw the crowds, he had compassion on them…” — Matthew 9:36
This wasn’t detached sympathy. It was the kind of compassion that stirs something deep inside—the urge to show up, to help, to heal. Jesus didn’t just notice suffering. He felt it, and he acted.
3. Empathy Isn’t Optional—It’s Commanded
“Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep.” — Romans 12:15
“Bear one another’s burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ.” — Galatians 6:2
“Clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness, and patience.” — Colossians 3:12
These aren’t suggestions. They’re instructions. Empathy is how we live out the kind of love Christ modeled—selfless, generous, and rooted in care for others.
4. The Early Church Practiced Radical Empathy
The earliest Christians didn’t just feel for one another—they shared everything. They broke bread, gave to the poor, and cared for widows and the sick (Acts 2:42–47). Church fathers like Augustine and Chrysostom went further, preaching that to ignore the poor was to ignore Christ himself.
How Some Christians Misunderstand or Mischaracterize Empathy
In some political and religious circles, empathy has been reframed as weakness—or worse, as a pathway to moral compromise. JD Vance’s “sin of empathy” rhetoric is one example of this trend.
But Christian tradition has always made space for nuance:
Empathy ≠ moral relativism
Feeling with someone does not mean affirming all their choices. Empathy is guided by truth, not detached from it.Empathy = love in motion
It’s not indulgence. It’s how Christians live out Christ’s love in the real world.
The Church teaches compassion, but it does not promote enabling sin or ignoring truth in the name of comfort. That distinction sometimes gets lost in political rhetoric.
But let’s be clear: the absence of empathy can lead to indifference, cruelty, and injustice. And that, in Catholic thought, comes much closer to sin.
Learning to Listen in an Age of Outrage
It’s one thing to talk about empathy in theory. It’s another to practice it when you feel betrayed, dismissed, or mocked.
I didn’t pay much attention to politics until late in Trump’s first term—when COVID began dominating the headlines. Like many healthcare professionals, I was overwhelmed. I was worried for my patients, for my children, for the elderly, for the immunocompromised. I thought we’d rise together in compassion.
Instead, I watched friends mock mask mandates. I saw people claim the pandemic was a hoax—even as hospital beds filled. I heard Christians dismiss the vulnerable in the name of “freedom.”
I was furious.
I’ve always considered myself an empathetic person, but during that time, I felt deep, scalding hatred toward those who seemed unable—or unwilling—to show basic human concern. I was constantly arguing in the comments section, trying to win on facts, drowning in rage. Eventually, friends began unfriending me. Some blocked me entirely.
And then—almost by accident—I found a different voice. A family member introduced me to Sharon McMahon, a former government teacher known for her nonpartisan civic education on Instagram (@SharonSaysSo). Her calm, steady, fact-driven presence was like a balm. She didn’t shout. She didn’t shame. She taught. And slowly, I started to shift.
I began asking better questions.
I learned to pause before replying.
I stopped trying to “win” and started listening for why people believed what they did.
I won’t pretend I don’t still get angry. I do. But I’ve learned that anger can’t be my compass. Empathy doesn’t excuse harm, but it helps me make sense of how people I know and care about ended up down this path.
Empathy for MAGA Voters: A Risk Worth Taking
Hear me out.
This next section might be hard to stomach—and that’s okay. You may strongly disagree with what I’m about to say. Honestly, part of me still wrestles with it, too. But I invite you to sit with it for a moment:
Not all Trump voters are bad people.
Let’s look at this through the lens of empathy.
1. Anger is Armor
Many MAGA supporters come across as angry. And some truly are. But often, anger is a shield—a way to protect deeper feelings:
Fear of cultural change
Shame over being misled
Grief for a country they feel they no longer recognize
Anger feels safer than vulnerability. It creates the illusion of control.
2. Victimhood as Identity
MAGA culture thrives on persecution narratives:
“They’re coming for your guns, your kids, your churches.”
This messaging doesn’t just stoke fear—it gives people a sense of moral righteousness. It tells them they’re part of a sacred resistance. That’s intoxicating.
3. Outrage as Entertainment
Right-wing media doesn’t just inform—it stimulates. Emotional outrage is baked into the algorithm. It becomes a cycle: the more agitated you are, the more validated you feel—and the more addicted you become to that emotional high.
4. Loss, Real and Imagined
Some of this is rooted in real experiences—lost jobs, struggling rural economies, broken systems. But much of it is wrapped in nostalgia for a version of America that either never existed or only served a select few. Still, the pain is real. The loss is real.
5. Not All Are Malicious
I’ve seen this firsthand. As a healthcare provider, I’ve treated people who voted for Trump—people who were kind, generous, and deeply invested in their families and communities. I’ve driven through winding roads lined with MAGA flags and still found warmth, laughter, and human connection at the end of the driveway.
These moments don’t erase my concerns. But they remind me: real life is messier than comment sections and cable news soundbites. People are more than their politics—even when their politics cause harm.
Empathy Isn’t Silence. It’s Strength.
Empathy isn’t silence.
It doesn’t excuse abuse, enable manipulation, or overlook injustice.
There are moments when the most compassionate thing we can do is draw a firm boundary and say, “This isn’t okay.” Empathy and accountability are not opposites—they belong together. One helps us understand; the other helps us act.
Empathy also doesn’t mean pretending everything is fine. It means refusing to mirror cruelty, even when we’re angry. It means seeing people in their full complexity—without letting that complexity justify harm.
Empathy helps us see clearly, act justly, and remain human—even when the world feels inhumane.
As Sharon McMahon, author of The Preamble, often says:
“Two things can be true.”
We can be devastated by this administration’s consequences—
and still try to understand why some believed Trump was the right choice.
Where Do We Go From Here?
I’m not blind to the gravity of the moment we’re living through. Ironically, I’m not even a natural optimist. I’ve walked the paths of despair and nihilism—and they don’t lead anywhere worth going. They dull our empathy, fracture our communities, and make it too easy to justify cruelty in the name of frustration.
I know how exhausting it is to always feel expected to be the bigger person. To stay calm while others shout. To meet anger with patience. To bring facts into a world that often rejects them. And I understand how hard—sometimes excruciating—it can be to feel empathy for Trump voters, even as many remain silent while the consequences of his leadership deepen.
But rage cannot be our compass.
I’m not suggesting we extend empathy to those who deliberately sow harm. There are leaders who know exactly what they’re doing—and they must be held accountable.
This piece isn’t about them.
It’s about our neighbors. Our relatives. The quietly disillusioned. The ones stuck between what they were told and what they’re beginning to see. The ones who might be willing to listen—if we don’t meet them with contempt.
Empathy doesn’t excuse harm or let people off the hook. It means offering a hand to those who are ready to climb out.
It means refusing to become what we hate.
It means holding people accountable—without denying their complexity.
We can demand justice. We can name what is wrong. We can protect the vulnerable.
And still—we can choose to see the humanity in others, even when it’s obscured by fear, misinformation, or resentment.
That isn’t weakness. That isn’t sin. That is Christ-like.
And in a world that keeps trying to dehumanize, divide, and desensitize us, maybe the most radical act is to feel. To care anyway.
Empathy alone won’t fix our divisions. But without it, we risk losing not just our common ground—but our common humanity. And without that, we may never find the courage to build something better—together.
Special thanks:
Much gratitude to Sharon McMahon, whose calm, fact-based teaching helped pull me out of the noise and toward clarity when I needed it most. If you’re looking for accessible civic education rooted in decency and truth, I highly recommend following her on Instagram @SharonSaysSo or subscribing to her Substack, The Preamble.
If this resonated with you, I hope you’ll consider subscribing or sharing. I welcome thoughtful disagreement - but I ask that comments be rooted in facts, not slogans.
If you’re still reading, thank you. It means you’re thinking - and that matters.
References:
Scriptural Sources:
Hebrews 4:15 – Christ empathizes with our weaknesses
Romans 12:15 – Rejoice/weeping = shared emotional presence
Galatians 6:2 – Bearing one another’s burdens
Luke 10:25–37 – Good Samaritan as model of empathy in action
Matthew 25:40 – What you do for the least of these…
Philippians 2:1–5 – “Look not only to your own interests…” (mutual care and humility)
Thank you for this piece. It is well written and uses scripture accurately.