By Dr. Jeff Mathis
According to social scientists who study human behavior, our capacity for empathy dropped significantly during the pandemic. I was surprised to learn this as we are typically more sympathetic to those who experience misfortunes like illness and death.
But you’d be hard-pressed to argue the alternative—especially when you consider the widespread heartache and pain people are going through and our world’s callous, even hostile response to them.
Increasingly, we don’t seem moved by the hurts and pains of others.
As we are aware, the pandemic necessitated that we keep our distance. Laminated signs dotted the interiors of our buildings, reading, “Stay Smart! Stay Apart!” Proximity to others, we learned, could spread infection and result in illness and death. So we distanced ourselves physically from each other and struggled with the emotional confusion we felt when our encounters moved into the unfulfilling space of the virtual world.
We did this, of course, because we cared about our health and the health of others. Although necessary when combatting a global pandemic, social distancing has a cost, as studies reveal that there is collateral damage with which we must contend.
Interestingly, being together and physically close heightens our ability to express empathy. Our lack of physical contact with others diminishes our capacity to be empathetic. The more we choose to be islands, the less sympathetic we will be when people are hurting.
We know this. Healthy touch builds trust. Being shoulder-to-shoulder with someone makes us feel connected. Something as simple as a handshake or an embrace humanizes the encounter.
I am reminded of the early Church in Acts 2, where believers shared their lives through worship, prayer, service, and table fellowship. Time spent around a dinner table is a fitting image of the church. Seated around a table, elbow to elbow, can be a sacred moment. It is the defining image of the Kingdom of God as Jesus calls his followers to remember Him at table fellowship. A shared meal physically brings people together. It allows us to see one another more clearly and to hear one another more effectively. Passing the beans and pouring a refill compels us to share and to be aware of the needs of others. Also, squeezing together to eat spaghetti at dinner reminds us of the importance of table manners.
This kind of fellowship, or koinonia, is the lifeblood of the Church. Our hallmark is connection, touch, and the gift of presence and physical engagement. We testify and bear witness to how church fellowship changes our lives and can change the world.
And that is why we reinstated a tradition in worship this past Sunday that we’ve not practiced in some time. At the end of our service, I invited our congregation to slide down the pews and hold hands, link arms, or drape them over one another’s shoulders for our final prayer and song. Why? There’s a lot of space between us, which is not good. Meeting in the middle of our sanctuary requires initiative, action, and movement. But more than that, the simple act of touching one another brings us together and positions us perfectly for fellowship and empathy.
I don’t know why I was surprised when the song ended, and the congregation burst into conversation and fellowship with one another.
Our face-to-face laughter and conversation drowned out my final, “Go in Peace. Amen,” and I couldn’t have been more pleased.